The Road to Progress

SECTION 1

The clock ticked slowly, as it did every Monday this time of day. It always seemed to mimic the beat of Allen’s breath, and at the same time, each tick sounded like a drum echoing so loud it disrupted his concentration. He understood that the point of these sessions have little to do with intense concentration, but rather, the mere will to let his feelings and thoughts flow out of him like a full pot of boiling water. E very Monday at 3pm he returns to this very waiting room, sits on this very chair staring at this very clock in hopes to release the giant elephant that’s been sitting on his chest since the day she died. Dr. Mary Stanford struggles each minute of the structured time they have together getting a meaningful sentence out of him, and he knows it. He can’t even bare to let her name pass his lips. Although, he believes as many others who walk into this practice do; that he is a special case.

The smell of the almond colored, leather chesterfield chair he sat on always gave him a headache and gave him a faint feeling of hurling every time he entered the waiting room. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t the material they used in every corner of the office. Luckily for him, there was one positioned right in front of their large window facing the main street. Although this made his stomach feel less queasy; he closed the blinds in front of him, only peeking out a few times when needed. He always felt awkward being in a therapist’s office. His grandfather used to tell him; “there’s nothing they can do for you that you can’t do for yourself.” His father, however, tried to stray him away from that belief and encouraged him to seek this much needed attention. Unfortunately for his father, Allen always kept the same bias view point as Grandpa Willard. What was especially uncomfortable for him was the fact that the receptionist was 18 feet away constantly peeking up at his strange behavior.

How can this stuff surprise her? He thought. She’s had to have seen worse…

He thought this every time she looked up at him and being in the spotlight made him fidgety. He changed the crossing of his legs, and flipped through a magazine he wasn’t even reading just so she could stop being so nosy. The times when their eyes would meet, he would glare at her and clear his throat.

The door to Dr. Stanford’s office finally opened as one of her patient’s walked out. He was always very quiet and showed no expression when he left. This killed Allen. How was he supposed to know if this Mary really knew what she was doing? Sometimes he wishes there were links to testimonies on her personal webpage; “Mrs. Stanford made me love my parents again!” or, “Mary Stanford saved my life, literally!”
Just as the mystery patient flashed his polite smile and nod to the receptionist and exited the office, Mary flashed the same polite nod and smile to Allen.
“Hi Allen, it’s nice to see you again. If you don’t mind, I just need a minute to retrieve your information; but you can come on in if you’d like.”
Allen got up quickly and led Mary into her office. He immediately assumed his spot on the chesterfield couch and waited. The office was large and filled with books shelves, both against the wall facing him, and the wall behind him. These shelves were filled with folders, binders and pointless nick-knacks that made no sense. The door was positioned to his left for an easy escape and a large three sectioned window to his right. Her desk was filled with framed photos of her husband and two children and her chair was right in front of him, while still separated by a small metal coffee table.

He watched as she riffled through his file and reading the notes she took last week. He paid close attention to her facial expressions. To the naked eye she remained non- judgmental, but all he could see was pity. She finally made her way to her chair and sat down letting out a small sigh and looked up. He knew this was going to be frustrating for the both of them.

Mary began, “How was your weekend Allen? Were you able to get together with her family members like we talked about?”

Allen sat there not making eye contact. The thought of seeing them and having that constant reminder of her infidelities angered him and just as stubborn as he has been his whole life, he didn’t even entertain the thought of calling them, not once.

She continued, “I understand this hard for you. It’s only been three months after her death and you still have things to work through; but I honestly believe they can help you understand where she was coming from.”

Allen looked at her and crossed his legs and thought about how to approach that very suggestion. Hello Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, I understand you’re in pain over your daughter’s death but, maybe you can explain to me why she’s a cheating, selfish whore? He chuckled to himself, the notion of it all sounded ridiculous in his head.

She raised her eye brow, “What is on your mind?”
Allen shook his head, “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
Mary breathed in deeply and replied, “Ok, let’s make a goal to work on that the next few weeks. Let’s move on.”
“Let’s,” He quickly replied.
“Within the past two months, which was all the time we’ve had so far, we’ve touched on the current situation; your wife died in a car accident three months ago on her way home from dinner. She was driving with-“
Allen retrieved the stress ball that was sitting on the coffee table between them and proceeded to squeeze it as if he was trying to force the beads out, as well as the veins out of his very hand and wrist. He cut her off finishing the story of his demise, “Troy Stevenson, her co-worker at the law firm she’s been going on these dinners with for the three months prior to her accident.” He let out a large exhale that was interrupted with a painful moan as he forced himself to continue, “I feel hurt, pissed off and betrayed. I feel vengeful, helpless and exhausted.”
“Can I ask how you found out about this?” Mary asked.
Allen let out a sigh, why was she asking me this? He thought. He kept silent.
“Allen” Mary said.
“A few days after her death; I was given her cell phone. There were text messages of their last few conversations…”
“Allen,” Mary paused, and continued. “My goal isn’t to hurt you when I bring up these painful details. My goal is to allow you to face these demons. In order for you to look past these painful memories, you must stare them in the eye and understand them.”

SECTION 2

The proceeding four sessions that had gone by was making little progress. Allen’s bitterness soaked out of him like a wet sponge. There was no hiding it, and he lost all ability to try. He couldn’t tell if it was the exhausted sympathy from his co-workers or the constant discussion about his open wounds with Dr. Stanford that kept this feeling lingering, all he knew was that he wasn’t getting past it. Although he had little confidence in these sessions actually making an impact, he also knew there was a reason why he allowed himself to go back every week. Maybe it was curiosity. At this point, that was all that would get him up in the morning and pushing forward.
“How are you feeling? Have you gotten a chance to speak one on one with her family?” Mary asked, already knowing he answers.
Allen looked at her.
She continued, “We’ve been touching on what she has done to hurt you and how that makes you feel. I want to remind you that what you are feeling is to be expected, and you should not be ashamed for being angry. However, I’m more concerned that anger is all you’re focusing on.”
“How else am I supposed to feel?” Allen questioned sternly.
“I would like to back track a little, if that’s ok. From my point of few, you paint her out to be this horrible person. However, you fell in love with this woman. I would like to know why you fell in love with her in the first place. What type of person was she? I can’t imagine you fell for her horrible qualities,” Mary asked.
Allen let out a large quivering sigh, “I don’t know if I can dig that up just yet.”
“I feel your anger is clouding your emotions. My point here is; the woman you love is gone and you have to know it is ok to feel hurt and mostly importantly, miss her. You must separate what has really happened, here. There are two major events that took place; she was unfaithful, AND she passed away.”
Allen nodded his head. “Ok…”

It bothered him that she had a good point. It bothered him even more that it took him four months after her death to entertain this new perspective. He immediately felt a wave of guilt come over him. Tears began to form in his eyes and just a moment later he shook them off and looked at Mary. He shifted in his seat and stared out the window.

SECTION 3

It is now five-o-clock. Allen sat at his dinner table poking at his over baked chicken breast with mashed potatoes and soggy green beans. He took a sip of his water and stared at the photo of his deceased wife he positioned at the other end of the table, as he’s done every night since her death. He stared at her photo allowing his emotions to switch at the drop of a hat; love, to anger, to hate to agony. Just as he’s done for the past four months, he began reliving the past in front of him as well. Their dinners and conversations they used to have at this very table began to play in front of him as if he were watching an old film; a film that played out their past 5 years together.

______

There she was in form. Her beautiful dark red hair, freckled face, delicate hands and fingernails she never painted. She sat there with her hair tied back, allowing a few strands escape the rubber band she tied so loosely. She was a wonderful wife and would have been an even greater mother. She cared for him deeply and always showed it each moment they were together. Sometimes he thought he didn’t deserve her. What had he done so well in this life time to have her as his own? She would always look up at him with the sweetest of smiles before she spoke. This made him ecstatic with love.

“So I was thinking, this weekend we can see my parents. They’re throwing a house warming party for their new home and I know how much you love my mother’s deviled egg.” She joked.
“They’re alright,” He replied playfully.
“Just alright… Tell that to your bowels last 4th of July. I don’t know why you insist on stuffing your face with so much dairy. You’re going to kill yourself someday.” She laughed.
He laughed even harder, “Is this really a conversation for dinner? Be a lady!”
She then flung a spoon full of her mashed potatoes at him with a devilish stare.
“Come on!” He could hear her laughing, which riled him up.
“I’m sorry honey; I know how hard you worked to cook this wonderful meal for me.” She poked fun.
He sighed with a chuckle, “The beans are soggy aren’t they?”
“Just a little,” She giggled. This giggle was abruptly silenced by a pile of them hitting her face.
They both stood up, food in hand, prepared for war.
“Your move, or mine?” He asked, smugly.
She darted out of the kitchen with a faint scream, only to be quickly followed by Allen.

______

SECTION 4

The next morning seemed to come slower than the last. Every night it was a battle to fall asleep and every morning it was a battle to face a new day. His alarm had gone off just minutes prior but he was awake for hours. Finally, he got out of bed and fixed his side. He never touched hers; the sheets were finely pressed and made up just as she left it months ago. His body had become so used to her body being there that he slept motionless each and every night.

He entered their bathroom groggy and weak from sleep deprivation. Rubbing his eyes and exhaling a lion like yawn he opened his eyes and focused on her toothbrush and make up stains on the counter. I’ll have to clean that tonight, he thought to himself as he turned the faucet on and began to wash his face off. Every morning he reprised the same laundry list of duties in his head; Clean- up her makeup stains, bag up her clothing, and for goodness sakes Allen, sleep like a starfish tonight! None of this happened.

As he proceeded to the kitchen he heard the phone ring. He ignored it as he pulled out the ingredients to construct his overly strong cup of Joe. He’s gotten so used to the sound of the telephone that the constant ringing hardly fazed him.
The answering machine beeped once and the voicemail began, it was her voice. “We can’t make it to the phone right now, please leave a message an--” Allen’s hand landed on every button he could to get her to stop. He had accidently hit speaker and his father’s voice began.

“Hello… Allen, are you there?”
Allen gritted his teeth, “H-hi Dad, now is a bad time. I’m just about to leave for work.”
“Hi Son, Can you take me off speaker? It’s too echoy I can’t hear a damn thing you’re saying.”
“Sure dad,” Allen picked up the receiver.
“That’s much better, how are you holding up? How are the sessions?”
“They’re fine. Maybe they could be better… I’m sorry dad; I’m not exactly sure how to answer that,” Allen proceeded to make his coffee.

He knew his dad meant well and genially wanted to know how he was dealing. After all, this was the time he needed people the most. Unfortunately, the overabundance of “how are you’s,” and “I’m sorry for your losse’s,” makes him want to jump out the window.

His father continued, “That’s ok, I understand. Just as long as you’re still willing to try; this will be of great help to you in the long run. No one can go through this stuff alone.”

But that’s all Allen wanted.

His father continued, “Listen, I’m not going to press this issue much further but I got a call from the Brooks. You still haven’t answered their invitation. Despite all that went down, I think it’s important for you to show. They all still love you…”

Allen stared at the invitation that was plastered on his fridge with a handful of magnates. It was an invitation to the birthday memorial of his late wife. There were no balloons on the cover, any glitter or illustrations of presents; just an infant angel on his knees praying silently with details of when and where.

Allen scrambled for an explanation of his silence, “You know what, I think- I don’t think I ever got it. It must have gotten lost in the mail.”
His father sighed knowing this wasn’t the case, “What’s it going to be son?”
“I’ll call them today.”

SECTION 5

Approaching those steps again brought back a wave of emotion for Allen. The last time he was at her parent’s house was the day of her funeral; the day of their funeral.

___________

On that day, the house was silent. Family members and friends sat almost motionless eating the little food they allowed on their plates, only letting whispers to escape their lips. Not long before this very day, Allen had only just heard of his late wife's deceitfulness. The family and friends they've shared for years were walking on eggshells around him. This only encouraged his isolation. His face was long and eyes were tired, human expression was non-existent at this point. His breath smelled of alcohol; he snuck sips of whiskey out of his flask during his bathroom breaks and he was in no mood for conversation.

Allen walked over to the buffet table which was filled with her favorite snacks and baked goods. Anywhere from wheat thins to chicken pot pie was on the table, and of course deviled eggs. Allen immediately grabbed a plate and started piling up the deviled eggs. As family members and friends passed by, they lightly touched his shoulder to show silent sympathy for what he must be going through. Word spread like wild fire amongst her family and he knew exactly what those whispers he frequently heard were about. The brave ones who came to speak to him were only greeted with blanks stares from his cold face.

"Allen, I'm sorry to hear about your loss. This is a shock for all of us; she was truly remarkable."

Allen shifted only his eyes to look at her co-worker that stood there with her coffee in one hand and a sympathetic look on her face. He stuck two deviled eggs in his mouth and began to speak purposely muffling what he was saying.
"Thank you, you're very kind. Thank you for sitting there, in your smug lawyer office for the past 7 months and lying to me about what was going on behind my back. You're truly remarkable." Allen took one large swallow and grunted to clear his throat as he walked away.

As the bathroom breaks progressed throughout the evening, so did his sarcasm. In his mind, everyone was in on it. They were her partners in crime, and he was the fool they laughed about behind his back.

Allen was standing by the fireplace rubbing his stomach as it ached from the deviled eggs. He let out a large burp which turned a few heads.

"What? I'm sorry am I disturbing you?" He looked around the room speaking loudly.
His father walked up to him, "I think you need to sit down, pour yourself some coffee and sober up. This is your wife's funeral Allen."
"I'm fine. I think I'm doing ok for a man in my position. I mingled, talked to her family, smiled and conversed with her friends--" He paused and chuckled. "You know they knew right? The whole time, they knew what was going on behind my back," Allen began breathing heavily and loosened collar and tie.
"They didn't know Allen. Sit down and relax, you're making your mother anxious"
"They knew!" He said loudly, looking around the room people began to quiet down to watch this scene.
"This is in your head Allen. You're drunk and you are pointing fingers at innocent bi-standers. Do you honestly think she would be boasting about her infidelities to her friends and family?"

Allen could feel his emotions surge through his body. His eyes began to swell with tears. He let one escape but immediately chased it away with the brush of his hand. He pulled his flask out of his pocket and threw his head back letting the bitterness code his throat. He extended it out to his father.
"No, Allen. I'm ok"
"Take some, please." He grabbed his father's wrist that was holding his beverage and kept it steady as he poured some in his father's cup.
"Allen!"

Allen ignored his father, sealed his flask closed and let it drop on the floor. He waited until everyone looked over at the commotion and began stumbling towards the middle of the room.

"I would like to toast to my late wife. She was... my life." Allen was lost in thought for a moment. Every time an inch of hatred for her crept up, it was almost always chased away with an honest love and emotion. These conflicting feelings often destroyed him.
He continued as he stumbled a bit, "She destroyed my life."

Here comes the storm everyone was expecting. You could hear her parents sigh, and her sister Chelsea dropped her head. His father began to grab his shoulder, but Allen jerked it forward to release himself from his father's grasp. While doing so he stumbled forward, but caught himself.

He continued, "How can I sit here and pretend everything is ok? How could all of you stand here and pat my shoulder telling me it’s going to be ok? All of you should be ashamed of yourselves!" He felt the tears emerging from his eyes. As much as he tried to fight it, there was no turning back at this point.
"Allen, please." His father tried one last attempt to shut him up.
"No dad please let me finish." He turned his head slightly over his shoulder. His father could see the tears streaming down his cheek.
Allen continued pointing at her close friends and colleagues, "She had an affair and you knew about it. You smiled at me every day you saw me at the office and pretended you didn't know. Troy was at the picnics, he saw her at work every day, and they worked late at least 2 nights a week. How can you live with yourselves carrying a secret like that? Do I not deserve a chance to know?! Look at me! Look at the man I am today! Congratulations; you, her and that bastard gutted me!" He pounded his fist to his chest and bent over to let the rest of the tears flow out of him, in hopes the pain would lesson.

His father grabbed his shoulders and led him to the nearest seat. He let his son lean against him. This mother immediately came to his aid.

His father leaned down and spoke, "We're going to get you someone to talk to, ok?"
Allen nodded his head while cradling it with his hands.
___________



SECTION 6

This time around, things were a bit different. He approached those same steps sober and he was greeted with her parent's open arms. They had spent the afternoon eating cake and sharing funny stories about their experiences with her, with a small group of family and close friends. Although Allen kept mostly quiet during their speeches, he couldn't help but start to think about his own.

SECTION 7

A new Monday has arrived, and a new session was about to begin with Dr. Stanford. After a handful of these sessions, he is finding it easier to separate the two events like Mary suggested. The memorial was the first time in a while he was in a situation that focused on the memories of her and him, minus Troy. That day, his father and her parents caught slight smiles out of his face they hadn't seen in a long while.

Allen was motioned into Mary's office. He sat down in his usual spot and stared at the floor.
"Hello Allen, how was your weekend?" Mary asked.
"It was her birthday," He simply replied.
"Did you do anything in honor of her?"
"Her parents hosted a memorial for her. We sat around their living room eating cake and sharing memories."
"That’s great Allen! This is wonderful to here, how was that experience for you?"
Allen rubbed the side of his face with his hand. He let out a sigh and peeked out the window and back at Mary. "Easier."

Mary smiled politely as she took a sip out of her water. She watched as he fidgeted in his seat.
“You seem very unsettled,” She commented.

These are the few moments in their sessions together that Allen opened up in a small way. He can admit it has gotten easier for him as time progressed. Although he was still stubborn, he has been entertaining the notion of taking Mary’s advice, most of the time.

“I don’t know how to forgive her,” He simply said.
“Do you want to forgive her?”
Allen let out a faint smile. It seemed this was the question that was haunting him the past several months and this was the first time he heard it questioned out loud, let alone expected to answer. “Yes.”
“Great. In your own point of view, why do you believe she did it?” Mary asked.
“That coward must have seduced her. She obviously wanted to get back at me for some reason…”
Mary shook her head, “I don’t believe this has anything to do with Troy.”
“Then this has to do with her simply wanting me to get hurt?” Allen asked in disbelief.
“No, you don’t understand. This isn’t a scheme or game they cooked up to hurt you, Allen. Typically in these cases, spouses don’t cheat on a whim. There is usually a trigger or something in their marriage that leads them to such drastic measures. I don’t believe she did this to hurt you; in fact, I can honestly bet she wasn’t thinking about you much at all.”
Allen chuckled in agreement.
“Most of the time it’s for attention, Allen.” Mary hinted.
“Two men wasn’t enough attention?” He sneered.
“Could there be a possibility the attention she was seeking was only coming from one?” Mary questioned, praying he would get the point.
“Me?” Allen asked.
“I have a feeling that if it was you, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” Mary studied his facial expression. It looked as though a new revaluation was hitting his brain waves at this very moment.

SECTION 8

Hours later, Allen found himself riffling through her old things. He was searching for any indication that their marriage was failing. Diaries, letters, or confession tapes, anything that will give him an answer. He began to find the love letters she used to write. She had sent letters to his office sporadically telling him how lucky she was and how much she loved him. This phase only lasted a month; and adopted right after she watched “The Notebook.” As he read through the letter’s he realized he never once replied. He never once acknowledged those letters later in the day at dinner.

He immediately set them aside and started sifting through old photos she took of the two. He remembered how much she was constantly snapping photos, no matter the event or situation.

Here’s one of them in their own living room, at the mall, her parent’s house, and back balcony. Every photo showed her smiling at the camera. He could remember how she held on to him; she grasped his side, back and upper thigh during every photo as if she was holding onto something that was slipping away from her. In each photo he sat there lucky to get a glimpse of his teeth. He remembered fighting her on taking photos and being in them. It was like pulling teeth for her, but she persisted and eventually got what she wanted.

He set the photos down and walked into the living room. He stared at the couch where he spent most of his nights after work glued to CNN and not her. She spent most of those nights upstairs talking to her sister. He remembers going to bed and finding her already sound asleep with her make up smudges on the pillow.

Mary was right; as his memories of him and his wife were surfacing he was starting to realize what she meant. “In order for you to look past these painful memories, you must stare them in the eye and understand them.”

Today was the first time he went through her items and stared them in the eye. It was the first time he realized this has nothing to do with Troy Stevenson, or her friends not telling him what was going on. SHE was telling him the whole time. The smudges on the counter were tears; the smudges on the pillow were her cry for attention.

Allen slowly walked into the kitchen and picked up the photo of her sitting on the kitchen table. And in moments he was taken back to that very night again, after their food war.

_______

They ended up plopped on the couch; food stains on their clothing and cheeks. Allen let out a large exhale and reached for the remote. She stopped his hand and pulled it back to her giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

Allen smiled, sat up and grabbed the remote, another time. “Who’s going to take care of this mess, then?”
She sat up and rolled her eyes “You wouldn’t realize a romantic moment if it hit you square in the head.”
Allen laughed it off, as he assumed most of her serious statements were sarcasm.
She stared at him and looked at the TV that was already on, “Let’s see a movie, there’s a cute tiny theater on North right near that therapists office.”
Allen chuckled, “Doesn’t that theatre play, solely, European films?”
“Yes, but they are actually pretty entertaining” She replied, hopeful. Although, every even seemed to end like this.
“Do you want me to end up in that therapist’s office some day?” He joked.
She sighed and got up slowly, not finding that very funny, “I’ll be upstairs talking to my sister.”
With his eyes still on the TV he replied, “Again?”

It was unfortunate he couldn’t see the look she had given him that night. It looked as though she was holding back the moisture that was building up in her eyes.

“Yea, you can clean up” She flung a piece of dry food at him she found on her shirt and proceeded to ascend the stairway.
That night, he found her on the bed fast asleep; phone in her left hand, makeup smudges on the pillow.

______

SECTION 9

In the process of healing, he needed to understand her. He knew she had to talk to the only person she cried to. This is what he has been trying to avoid for so long, but he knew this had to come up sooner or later. He supposed if this were A.A; this would have been the 12th step.

The last time Allen spoke to her sister was the day of the funeral. Between then, it has been simple hellos and acknowledgements. Because his wife spoke to Chelsea so much, he felt she was the one who knew the most about her affair with Troy. He felt awkward and betrayed for a very long time considering that they too, were very close.

He pulled up to her driveway and stepped out of the car. She was already outside, arms folded and sitting on her front steps. He walked up to her and handed her a pile of photos he pulled from the stack he found that had the two of them in it.
“Something tells me you didn’t come all the way over here just to give me these?” She asked as she grabbed the photos from his hands.
“Can I come in?” he asked.

As they opened the front door she let her two German shepherds outside. They recognized Allen right away and whimpered franticly, jumping up to lick his arms and face. Allen greeted them almost the same way. He guided them outside and shut the door behind him following Chelsea into the kitchen.

“They’ve missed you,” She stated as she took a seat at the kitchen table.
Allen smiled slightly and sat down
Chelsea looked at him, waiting for him to start.
“How have you been?” He asked.
“I’ve been ok, Allen. How are you holding up? It’s been a long time since we’ve all gotten to speak with you. I heard you’re seeing a therapist.”
“Yea…” Allen didn’t make eye contact with her. He was still embarrassed about that realization.
“I was hoping you would have come seen me sooner. I’m sure you have a lot of questions abou--“
Allen interrupted her, unable to bottle his thoughts for one more minute, “How long was it going on, Chelsea?”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come to you sooner, she asked me not to say anything. She wanted to tell you so bad, you have to trust me.”
“How long was this going on?” Allen repeated the question.
Chelsea looked at the floor, “Three months. They spent time together but they were never intimate with each other. They kissed once and on the night of the accident she was on her way home after telling him she loved you. She realized kissing him was a mistake and stopped the relationship before anything else could progress.”
“You’re telling me a kiss isn’t intimate?”
“She wasn’t seeking out a different relationship. She was seeking a companion…” She paused and looked up at Allen. His eyes were already turning red as he was clearly picturing all of this happening.
She continued, “Troy listened to her and took her out occasionally, but never to his place.”
“It’s hard to believe they had only shared a kiss after three months of this song and dance,” Allen made perfect eye contact with Chelsea.
“What she did was wrong. She developed a type of relationship with him; she opened up to him and confided in him. I told her every chance I got to stop allowing this type of interaction to go on but, it did. I guess she thought since it wasn’t intimate, she wasn’t doing anything wrong?”
Allen’s tears began to form, “She confided in him…”
For Allen, this was the hardest to take in. How could his wife run to another man for comfort? He thought. He confirmed, at this point, that his neglectful actions drove her away.
Chelsea noticed Allen deep in thought. She got up and grabbed a glass of water for him and a portion of paper towel. He didn’t touch either.
Chelsea continued, “Look, I spoke to her almost every night. This wasn’t something she decided to get herself into one night. I remember her telling me you’ve changed. Maybe you didn’t feel the need to show her you love her, or take her places. She desperately tried to show you how she was feeling, but it was like you weren’t taking her seriously. I imagine after a while she gave up trying…
“Because I gave up trying…” He replied almost in a whisper.
“That’s how she felt.” She replied.
Allen’s breathing began to heavy as he closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly.
“I’m so sorry” She stated.
“Was I a bad husband?” He looked up at her tears streaming down his face.
Chelsea was taken aback by this question and Allen could see she was struggling with the answer.
He continued, “I sat here for months hating my dead wife!” He pounded his fist on the table in guilt.
“How would you have known? You were handed a heavy card all at once; sometimes that much stress can cloud a person’s mind.” She reassured him.

At this point his face was begun to shatter with pain. The amount of guilt he felt for feeling this way towards his wife was indescribable.

Chelsea finished, “She loved you. The things she would tell me about you would put any romance novel to shame. You both made a mistake that you can’t go back and fix. So now, start to remember why the both of you fell in love in the first place. I promise you this fling she had was nothing more than a bump in the road in your relationship, it didn’t define it.”

He knew she was right; just as Mary, and his memories showed him, Chelsea was right.


SECTION 10

“How was your weekend?” Mary started off the session with a bit of small talk as she sat down to begin their session.

Allen didn’t answer. Instead, he plopped down a small box with his wife’s favorite items in them. He handed her a cluster of photos of the two of them and took a large breath and began to speak.

“That’s Monica and I after our 1 year anniversary dinner. We took a stroll across the park where we first met. She took a photo of every candid moment she could catch of the two of us,” He laughed a bit. “The next one is us at the Zoo where we spent the entire day staring at the monkey’s adding commentary to their actions. She was always great with coming up with things on a whim. Most of the people around us were laughing at the types of comments she came up with and she loved it. In fact, she always loved pleasing other people and I adored that quality. The next one is one I took of her after snatching the camera away to stop her excessive photo taking. I’ve had that photo on my kitchen table every night since her death... I like it because it was so extremely candid and quick that she didn’t realize I was taking it and the way it turned out was breathtaking. Monica was breathtaking; she commanded a room without even speaking. I love her and I always have.”

Mary looked at Allen and smiled, “Now we’re making progress”