Embracing the Spirit

S-l-o-w-l-y over time Sue began to heal. I recognized the small yet significant signs with gratitude and relief for both of us. I grew increasingly more certain that once again Sue would experience at least some small pleasures in life. Finally, the gifts of living would reconnect her to the delicate guide ropes that hold us all in some way. Then one morning on a Saturday, a call came. It was Sue, although I hardly recognized her. She had taken an overdose of Prozac and, to her disappointment, had survived the night. First of all, the fact that she had made an attempt on her life stunned and terrified me. Sue had remained determined that she would never, ever attempt suicide. While she had wished for death, she was clear that she would not risk the possibility that if she took her own life, the consequences might be that she may never have an opportunity to be with her daughter again. She had also vowed that she would not be the cause of further devastation to her remaining son and family. What could possibly have happened to push her to this desperate act after all she had suffered? Her explanation triggered the greatest sense of inadequacy I had yet felt in working with her.

She had recently moved out of the home she had shared with her children in an attempt to begin a new life. In the process of unpacking, she discovered that a family member had thrown out the pictures of her deceased daughter during the move. They had been placed in a box that had evidently been mistaken for trash and taken to the dump. Her remaining physical link to her child had been taken without warning, just as her child had been. She was sobbing as she spoke again and again of two items in particular; a picture that had been taken of her daughter when she was two years old; and some dried flowers that had been significant (I cannot remember why now). This final loss had been too great for her to bear. I was supposed to have already left to pick up my daughter in Bangor. There was no way to contact my parents, who had already begun the three- hour drive to deliver her to our designated meeting place, to warn them of my delay. I felt trapped and helpless. We discussed the possibility of Sue going to the dump in order to attempt to recover them. She informed me that this was useless, as she was certain they had already been buried in the land fill since they had been thrown there days ago. Her pain and fury were overwhelming to her and to me. She was furious with the family member, herself, the world, and God. I couldn't blame her. When we ended our conversation, it was understood that she would not make another attempt to harm herself, and that she would call me over the weekend if she needed to talk to me before our appointment on Monday. We both hung up feeling miserable. I thought about her throughout the weekend and wondered how she was managing. Once again I was struck by my powerlessness to do little more than stand by her (for slightly over 50 minutes a week). The irony was not lost on me.

I braced myself for our next meeting. She greeted me in the waiting room with a sense of calm that I had never before witnessed in her. She smiled at me. I asked her what had happened over the weekend, as she was clearly in a different place than she had been when I last spoke with her. She informed me that later on Saturday an aunt had stopped by and convinced her to go to the dump to inquire about the pictures. She went and spoke with the dump manager explaining her situation and asking for assistance. The manager was polite but appeared relatively disinterested. He frankly informed her that it was highly unlikely that the pictures would be recovered. She requested that he please keep an eye out for them, and he agreed to do so. Sue left the dump once again feeling heavy-hearted.

The next day she was lying on her couch when she heard the motor of a car. Ordinarily, she would have ignored this as there were cars often pulling into the convenience store parking lot next door. Instead, she got up and walked to her door. Standing before her was a man dressed in white whom she'd never seen before. He handed her a box and told her that he understood that she had been searching for its contents. She opened the box, and directly on top two items immediately caught her eye. One was the picture of her daughter when she was two years old, and the other was the dried flowers. Both were perfectly preserved, as were all of the other mementos in the box. Sue was stunned! When she was finally able to speak, she offered to reward him. He informed her that her happiness was reward enough and he left. Sue contacted the dump later and was told that the manager had no idea as to the identity of this man and had not spoken to him or seen him. No one else whom she asked in her small town knew who he was either. His identity and how he came in possession of Barbara's keepsakes, as well as how he knew how to find her, remains a mystery. No reward had been publicly offered. Few people, with the exception of a limited number of family members and friends, the overseer at the dump, and me, were even aware of her loss. What is not a mystery is the impact of this strange encounter. Sue, an extremely practical and level headed woman, was convinced that this had been some kind of divine intervention and has experienced immense comfort from this knowledge since then.

On another occasion, my partner, Kathy Amsden, was working with a young girl whose father had died. The young girl was extremely depressed and had remained unreachable for some time. Kathy was greatly concerned about her. She was also frustrated that her attempts to assist this wounded child were beginning to feel increasingly more futile. We considered possible alternative interventions, and Kathy decided to have her young client write a letter to her father.

Several days following our consultation regarding Kathy's young client, I was in my office working with Andy. Andy had been referred to me by the Department of Human Services for abusing his six -year- old daughter. Andy was extremely indignant, adamant that he had not been abusive, and resentful for being forced to come see me. On many occasions our encounters led to me firmly confronting him, with Andy defending himself more and more furiously. Even my gentlest of suggestions were often rejected by him or in the very least, met with distrust. Needless to say, our visits were very unpleasant for both of us. On this particular day, after a heated discussion, we somehow shifted gears and started to simply converse. He began sharing his frustrations and dreams with me.