Page 38 of Dirty Desires
More scribbling on the paper. So much that she had to turn to a new page to keep on writing. I knew it was pretty bad if she was doing all that writing. “Where are Natalia’s things, Mr. Lange?”
“All I have of her now is a picture of her that I keep in my wallet.” I pulled my wallet out to get the picture and show it to her. Leaning forward, I let her see it, and she nodded before I put it away. “Her family came and took all of her things away. They said it would help me heal faster.”
“Ah!” She pointed a finger in the air as if she’d found the solution. Which I’d hoped she had. “I do believe we’ve stumbled upon something here, Mr. Lange. You see, it’s important for the spouse who’s left behind to be able to hold onto the personal possessions that the deceased left behind. It should’ve been left up to you to decide when and what you would get rid of that belonged to Natalia. I am sure they didn’t mean to harm you in any way, but they did harm you. That is a critical step in the grieving process.”
“I did feel way more out of it after they came and took everything away,” I recalled. “It had only been five days since her death when they did that. It was her father who thought it would help me. I couldn’t get out of bed after the accident. I did manage to pull my ass out of bed long enough to attend her funeral, which was only 36 hours after she’d passed away. I felt it was all happening way too fast. The only other funeral I had ever attended was that of my grandfather, and it was held three days after his death. They did everything so damn fast. I felt lost.”
Her eyes became soft and caring. “I believe your fiancée was Hindu? That is the Hindu way, Mr. Lange. Were you unaware of that aspect of her and her family’s religious beliefs?”
“Very unaware, I guess. It all hit me so hard. Everything just moved so fast, and everyone seemed in such a hurry to get things done. It never made sense to me,” I finally admitted it. I had never even thought about how I felt back then. “It was like I was watching a movie or something. Things happened that I wasn’t a part of. It was all so disconcerting.”
“While we cannot go back in time to change everything that happened, we can do it mentally,” she let me know. “We have our starting point, Mr. Lange. Your healing can now begin. Natalia doesn’t belong in your dreams all the time, or even once a week the way you think she does. She has a place in your memory though, and in your heart, always. And it’s my opinion, as your therapist, that you should nurture any friendship with someone who you feel you’re able to share this part of your past with—even the woman you spoke of earlier.”
She had no idea how afraid I was of Nina, and of what might happen between us. “But what if I fall in love with her in the process?”
“Then good for you both.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Love is wonderful. And if you do get the chance to fall in love not once, but twice, you are doubly blessed.”
“If that’s so, then why do I feel so afraid when I think of love?” I had to ask her that, because I couldn’t quite figure it out myself.
“Because you have healing left to do over the loss you’ve suffered.” With a nod, she came to a conclusion, “In my opinion, you do not suffer from MDD at all. But you are suffering from grief. Healing and grief, they’re both processes, and there’s no telling when they start and when they end. But you’re doing a very good thing by sitting here and talking with me, and we’ll be able to help you move forward with your life.”
She had already helped me more than I’d expected. But I hadn’t been completely honest with her. “Dr. Patel, there’s more. Before you go and count out the MDD thing.”
Her brows lifted. “More?”
“Yes, more.” I swallowed hard because I knew this was big. “You see, I was driving that day. It had begun to rain, and the car slipped on the road. I lost control and ended up in the median, hitting a tree. That’s when Natalia was killed. It was my fault.”
Her eyes went to the floor. She made a long, deep sigh before saying. “That is indeed a tragic accident.” Then she looked right into my eyes. “Do you understand the meaning of the word accident, Mr. Lange?”
“I do. But I also know there were a number of things I could’ve done to prevent that accident from occurring.” And here I was again, trying to explain to someone who had no clue what it felt like to have the blood of someone you love on your hands.
It just didn’t wash away that damn easily.
When she stood up, I thought she was going to leave. Instead, she pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, and I saw a long, jagged scar on the inside of her arm. “This is from an injury I sustained when I was nineteen. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep in my home. My parents, my grandparents, my six sisters, and my brothers too. I woke to the smell of smoke.” Her eyes were glued to mine. “The curtain in my bedroom was on fire. Flames shot up the wall, and in no time, they traveled to the ceiling. I didn’t tell anyone what was happening.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I had been smoking marijuana in my bedroom earlier that night. When I fell asleep, the joint fell out of my fingers, down to the floor beside my bed, and lit the curtain on fire.” Her lips formed one straight line as she let that sink in before she went on, “That fire engulfed our entire home. Thankfully, my father had installed smoke alarms in the home, and they all got out before anyone was hurt.”
I pointed at her arm. “That doesn’t explain the scar.”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, it doesn’t. Because this is the rest of that story. I couldn’t get out of my bedroom. The fire trapped me in. And there’s more. I had my six-month-old baby in the room with me. I finally managed to break the glass in one of my windows, and I cut my arm when I pulled it back in after passing my baby through the window to my mother, who had come to find us.”
“Oh. So, you felt guilt about burning down the family home.” It wasn’t quite the same as my guilt, but I understood where she was coming from.
“Yes, I felt guilt over that. But what nearly killed me was the death of my baby girl, Mr. Lange. She died of smoke inhalation that night. And that was entirely my fault.” She took her seat again, still holding her head high and looking at me. “That was my firstborn child. I loved her more than life itself. I cried for weeks, then months, then an entire year went by, and finally, the tears began to subside. But my love for her has never stopped. It never will. I now have a husband and four children. Do you think I am wrong for moving on, Mr. Lange?”
Hell, no!
