Page 61 of Fear of Intimacy

He pointed at me, wagging his finger. “Best doc in town.”

No matter how many times I told him I wasn’t really a doctor he still called me one. I'd long since given up trying to tell him otherwise.

“How are we doing today?” With my notepad in my lap, I leaned back in my chair.

“Good, good. I got a new neighbor.”

“Oh really?”

Mr. Waltham was one of my…more eccentric patients in the way that he didn’t really need therapy. At the age of seventy-five, he mainly came to have someone to talk to. Someone to interact with on a weekly basis. He had some of the best stories and lived in a retirement community that wasn’t far from my office. He claimed half the people there were too snooty for him.

He was a soldier in the Vietnam War and had been married to his wife for over forty years until she passed away a few years ago. When he lost her, he lost the one person he could talk to everyday.

I told him he didn’t need to come in weekly, but he just shook his head and came anyway. I felt bad that he was paying for weekly sessions just because he was lonely, but I wasn’t going to turn him away when he needed someone. He could come as long as he wanted.

That was one thing I told myself when I got this job. No matter the person or the problem, they could come to me as long as they felt they needed to. I would never turn someone away if they needed help.

“Her name is Rosette. She moved in a few weeks ago.” My eyebrows raised at the mention that his new neighbor was a lady. It was the first time he spoke about another woman that wasn’t his late wife. I was a little surprised this was the first time he’d brought her up if she moved in a few weeks ago.

“Have you gone over and introduced yourself?”

“Why would I do that?” Mr. Waltham looked at me like I should have been the one in the seat he sat on. Like our roles should have been reversed.

“So you can meet your new neighbor.” I held back a grin. He was typically a social butterfly. Always telling me about some new person he met, even if that person was some kid he met at Applebee’s.

“You may find that you have something in common with her,” I continued. Mr. Waltham just shook his head. I had a feeling he liked this Rosette and that is why he hadn’t brought her up before now. My eyes dropped to his lap, observing as he fingered the wedding ring on his left hand. My heart squeezed.

“Is it because of Carol?” I asked softly. In the last six months, he’d talked non-stop about his wife. Telling me story after story about how they met, how they used to go dancing, and how she was the greatest love of his life.

“It’s still hard to believe she’s gone.” His voice turned soft. “Some days, I wake up and roll over thinking she’ll be there, smiling over at me like she always did. We did everything together.”

“Are you afraid that Carol would be upset if you talked to your new neighbor?”

“No.” Mr. Waltham shook his head again. “She probably would have hit me on the head for not going right over and introducing myself.” When he chuckled, I gave him a genuine smile. One that would encourage him to keep talking.

“So, why not go over?” I could tell my question hit close to home as he leaned back against the chair with a sigh.

I knew why he didn’t talk to his neighbor. He just didn’t want to say it out loud. The moment he actually spoke to another woman, it would solidify the truth—that Carol really was gone. In his mind, it was likely he thought he’d be cheating.

“You know,” I sat forward, hands on my lap. “People always say time heals. It heals pain, sadness, anger. In a way, they’re right, time does heal but it’s different when it comes to grief. Grief doesn’t go away overnight and while time can dilute it and make it a little easier to manage, it doesn’t disappear one day never to return again.”

I sent him a soft smile as I spoke.

“There is always going to be a part of you that misses Carol and grieves her loss. Ten years from now, you will still feel that grief but instead of that gut-wrenching pain, it’s going to turn into a small ache. An ache that will remind you that she’s no longer here, yes, but it won’t consume you.”

I swallowed thickly as I watched him tear up across from me.

“You going over to talk to Rosette doesn’t mean you still aren’t grieving. It also doesn’t mean that you’ve suddenly moved on from Carol.” I knew that was his biggest fear. Giving someone else his love.

“I’m not saying you need to ask Rosette out on a date but having a conversation won’t hurt. Maybe you’ll find yourself a new friend. Or,” I reached across to softly touch his hand, “if the day comes that you feel something more for a woman, that’s okay, too.” His hand closed around mine as he nodded.

“There is no timeline for grief. And the same goes for moving on.”

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, Mr. Waltham’s hand clutched in mine. I could tell he wasn’t the type that liked to cry as he got himself together.

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Anytime. And if you need anyone to talk to, I am always here,” I promised.

---