Roe admires group therapy. He even appreciated group therapy, during his own brief stint in it in adolescence. And yet, he was never very good at therapy.
“You’ve enjoyed the group so far?” Roe had nodded. Enjoy seems to be the wrong word for a teen grief group, but he hasn’t minded coming.
“You’ve been quiet, but I appreciate how attentive you’ve been in listening to your peers.” And there it is. This is what Roe assumed this meeting was about, trying to get him to speak up more. “Still, I think it’s been good for you to get to watch the others share their journey as they start to heal.” It’s not a question, but Roe finds himself nodding anyway; slower this time, more apprehensive in light of the facilitator’s assessment.
Silence drifts between them for a beat and then, “When are you going to give yourself permission to do the same?”
Roe hadn’t known how to respond back then. Now, nearly two decades later, another sibling dead and buried, he feels farther away from an answer than he ever was.
It takes a few minutes for Roe to realize he’s not the only altering longing glances between the clock and the door. The ins and outs of his profession involve finding out what’s wrong with someone and trying to fix it, and though emotional pain is not his area of expertise, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t pick up on it. One woman in particular catches his attention by the mere fact she doesn’t say a word, her silence speaking volumes.
As the group is dismissed most of the members hang back, chatting amongst themselves, but the woman doesn’t waste a moment before heading to leave. Roe has no room to judge, being only a step behind. She’s clearly not eager to stick around, and Roe doesn’t particularly want to either, but there’s something vaguely familiar about her that has him attempting to draw her into conversation, “First session?”
@nicpclltier
