The Corners Report or I Turned One

After mourning the loss of my still-living former therapist for a day and a half, I was surprised to find that I had begun to experience a rebirth, of sorts.

Saying good-bye to Clay was a horribly sad event for me, resembling a much smaller-scale death than the death of Chris. I left his office that evening, went home, fell apart and remained in pieces on my bedroom floor for a day and a half.

Then something remarkable happened.

I began to feel better -- not just better than I felt since bidding him farewell – better than I have felt in three years. My mood lifted. The sun came out in my overcast sub-cortex. Letting go of Clay was like the “big” letting go, in training. I knew I would still miss seeing and talking with him, but I felt as though I was going to be okay.

Then I found out my insurance still covers his services, and although I called him under the pretense of wanting to gain retro-coverage for that last session for which I am being charged his full, uninsured fee, the truth (as much as I hate to admit it) is that my call served as a means of letting him know that the possibility of my returning for therapy exists, or at least it did when I made the call.

I didn’t know that a simple return phone call from Clay was going to have such a profound effect on my grieving progress. He called and we talked a bit about my returning to him and agreed that he should call me when he returns from vacation.

That was the start of a whole new world for me.

Saying goodbye to Chris was devastating. Saying goodbye to Clay was small-scale devastating, but devastating, no less. Hearing Clay on the other end of the phone, after I had let him go, filled me with joy, celebration, euphoria and nearly brought me to tears. It was so nice to hear his voice and know that he was still around.

I experienced a very powerful epiphany, realizing that for the past three years, the term “good-bye” has meant “death” and “finality” in my life, which is why “breaking up” with Clay was so painful. What I also realized is that most good-byes are not final. Hearing Clay’s voice and walking away with the knowledge that he is still here and I can still talk to him if I need him has armed me with a still greater euphoria than that which I felt after hanging up the phone, last week. I haven’t cried since the occurrence of that phone call. He’s here. He’s not gone, and at the moment, I’m not feeling an urgency to grab hold of him and pull him back into my world.

Death is final. Good bye is a whole other thing.