Aubrey (Axis Rising)

004:

*****004:

The grief counselors at ABCSC, my mother's adoption agency/ alternate birthing center in Huntington Beach, California were all very competent. And the kids and I were well-known there. We met with them at least twice a week. I allowed Aidan and Keeva to accompany us, Keeva driving. This gave Abbie some time to herself to get some errands done.

Florence George met us at the door to the psych wing of ABC. Her short, short hair was dyed red and tan and gold and gray, and styled very hip cute. She smelled heavenly of some kind of vanilla scent that didn't nauseate me. And she had a fun play room for the kids, while we all visited.

The routine was well known. She greeted us, and the kids went and got the memory scrapbooks I'd started for them. These had pictures of their biological families and now that we'd been coming for about two months and at least sixteen visits, the pages contained pictures of us as a family. There was a little card table set up in one corner, and the kids gravitated to it to work on their books. Coloring, stickers, all kinds of stuff. Florence's assistant, Kerrie Rye, a youngish college gal with bright blonde hair and a perfect teeth smile started helping them, encouraging them.

"How's it going today?" Florence asked me, sitting not behind a desk, but in a little couch setting with decorative pillows that she pulled over on top of herself, to clasp her tanned arms around. I joined her on the opposite end of the same couch so I could see the kids. Another assistant came in and quietly started helping Rein, I knew her name was Abigail.

I watched as Abigail hugged Rein and he smiled up at her, perfectly at home with the conditions of our visit now, although when we'd first started, since this building had been the initial site of his and Virgil's rough adoption—he'd protested coming here.

I breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn't about to have a meltdown, and turned to Florence. My smile was genuine. "Great."

She knew by now that my early conversation didn't really reveal much of anything going on inside. It would take some chit chat and this she did easily. Asking me simple questions about our daily routine, the kids sleeping and eating habits and if there had been any major deviations, crying fits, or anything unusual.

Then she dug in. "How did the concert go? Did Rafe and the guys do okay?"

"They didn't report any unusual feelings. I wanted to go with them, but as you can see, I'm not always up to it." I looked and felt huge today.

"Have you spoken to Chris?"

Rafe's sister Chris was a huge concern for me. Her mother's death a week and a half ago and subsequent funeral a few days later had sent her reeling into a very angry and dark place. Her depression was formidable and unhinged. I might have expected Rafe to come unglued as well, but he and Lance stuck together like glue, and the guys were all super supportive. Chris didn't have that amazing support system, nor did she share our religious beliefs.

"I haven't, but Lance has. He says she is very angry still, to the point of needing meds. Doug took her to the hospital last week right after the funeral let down, and got her on some anti-depressants. I would reach out, but you know she blames me for her mother's death. She blames me for just about everything wrong in their lives."

"It's possible that blaming you is a deflection of the resentment she still feels at herself for not being able to cope with her mother's mental state following her parents' divorce." Florence shrugged. "Perfectly understandable. We often blame ourselves and then pin it on others."

She pulled out of a file box beside the couch a lovely little bound book she'd given me recently. She handed it over and I smiled, knowing I was being counseled now. I opened to the first page and found there a picture of a baby. It represented the myriad babies who had died last year while I was a practicing neonatologist and multiples specialist. Before I'd met Rafe I was a very successful doctor doing what I felt I loved most--- trying to save baby's lives. But subsequent to meeting him I'd lost more children than I cared to dwell on, which had somewhat prompted my leave of absence from the practice, I was grieving all those things and this picture of a generic baby represented it.