This woman was definitely some sort of enigma. She measured out her responses like they were precious metals and seemed far more interested in picking his brain than letting him help. Which was something of an issue. She said his practice was a good fit, but her actions said otherwise.
He learned forward in his chair, hands laced together between his knees.
“Ms. Lewis,” he said. “What exactly is your end goal? What do you want these sessions to accomplish? The forms your filled out said you needed help working through grief, but as far as I can tell you don’t seem interested in solving the problem. Please, tell me what you’re looking for and we can work something out.”
“Do most have an idea exactly what they want when they come to therapy?” It wasn’t so much of a deflection, but there was a part of her that was curious to the answer. She knew she couldn’t do this for much longer without actually let him do his job. It wasn’t like she could just tell him that she wanted these appointments just so she could look at his face and remember the happier days. She couldn’t just tell him that she was hoping that the more time she spent around him, she hoped that it would trigger some memory of her for him.
With another long deep breath, she tried to think of what she was going to do. She could get up and walk out and never come back, but she was just far too stubborn in her love to let him go. So with a deep breath, she let her eyes slip closed once more.
“My friends...they are all dead. I spent the weekend talking to gravestones.” she said simply figuring she could let him try to work through her grief of being all alone as a trade in order to spend more time with him.
