I take a deep breath and look into her eyes. “I like her. I admire and respect her. I consider her a friend. Or, the closest thing I’ll ever have to one.”
Kaitlyn nods slowly, not taking her eyes off me. “Okay, allow me to digress for just a moment there, Brad. You say she’s the closest thing you’ll ever have to a friend. That’s an interesting choice of words… What made you phrase it in that way?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I didn’t think about it, really. I just… said it.”
She looks at me as if she’s sympathetic toward the fact I don’t understand something. “Your mind works on two levels — conscious… and subconscious. More often than we tend to realize, your subconscious makes choices for us based on instinct and, for want of a better phrase, what comes from the heart. You didn’t think about how you phrased it because you didn’t need to. In your mind, whether you’re fully aware of it or not, you know exactly why you phrased it that way. Just take a moment to think about it.”
I raise an eyebrow and laugh. Not in disbelief, but at my own phenomenal lack of comprehension of what she just said. “That’s some deep and meaningful shit…” I take a deep, slow breath. “I guess… I guess I just don’t envisage having much opportunity to make new friends. My job has never really afforded me personal relationships, and…”
“And…?”
I sigh. She picks up on every tiny little thing I say and do. “And… I lost the only friend I ever had, which was completely my fault. I don’t want to replace… I don’t want another one.”
She smiles as if she’s trying to offer me some comfort. “Making new friends doesn’t mean you’re replacing your old ones. It just means you’re moving on with your life. Your past, if nothing else, serves as a reminder of who you are… what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve endured to be where you are, and who you are today. There’s nothing wrong with embracing that.”
I nod. “I know… but I don’t feel ready to embrace it. I’m not sure I deserve to.”
She nods back and makes a quick note on her pad. “Okay, we’ll come back to that. I don’t want to lose our original thread. You say you like Lily, and you mention a level of admiration and respect. Is that all you feel?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me if I’m attracted to her?”
Kaitlyn says nothing, she just makes a small gesture with her hands for me to speak, as if it’s up to me how I interpret her question.
I roll my eyes. “I dunno… I mean, it’s not like she’s unattractive. Any man would find her easy on the eye, y’know? But I don’t think I have any feelings toward her in that way.”
“You’ve mentioned in previous sessions about recently losing a loved one.” She pauses to look at her notes. “Tori?”
I nod, but say nothing.
That conversation took place in my second… no, third session. Pretty hard to explain the story, so I succinctly explained she had been killed in the 4/17 attacks. Easier that way.
“Have you considered the possibility that maybe you’re conflicted inside? That part of you actually wants to move on, whether that’s with Lily, or someone else, but a part of you is trapped in this… cycle of guilt and blame over the loss of Tori.”
I massage my forehead as I feel myself getting defensive. “But I am to blame for Tori’s death! I should’ve been there to protect her. I should’ve…”
Kaitlyn leans forward slightly. “Brad… everyone deals with things differently. Some people feel their lives will never be the same after suffering a loss and it can take years for them to feel normal again. Some people never do. Others, for a whole host of different reasons, find being able to close an entire chapter of their lives much easier. It can be an unhealthy thing, like a very strong denial, where they consciously or subconsciously choose to avoid the problem, or it can be a positive thing — they can be naturally strong enough to see that their own life doesn’t have to stop because someone else’s did.”
I frown. “Don’t you think that’s a little callous? Just cutting someone off and forgetting about them like that?”
She shakes her head. “Like I say, some people will do it out of denial, but others can do it without guilt. People of faith, who believe the person they lost is at peace, use the comfort that belief gives them to continue with their own lives.”
“Yeah, but what about me? I’m to blame for losing Tori. I should’ve been there to protect her. I don’t deserve to enjoy life knowing she can’t because of me.”
Kaitlyn sits back in her chair and adjusts herself. “Brad, let me share something with you. Ever since 4/17, people all over the world, from every walk of life you can think of, have struggled in some way. It was the same with 9/11. It’s not survivor’s guilt, as such. It’s more a sense of… helplessness. Of loss. Of fear. The fact that something so terrible could actually happen, the awareness of the impact it had on all our lives forever… the go-to response is to take it personally. The scope of it is too big to comprehend, so we subconsciously personalize it, make it about ourselves, and by doing so we put that tragedy in terms our minds can understand. But the downside to that is, you’re essentially making it about you. So you feel as if you’re the only one to suffer a loss. You feel afraid. You feel as if you can’t do anything to protect the people you care about. And you feel guilty for ever moving on.”
I’m staring at the floor. I’m listening to every word she’s saying, and it makes a lot of sense. She’s clearly very good at what she does, and that’s why I’m finding it so hard to let her continue. What she’s saying probably applies to ninety-nine percent of people who have sought therapy in the last three months. But I was there. I was there when the button was pushed to kick-start 4/17. I was there when it was pushed to blow up my girlfriend. I was there, and both times I should have done more to stop it happening. But I can’t say that…
I just nod absently. “That makes sense, I guess. But I know that Tori’s dead because of something… because of something I didn’t do and should have. It doesn’t matter what killed her. She could’ve been crossing the street and been hit by a car. The fact is, she was in the position where she was vulnerable and alone because of me, and she died as a result. So I blame myself.”
Kaitlyn goes to respond, but seems to stop herself. I’m smart enough to know that she’s smart enough to know there’s probably more to this than I’m saying, but I think she realizes I’ve said all I’m going to about it for now.
She sits back in her seat. “Okay, Brad. Let’s look at something else. I think maybe the key to helping you deal with your guilt isn’t to address the root cause of it directly.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay…”
“We’ve spoken about Tori in some detail. Not only the circumstances surrounding her death, but also the impact she had on your life. You mentioned previously that you retired a few years ago from a job you’d held for… well, most of your life. It was during this retirement that you met Tori, and she became the face of your new life — she symbolized everything your new life was about. A change of scene, a change of pace… your happiness.”
I shrug and nod. That sounds about right.
She crosses her legs the opposite way and shifts in her seat. “Tell me, what made you retire from your job?”
I stroke the coarse stubble on my chin. “I’d… I’d done my job very well for a long time. I served when I was eighteen, and when I left the Army, I stepped straight into the job and did it, in some capacity, for over twenty years. I felt it was time to stop. To move away from the only thing I knew how to do… from the only thing I was ever any good at… and try to start over.”