It’s only been two months since our final appointment when I actually do the math. But it seems like years. Yeah, my therapist was definitely a mother figure. I don’t need a Ph. D. to know that she was taking the place of my mom in all this. I find myself wanting to tell her something that happened to me or how I handled myself in some situation. I tell my wife sometimes but it’s not the same.
But we had our last session at the end of March. It seemed like we ran out of things to talk about, the important things anyway. It felt like we were done. Not done-done. But done with what she could really do for me on a week-to-week basis. The main “why’d this near heart attack thing have to happen to me” stuff was figured out. The crap that came out afterward about dear ol’ dad had been dragged out into the stark light of day and sorted through.
The time before the last time we came to a point in the session where we both kind of looked at each other and thought: “yep, that’s it.” I’m sure she had patients with more important problems, serious ones. Suicidal nymphomaniacs with OCD who cut themselves. Stuff like that. They’d be happy to take Wednesdays at 6. So we scheduled one, last appointment, like an exit interview. I filled out some paperwork and said goodbye.
I didn’t expect to be giddy when I left. Kicking my heels up as I walked off into the sunset. Zippidy Do Da!
“You have a melancholic personality,” she told me. Which is a nice way of saying I’m not the most positive guy. I blame this on my father, too.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Pops used to advise me from across the kitchen table. “’Cause nothin’s gonna be alright…” Then he’d raise his Hamm’s beer can in a toast and take a swig. I think maybe he thought it was funny. I think I thought of them as words of fatherly advice.
It’s not actually my final-final session with her. She wanted a follow-up to see how well all the therapy stuck. So as I was saying buh-bye to her receptionist, we set up one for-real last appointment: in a year! I’m making a list of stuff to tell her.
Ten months and counting!