The Last Domino

Session 1

"In 20 days, my mum dies in an accident on her way home from work. She finishes work at 4 so chances are I'll be in a lecture or doing homework when it happens. My dad would rush home from work when he's called but he works nearly an hour away, by the time he arrives mum might already be dead or at least very close to death. The hospital would do anything they could to help her but eventually she'll succumb to her injuries and my dad will watch her die and he'd cry. He won't tell my brothers until after she's dead and my gran and grandad can't travel so he and my uncle will likely be the only people there to watch her die.

"She'll be transferred to the morgue temporarily and my dad will come home very late into the night and try to sleep and he'll cry. The next morning he'll tell my brothers and sister what's happened and then call me. He'll be as strong as he can, he'll try his best not to cry in front of us, 'Your mum was involved in an accident, she died last night.' he'd say, 'Are you okay?' he'd say. I'd say I was fine and get off the phone as quickly as I can. I'd inform my tutors that I wouldn't be able to attend lessons for a while and then I'd book a train home for either that day or the day after and start packing. On my way out or when I was found prepping I'd explain to my housemates and my friends what had happened and they'd help me and ask if I was okay. I'd say I was fine and leave as quickly as I can.

"I'd arrive home and when me and my dad were alone I'd tell him to cry and I'd give him a hug if I could muster the courage. Within a couple of weeks, we'd have the funeral, I'd see my uncle's family for the first time in a while, my mum's friends, my half-siblings, my gran, my great gran. At the funeral, I'd hug my brothers and my sister if I could muster the courage. They'd talk about my mum's life and I'd realise how little I knew about her and how much more time I should've spent with her. My dad would talk to everyone, he'd ask them all how they were, he'd support them, he'd hold the coffin and explain what he had planned for the funeral and I'd cry. I'd be silent throughout the entire process until, on my way out, I'd thank her and I'd tell her I love her. Afterwards everyone would gather at the pub and they'd talk about my mum. The drinks wouldn't match my taste and the food would taste bad and I'd be silent throughout the entire process.

"Over the next few days, I'd visit her grave everyday if I could, but eventually I'd have to return to university. My dad would push me to go back and continue learning before I fall behind and he'd continue working towards his next promotion. He'd be hurt for an incredibly long time but after the funeral he wouldn't let it show. He'd start getting home later because he'd visit the grave after work but he wouldn't tell us and, if we ever asked to see her he'd take us without a second thought. A couple of weeks later I'd take a train back to the university but I wouldn't go home. My first night back I'd rent a hotel room away from campus, sit on the bed, turn my phone off and I'd cry and then I'd be fine and I'd stay for as long as I can.

"I'd watch the new season of the show me and my mum watched together alone and I'd continue studying. Every year I'd make sure I was back home for the day she died and I'd visit her grave. I'd tell her about everything that's happened, I'd tell her what I've learnt, the new friends I've made, I'd tell her when I got married and who to and when I had kids and how proud of them I was and how I was trying my best to be as good a father as my own and I'd cry and then I'd be fine and I'd stay for as long as I can. And slowly, over the years, I'd forget little bits about her, I'd have to look at a picture to remember her face, I'd forget the small things she did for me and why I loved her so much but I'd still visit her grave, I'd still cry. And... Then everything would be okay."

We sat in silence for a short while as he watched me. Maybe he was looking for something but I had no way to know so I stared out of the window behind him.

"How often do you think about death?" Apparently the notes he'd been scribbling weren't questions because he changed the topic slightly without diving any deeper.

"A lot."

"Is it just your mother you think about?"

"I think about her a lot but no. I think about my friends, my family, the people I dislike, people I've only just met, myself."

"You think about suicide?"

"No." There was a quick pause, maybe he expected me to elaborate.

"Did you think about death a lot before it happened?"

"I think I thought about it less."

"You don't sound too confident." I shrugged. "Did you think about your friend dying?"

"Maybe."

"Were you right?" His eyes were searching me but I kept focussed on the clouds. It would rain on my way home. I don't have an umbrella.

"No."

"Do you think you're right about your mum? Is that what would happen if she died in 20 days?"

"Yes." I couldn't understand what he was after. He leaned back in his seat slightly and looked at his notes. "Are we done?"

"How do you feel?" I guess not.

"I'm fine."

"How's university?"

"Manageable."

"Your friends?"

"Grieving." He looked at the clock.

"Okay. I'm going to book you in for 10 more sessions over the next 2 months, I'll email you my schedule. Can you get back to me over the weekend with the times you're available?" I nodded.

"Can I ask that you keep a journal of the times you think about death, who, what, when, where, why?" I nodded.

"Is there anything you want to ask me before we wrap up?"

"No."