Okay, that hurt. Not because I thought for a moment I was mocking Gina and Mikael’s deaths, because I would rather rip myself apart piece by piece than do that. But it still felt dangerously close to it, even knowing I was making fun of myself, of how dramatic it was for me, and... How I couldn’t let them go. To let them go would mean?—
“To forget them,” I muttered.
“To forget who?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. Whether that was because he was just curious or because he was putting on the air of confusion, I didn’t know, but it was believable either way.
“Gina,” I said dully. “And Mikael.”
“Your wife and son,” he said with a nod.
“Late wife,” I corrected, and after a moment of thinking, I laughed, the sound hard and brittle. “There’s no polite term for a dead son, is there? I can call Gina my late wife, but there’s nothing but Mikael. Nothing that has...dignity or grace. Just my goddamn dead son.”
Ah, even as I wondered if it would ever stop feeling like I was being torn apart...did I really want it to stop? Did I deserve to have it stop?
“Nothing is stopping you from calling him your late son,” he offered gently.
“It’s not the same, is it?” I asked, but I didn’t need the answer because I knew. “Because Gina and I...we made our vows, didn’t we? Till death do us part, and we meant it, not realizing we’d only have a few years until that part of the vows got called in. So she’s my late wife. I guess it makes sense.”
“Put like that, it does,” he said, his hand never having moved toward the pad of paper he’d been jotting notes on earlier.
“But you don’t stop being a parent, do you? Not when they’re grown and old enough to take care of themselves,” I said, feeling a lump grow in my throat as I realized Mikael was never goingto get that chance. “And not…when they’re dead and gone. I’m still his father. Except I’m never going to see him grow up, I’m never going to find out if he would have been some weird theatre kid like his mother, or a soccer player, or a ballet dancer, or...or anything. All I get is a stuffed lion, and a cold headstone with his name on it, with dates that remind me I’m getting older but he...he’s not going to.”
The thought felt like it was given form and weight, descending into my throat to strangle me as I sat there, staring at my fingers and wishing I had their picture with me. Without realizing it, a laugh tore through the blockade, sharp and harsh. “It’s funny. I think of Stephen King at a time like this.”
“Not surprising, a great deal of his horror is focused on the human element, the human...condition, I suppose you could say,” he said, surprising me.
I blinked. “Really? I didn’t take you for a King fan.”
Dr. Ramirez smiled. “Well, it might surprise you, but it is possible to be focused on helping others grow and learn as people but stillbe opento the dark side of humanity. And as I said, not all his horror is about monsters and murderers, but sometimes grief and sorrow.”
My eyes drifted to the desk and frowned at the picture. “You’re married...and have kids.”
“Twins,” he said with a chuckle. “A boy and girl, some days I don’t know which one drives me the craziest. I wouldn’t give them up for anything.”
“Yeah,” I rasped. “You, uh, read Pet Sematary?”
“I have,” he said with a deep sigh.
“I was fourteen, trying to impress some girl because I was willing to read and, well, you know,” I said with a snort. “The things you do when you’re young, dumb, and full of cum.”
For the first time, the doctor’s smile felt genuine, if only because it was rueful in its understanding. “Oh yes, I recall quitewell. There are some memories I will deny to my dying day, but I will remember them late at night when all I want is to fall asleep.”
The first real laugh of the session bubbled out of my throat, dispelling some of the choking that filled it. “Yeah, okay. Well, everyone knows that’s when your most embarrassing moments find you.”
“Would you mind if I made a guess...as to why you brought up King?” he wondered.
“Uh, sure, yeah, okay.”
“Pet Sematary?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. I read it again when I was with Gina before...before Mikael. And I remembered liking it better, but still, I looked at Louis and was like...what the hell, man? Did you not pay attention to what happened for like the entire book? What did you expect, you know?”
“I do,” he said solemnly. “I read the book and had the same frustration.”
“What?” I asked with a snort. “You didn’t have some flash of compassion and give him...I don’t know, I guess the word is grace?”
“Nope,” he said with a grin. “Even therapists aren’t immune to the human experience of not understanding something, of being frustrated. We get upset, we get frustrated, we argue with our wives and yell at our kids when they get on our nerves. We think bad things about people who walk slowly when we’re trying to get our shopping done. We’re human, trust me.”
“Good to know,” I said with a chuckle and sobered up immediately. “Then I guess you already know what I’m going to say.”
