Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

Confronting

The therapy room felt like a warm cocoon against the chill of the Swiss winter outside. Soft light spilled from the lamps, casting a gentle glow on the room's calming neutral tones. Shelves lined with books and a few small, serene paintings gave the space an air of quiet reflection. The scent of lavender drifted faintly through the air, soothing my nerves as I settled into the familiar leather chair.

Dr. Weiss sat across from me, her presence a constant source of comfort. Her kind eyes, framed by soft, graying hair, held a quiet understanding that had always made this space feel safe. She waited, her expression open and patient, as I found the words to begin.

I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of the memories pressing down on me. "It's the funeral," I began, my voice thick with emotion. "The Triplets' funeral. It's been... on my mind."

Dr. Weiss nodded, her gaze never wavering. "That was a profound loss for you, Thomas. I can see how that memory would be difficult to carry. Why don't you start from the beginning? Let's walk through it together."

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the memory rise to the surface. "It was bitterly cold that day," I said, my voice soft but steady. "The kind of cold that cuts through everything, makes the air feel sharp. The sky was a dull gray, almost as if the world itself was in mourning with us."

Dr. Weiss remained silent, her attention fully on me, encouraging me to continue.

"I was outside the chapel, waiting to carry Richard's coffin. There were six of us in total, and I remember feeling the weight—not just of the coffin, but of everything. The Union Jack Flag was draped over it, and I couldn't stop thinking about how final it all felt. How wrong it felt."

I swallowed hard, the emotion of the memory gripping my throat. "Katie and Charlie were there too, each of us carrying one of the Triplets. We were all there, bound together by more than just duty. There was this overwhelming sense of responsibility, of guilt... that we had made it back when they hadn't."

My voice faltered, and I felt my hands trembling slightly. Dr. Weiss leaned forward, her voice soft but strong. "That guilt is something many survivors carry, Thomas. It's a heavy burden, but it's not one you have to carry alone. You did everything you could."

I nodded, though the guilt still gnawed at me. "The service itself... it's mostly a blur now. The Vicar's words, the bugle playing 'The Last Post,' the cold that seemed to seep into my very bones. I was there, but I wasn't really *there*. It was like I was moving through it all on autopilot."

I paused, the memory of that day still sharp, still painful. "But I remember their family. After the service, they came up to me, and they thanked me for bringing their boys home."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I struggled to keep my voice steady. "I didn't know what to say. How do you thank someone for that? How do you stand there, alive, and accept their thanks when their sons are gone? It didn't feel right... it didn't feel fair."

Dr. Weiss's eyes softened, her expression full of empathy. "Thomas, you did what you could in an unimaginable situation. The fact that their family thanked you shows that they recognized your efforts, your bravery. But I understand why it feels like it's not enough. Survivor's guilt can make it feel like nothing is ever enough."

I wiped at my eyes, the tears now falling freely. "It's just... I keep replaying it over and over. Wondering if there was something more I could have done. Something that could have saved them."

Dr. Weiss leaned back slightly, her voice gentle but firm. "It's natural to wonder, to second-guess. But it's important to remember that you were in an incredibly difficult situation. You made choices under extreme pressure, and you did what you could to survive. That's all anyone can ask."

The room was quiet for a long moment, the weight of her words settling over me. "I want to believe that," I whispered. "But it's so hard. It feels like this weight will never lift."

Dr. Weiss reached out, her hand resting lightly on the table between us, a gesture of support. "Healing is a process, Thomas. It's not about forgetting or erasing the past, but about finding a way to live with it. The Triplets wouldn't want you to be crushed by this guilt. They'd want you to live, to find peace."

Her words were a lifeline, something solid to hold onto in the midst of the emotional storm. "I'm trying," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I really am."

"And that's all you can do," Dr. Weiss said softly. "You're here, facing these memories, and that takes incredible strength. You don't have to do this alone. I'm here with you, and so are the people who care about you."

The session continued, with Dr. Weiss guiding me through the painful memories, helping me to understand that while the grief and guilt might never fully disappear, they didn't have to define me. There were moments when the weight of it all felt unbearable, but Dr. Weiss's steady presence helped keep me grounded, helping me see that there was a way forward.