Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Fifteen

I felt adrift, but there was no rescue ship in sight. The only concrete thing in my life these days was the due date, and even then my life after that point yawned before me in a vast abyss of ambiguity. Not to mention that I had about six months of life to live until then.

Mom, who had been trying since my announcement to be supportive and positive in spite of all my whining and moaning, finally gave in to her take-charge nature. After a full month of my floating around the house with no clear direction, when my friends' awkward visits had finally petered off completely, our talk of weather far outnumbering the changes in temperature, Mom finally suggested that I try out group therapy. Or, to be perfectly accurate, she subtly hinted at the idea, sending me emails about groups in the area and leaving a brochure on my bed that she "found," until she broke down completely and insisted that I try one out, coming close to threatening to take me there herself. The idea of Mom physically forcing me into the car and coming into a group session with me was what finally convinced me—I could actually see her doing that, and I very much wanted to avoid it.

"Maybe you'll make friends!" Mom tried.

"With the other mourners? That will be great fun. We can compare how our loved ones died. Maybe we'll have a competition to see who has the saddest story. Ooh maybe that's what they do there always! I hope I win."

She waited patiently for me to finish. "Whatever gets you out of this house. I swear you're starting to smell like mothballs."

When Dad died she had foisted a therapist on me and I had hated it, dreading every appointment with that musty old man and his stale coffee breath, until I finally just stopped going. She had paid for five more appointments until she found out—the old bastard hadn't even told her, just continued to cash her checks—and she knew better now than to try to put me in one-on-one again. I suppose she thought the group idea would work better, and I suppose in a way she was right, because I eventually caved. Though that probably had more to do with me needing to get out of the house and having nowhere else to escape to.

But I knew as soon as I walked into the fluorescent-lit room that I should have gone for the pathetic solo movie theater trip instead. This group had every feeling of an AA group, from the stench of burnt coffee to the circle of folding chairs in the middle of the basement room. I actually checked the information Mom had texted me to double check that I hadn't just walked in to an Anonymous meeting. Obviously pregnant as I now was, that would be awkward on many levels. But no, this was in fact the Grieving Group, as they so snazzily called themselves. I wondered if joining them meant I was a Grieving Groupie. I wondered if they made T-shirts. I wondered if I was the only person here with such incredibly unbalanced thoughts.

After surveying the pitiful snacking selection, I debated leaving and catching that movie after all. At least there I could treat my insatiable hunger to an enormous tub of buttery popcorn. I honestly moaned a little at that thought, which the person nearest me must have mistaken for a groan of grief (oh the alliterations! We could rename ourselves the Groaning Grieving Group. The Group of Groaning Grievers. The Glumly Grieving Group of Groaner Gang) because she shot me a look of sympathetic understanding before retreating with her plate of cookies. Of course, as soon as I gathered up my bag, set to leave and see whatever movie was playing next, the group leader – Counselor? Therapist?—walked in and everyone scurried to their seats, leaving me no choice but to join them. I chose a seat near the door. A quick escape was always a possibility.

"Good evening, everyone," the group leader began in a soothing voice. I felt my shoulders relax against my will. I was really hoping to hate her. "We're going to start with a quick exercise. I want everyone to go around and say their name and how they feel tonight in one word. Just say the first emotion that comes to mind. There is no wrong answer. Okay?" She looked around at every person in the room, making eye contact with each of us before continuing.