I Almost Hurt Arthur—Until That Afternoon's Security Footage Told Me Otherwise.-13
The Therapist's Office
The therapist sat behind her desk. She listened to the monitor footage and the conversation with Marianne. "So, communication has begun." I nodded. My chest felt looser. "Yes." "Significant progress," she noted, pen scratching. She looked up. "How frequent are the intrusive thoughts now?" I considered. "Less.
Especially since understanding they’re symptoms of illness, not my true thoughts." I twisted the rim of a paper cup. "But they still come. When Arthur cries hard, or if I'm utterly drained. They still startle me." "That’s expected," she reassured. "Recovery takes time. Same time next week?" I agreed. At the parking lot, I texted Marianne: "Session done. Doctor says progress. Thank you." Minutes later, my phone chimed: "So glad. Arthur fed and sleeping. Home soon." I started the car.
Shared Ground Rules
After dinner, I spread a new notebook on the coffee table. Toby, Marianne, and I sat on the sofa. Arthur gnawed a teether on the rug. "Rule One: Feeding. Mother feeds unless she explicitly requests help." I wrote and read aloud. "Agreed," Toby stated instantly. "Yes," Marianne affirmed, cradling a warm teacup. "Rule Two: Soothing. The first responder stays responsible unless they ask for relief. No unsolicited takeover."
"Fine by me," Toby said. Marianne sipped her tea. "Hmm." "Rule Three: Medical decisions. Made jointly by parents. Grandmother advises." I paused writing. Marianne set down her cup. "And... daily care?" she asked tentatively. "Like outfit choice? Adding a vest if it chills?" Her tone sought input, lacked certainty. Toby smiled. "Mom, you have wisdom here. We welcome your advice." I nodded. "We do." Marianne’s tension visibly eased. A hint of a smile. She picked up Toby’s pen, found blank space, and wrote: "Daily Care Details: Guided by Grandmother, Executed by Mother." She slid the notebook towards me. "Does that work?"
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The therapist sat behind her desk. She listened to the monitor footage and the conversation with Marianne. "So, communication has begun." I nodded. My chest felt looser. "Yes." "Significant progress," she noted, pen scratching. She looked up. "How frequent are the intrusive thoughts now?" I considered. "Less.
Especially since understanding they’re symptoms of illness, not my true thoughts." I twisted the rim of a paper cup. "But they still come. When Arthur cries hard, or if I'm utterly drained. They still startle me." "That’s expected," she reassured. "Recovery takes time. Same time next week?" I agreed. At the parking lot, I texted Marianne: "Session done. Doctor says progress. Thank you." Minutes later, my phone chimed: "So glad. Arthur fed and sleeping. Home soon." I started the car.
Shared Ground Rules
After dinner, I spread a new notebook on the coffee table. Toby, Marianne, and I sat on the sofa. Arthur gnawed a teether on the rug. "Rule One: Feeding. Mother feeds unless she explicitly requests help." I wrote and read aloud. "Agreed," Toby stated instantly. "Yes," Marianne affirmed, cradling a warm teacup. "Rule Two: Soothing. The first responder stays responsible unless they ask for relief. No unsolicited takeover."
"Fine by me," Toby said. Marianne sipped her tea. "Hmm." "Rule Three: Medical decisions. Made jointly by parents. Grandmother advises." I paused writing. Marianne set down her cup. "And... daily care?" she asked tentatively. "Like outfit choice? Adding a vest if it chills?" Her tone sought input, lacked certainty. Toby smiled. "Mom, you have wisdom here. We welcome your advice." I nodded. "We do." Marianne’s tension visibly eased. A hint of a smile. She picked up Toby’s pen, found blank space, and wrote: "Daily Care Details: Guided by Grandmother, Executed by Mother." She slid the notebook towards me. "Does that work?"
NEXT >>