She nodded. “There are. One way is to encourage him to feel whatever losses he might have. Loss is like a wound, and grief can be considered the healing element. The bigger his loss, the longer it might take for him to heal, so expect him to be down for a while.”
I chewed my bottom lip for a minute. “So, he has depression and anxiety. Could heavy grief be dangerous for him?”
“You mean could it make him suicidal?”
Oh, God. “Yes.”
“It might, Ella. There’s really no way to tell. Everyone is different. But yes, I’d say the chance is higher. Does he have a therapist?”
“He does. And he told me that during his lower points, he talks to him every day.”
She nodded. “That’s good. He should stick tight to that. His therapist might adjust the dosage of any medications he may be on too, which might alter his mood in the short term. Does he have anyone with him right now? He probably shouldn’t be alone either.”
“His parents are with him.”
“He might need them to stay for a while,” she said. “With brain injuries, as with diseases like cancer, there can be a lot of collateral loss. Like the financial burden of medical bills, the inability to trust yourself in social situations, or not being able to work or drive. These will be future losses for him, things his doctors will eventually tell him he has to consider, which can cause something called anticipatory grief.”
“Anticipatory grief? I’ve never even heard of that.”
Her expression softened. “Renee went so quickly after her diagnosis that there wasn’t really time for me to bring it up with you. Basically, once Stan’s initial grief is over, he’ll have all these microcosmsof it. The important thing is to keep to the same process of healing. He needs to allow himself to feel each potential loss ahead of time and accept the reality of it. This will really help him when it comes time to actually experience the loss. And he needs to realize that he’ll have setbacks. That some days he might feel fine, and then the next he can’t get out of bed because he’s so sad.”
“Is there anything I can do to help him with that?”
“You might experience it right along with him,” she said. “Apply the same techniques to your own emotions. Grieve, accept the potential loss, and, for you, find a way to help him do the same. Whether that’s as simple as staying with him on his bad days, or encouraging him to feel his emotions. Men often struggle most with that.”
“Okay. Thank you so much for this.”
She reached for her phone again. “You’re welcome. Here, I have some more exercises for you. And some links if you get stuck and can’t reach me for whatever reason.”
My own phone dinged several times from beside me.
“Do you have anything to help me through the next few days while I wait to hear from him about his results?” I asked her.
She arched a brow. “I got some horse tranquilizers I could douse you with. Put you under for at least 48 hours.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, but if you’re not, yes, please.”
She grinned. “You knew I was joking. Okay, so here’s what I’d recommend...”
We talked until I ran out of questions. When we were done, she invited me to stay for the rest of the afternoon. We huddled together for a long time in the kitchen and planned out Jacob’s welcome home party. When the sun finally broke through the clouds, we shoved ourselves into our snow gear and went out to add another snowman to the village cluttering up their front yard. Afterward, I read a sleepyEvan his favorite book. He conked out on the couch halfway through the third chapter. Michael and I sat close by him on the living room floor and played a few quiet rounds of Mario Kart on Jacob’s old game console. Michael kicked my ass, the little game shark. Later, I helped Sofia make her mother’s recipe forpasta fazool,and she taught me some Italian while we worked – mostly swear words, which she insisted were the best introduction into any language.
I left her house feeling much better than I when I’d arrived. When I got home, I sunk down onto the couch, let myself be terrified until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then pulled up the YouTube channel for a vocal competition and watched all of the auditions.
I went to bed earlier than normal, worn out from the emotional rollercoaster I’d been stuck on the past few days.
I fell asleep thinking about Ben.
And woke up to what seemed like a nightmare.
Chapter 20: Ben
Mom stared down at me while two lab assistants positioned my legs on a PET scan table, concern etched into her features. “How you doing, Benny?”
“About how you’d think,” I answered.
She gripped my hand and stayed there with me until they told her she needed to go stand behind the glass like everyone else.
“I’ll be right over there with your father,” she said, leaning down to hug me.
