Feeling somewhat trapped, Riva made her way to the circle of folding chairs that were quickly filling. Was it too late to make a graceful escape? But the woman in front was smiling directly at her. “We’re happy to see a new face today. Welcome.” She squinted as if trying to read her name tag. “Can you share your name and what brings you here today?”
“Well, my name is Riva Owen, and I guess my feet brought me here.” To her relief this stirred some nervous laughter. “I guess that’s not what you meant,” she apologized and sat. “I’m here because, well, my husband ... he died.” And suddenly the words began to pour out. “Paul was an attorney in town. Not really well known. But he was a good man who helped a lot of people. Anyway, Paul fought a brave two-year battle against lung cancer. Not that he was a smoker. He never smoked. But, well, he lost that battle more than a year ago, and I still really miss him. But I do believe I’ve moved past it. I’ve accepted that it is what it is. At least, I think I have. But a good friend kept urging me to try out your group here. Laurel’s a friend of Margaret andWindy too.” She nodded as Windy took the last empty chair next to the woman in front. “But I don’t think I need group therapy at this point. Maybe a year ago. I mean, like I said, I sort of feel like I’ve moved beyond...” She felt embarrassed now. Why had she rambled on like that? These people probably thought she was loose-lipped.
“We’re glad you joined us anyway, Riva,” the woman said. “Perhaps someone in this group needsyourhelp. Or perhaps you still have some hidden issues that you’re unaware of. That happens to a lot of us.” The gray-haired woman smiled a bit sadly. “I’m Margaret, and I do know your friend Laurel. And I moderate our group sessions. Now we’ll go around the circle like we usually do. This time I’ll ask members to share their names and give a little update as to where they all are on this interesting life journey.”
As they progressed around the room, Margaret didn’t intervene much, other than to ask an occasional follow-up question from their previous meeting. The sharing steadily grew more spontaneous and appeared to be sincerely heartfelt.
Riva was amazed at how quickly she got pulled into the various stories being relayed. A couple of members got emotional, and a Kleenex box was passed about. When it came to a nervous-looking younger member named Blair, he sat silently for a long moment.
“How has your week been going?” Margaret asked gently.
Scowling, Blair pounded a fist into his palm again and again. “I’m stuck,” he declared. “I can’t stop being angry. I know it’s a normal stage of grief. But I can’t get out of it. I just get angrier and angrier.”
For another long moment, no one spoke. Finally, the woman next to Riva asked a rather probing question about Blair’s deceased brother.
After pondering it a moment, the frustrated young man began to share more openly, admitting to feeling a total loss of control in all areas of his life.
“Loss of control can cause feelings of anger,” Margaret suggested. “And losing your brother like that probably feels like you lost control. You said he was your twin?”
Blair nodded, then pointed to an older man. “You mentioned survivor’s guilt,” he said. “That’sexactlyhow I feel. I was the black sheep of the family. My twin brother was the golden boy, good and kind and successful. I should’ve been the one to die. Not Byron.” Now he burst into loud sobs, which were followed with kind comments and motherly hugs and encouraging advice. More members were tearing up now, including Riva.
All in all, the intimacy of the meeting caught Riva off guard, but perhaps most surprising was the level of care and concern she witnessed among the odd mix of grievers. And when the meeting ended, she was almost sad to exit the library. Plus, it was raining cats and dogs outside. She decided to hang around a bit longer to peruse the new books section after all. Hopefully the rain would let up while she browsed.
Finally, not finding a title she cared to tote home, she decided it was time to face the weather. She was barely down the street when she heard someone honking and then hollering, “Hey, Riva!”
She turned to see an orange VW Bug with Windy’s head poking out the window, her purple scarf flapping in the wind. “Need a ride?”
“I’d love one,” Riva called back. She jogged over to the passenger’s side. “Thank you so much.”
“I just remembered you saying that your feet brought you to the library.” Windy grinned as she put the car in gear. “So I figure you must live nearby. I’m guessing you’d be soaked before you got there.”
“I’m nearly soaked now.” Riva told her to turn left at the stop sign. “I live on Periwinkle Avenue.”
“Swanky side of town, eh?”
“Swanky?” Riva chuckled. “It’s the old section, that’s for sure.”
“Theexpensiveold section. There are a lot of historical homes over there. Is yours on the register?”
“We didn’t think it was a good idea at the time.”
“Yeah, it can be a bit restrictive. But it’s got some benefits too. If the fit is right.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“My husband had a real estate business and I helped him in the office. Learned a lot from him ... before he passed.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Riva remembered now that Windy had described her husband’s death as traumatic and she’d admitted to still getting over some PTSD. “How long has it been?”
“Bill’s been gone about seven years now, but I still miss him. Don’t get me wrong, the man had his faults, especially when it came to business, but underneath it all, he was a good guy.”
“Do you mind if I ask how he died?”
“No, that’s okay. It was a car wreck. He got T-boned going through an intersection. A drunk driver ran a red light going about eighty miles an hour.”
“Oh my.” Riva sighed. “That does sound traumatic.”
“Yes. I had nightmares for a year. Still do sometimes. But mostly I’m better. I just feel like I should participate with the grief group in support of Margaret.”
