Loss, The

What happens to those you leave behind? People meet their end in different ways, but everybody still has loved ones that are left to deal with the loss. This story tries to explore that.

I was a bit surprised when Jack Andrews, a friend and fellow psychiatrist, called me up on that afternoon, sounding frustrated. While my phone loudly announced the presence of its caller, my current patient was having a defiant argument with a print painting of Freud I had on my wall. Seeing that I was currently being ignored anyway, I picked up the phone and spun in my chair, facing away from my patient. "This is Dr. Berkeley."

"Jeanne, I really... what the hell is going on over there?" asked Jack, hearing the ruckus behind me.

"Sigmund is winning," I said, looking over my shoulder and smiling at my irate patient's beet-red face and frothing mouth.

"Nice," Jack replied with a knowing chuckle. "Listen, I really need you to take one of my patients."

"Me? Why?"

"It's not for me, it's for him. He won't open up to me at all... he's really in denial. I think you might be able to get through to him."

This was indeed strange. I'd only been out of school for a couple of years, yet my colleague had been in the practice for much longer. I wondered what kind of patient would prompt him to contact me. "What makes you think I can do anything?"

"Listen," my friend said, "he just left my office after our sixth session. In six sessions, all he has done is avoid questions and sit there. He seems content to just keep coming and paying the bills without even offering anything up. He is looking for something I don't have."

"Fine," I said, thumbing through my day planner. "How about next Tuesday at 11?"

"I'll have my secretary call him. Thanks, Jeanne. Bye."

"Hey Jack, wait," I added quickly.

"Yeah?"

"You never said why you thought I could get through to him."

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line. "Just trust me." And then he hung up.

I turned my chair back around, returned the phone to its cradle, and blocked off the time in my planner for this new patient. Then I glanced up and saw my current patient pacing the room, painting in hand, an angry finger pointed at Freud's likeness beneath the glass of the frame. I had more important things to worry about at the moment.

---

Tuesday rolled around, and I had finished early with another patient. Looking at my watch and seeing it was about a quarter to 11, I plopped down in my desk chair and got out the file for my next patient, sent over to me by Jack.

His name was Wade Sweeney, 31 years old and suffering from severe depression for four months. The attached photo my friend had taken of him made ME depressed; his face was attractive, yet there was no joy or confidence anywhere behind it. His deep brown eyes were bloodshot, and heavy bags hung below them. His brown hair was unkempt, and I even saw a few strands of gray poking out on his scalp. Stubble spread across his face. He looked at least 10 years older than he was.

I scanned the page for any potential problems - attempts to harm himself or others, medications, anything relevant. There were none. That was good, at least. However, it was a problem that he had not shown any progress with my friend, an experienced psychiatrist. My friend also chose not to tell me the cause of this man's depression. He said I would have to find out for myself.

After checking my e-mail and making a quick trip to my restroom, I peeked through the window in the front door to my office. Just past my assistant's desk sat a man with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His face was shaved, his hair groomed. Maybe he was trying to make a good first impression. A young girl, no older than 3 or 4 years, sat next to him, consumed in her own little world with a doll in each hand; I could only assume it was his daughter. I returned to my desk and pressed the intercom button on my phone. "Zoe, please send Mr. Sweeney in."

Through the door, I faintly heard Zoe announce, "Mr. Sweeney, Dr. Berkeley will see you now. I'll make sure to watch Kacy for you." A couple seconds of silence followed before a soft, deep voice said, "Thanks." A couple of seconds later, the doorknob turned and in walked Wade Sweeney, his shoulders slouched, still uncomfortably eyeing the floor. I approached to greet him and extended my hand, smiling. "Wade, I'm Jeanne Berkeley. It's nice to meet you."

Wade took my hand limply and started to say something as he looked up at me. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes grew wide and he gasped, releasing my grip and backing up against the door, almost as if he had seen a ghost. He froze for a minute, then broke down completely and began sobbing, slowly sliding down the door until he was sitting on the floor, holding his head in his hands.

Oh boy.

I noticed a ring on his finger, and felt more comfortable in my assertion that the girl was his daughter. But where was his wife in all of this?

Slowly approaching him, I leaned over and gently placed my hand on his shoulder. "Wade, are you alright?"

Between a few sniffles, he uttered, "If I were alright, I wouldn't be seeing you, would I?"

I chose not to respond.

After a few seconds, he leaned to one side and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. Through his tears, he thumbed through the various credit cards before finally retrieving a folded up photo and handing it to me. "Here," he said, sounding almost resigned.

I took the photo from him, unfolded it, and almost gasped myself. In the photo was Wade, his daughter, and... me. Well, not ME, but a woman that very much LOOKED like me. Studying the photo more closely, I began to notice a few differences, the most notable of which was that she was very heavily pregnant, perhaps even just a week or two from her due date. Her belly button poked through the blue blouse she wore, serving as another indicator that labor would likely be coming sooner rather than later. There were other differences I noticed: her hair was straight (mine was curly), her dimples were more pronounced, her teeth were whiter, and she looked a little older. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.

My eyes shifted to Wade and his daughter in the photo. He was seated next to the woman with an arm around her and little Kacy on his knee. All three beamed proudly at the camera, especially Wade. The Wade in the photo was a far cry (no pun intended) from the weeping pile of humanity that had just crumbled in my office. My gaze returned to the woman in the photo.

"Wade, is this your wife?"

He nodded, wiping his eyes. "Andrea," he said.

"Did something happen to Andrea?"

Wade sighed, wiping his eyes. "She died about a week after we took that photo." No wonder he looked like he saw a ghost.

My heart sank. "And the baby?"

He shook his head.

"Would you tell me what happened?" I asked.

He looked up at me, his eyes moist with despair. "I... can't." Finally he picked himself up off the floor and sat on the leather couch, eyeing the floor. "I mean, I haven't sorted it through in my head yet."

I pulled up a chair next to the couch. "Wade, my job is to help you sort through it. We will work together."

"No," he said. "Not yet."

---

Five sessions later, Wade was still unwilling to open up. My account of those sessions is not much different from my colleague's: Wade would always show up early with daughter in tow, come into my office, and tap dance around the tough questions. He would talk about anything - what Kacy was doing at school that week, how work was going - as long as it wasn't related to his wife's death. Finally, I decided that enough was enough.

"Wade, listen to me," I said as we approached the end of the appointment. "If we're not going to get anywhere with these sessions, then I think you should stop coming to see me."

"No," he protested assuredly. "I really think you're helping."

"If for some reason paying $200 an hour to consistently evade me is therapeutic to you, then that's your business. But in my professional opinion, we are not serving any purpose here."

"I respectfully disagree," he responded again.

I looked at my watch. Five minutes until my next appointment. I sighed and looked back up at him. "Wade, we are out of time for today. I will have to think about whether or not to keep our appointment next Tuesday."

His face drooped and his shoulders noticeably deflated. "Alright," he said, and stood from the couch.

"Goodbye, Wade," I said as he turned for the door. His only response was a wave as he exited my office.

---

Doctor-patient privilege is something that I have always taken very seriously. After all, violating privilege could lead to a lot of nasty things for any physician's career. But I have always secretly extended that privilege to my husband as well. Alan and I have known each other for a long time and share an implicit trust, so from time to time I have confided in him some of my more difficult patients. I brought up the subject of Wade the night following his latest appointment.

"I really have no idea what is going on in his head," I confessed, swallowing a swig of wine.

"So, let me make sure I understand the situation," Alan proposed, putting his fork down and leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "This guy was married, and as it just so happens, his wife could've passed as your body double. Then his wife dies, and he seeks counseling. Jack refers him to you, and now you can't get him out of your office, yet you're not getting anything useful out of him."

"You've got it," I said, cutting a slice of steak.

Alan sat there a moment, staring at the table, before looking up and smiling. "It's so obvious. He wants you to be her."

"Come again?" I said through partially chewed beef.

"Come on, Jeanne," he said. "He keeps coming because of you. Maybe just seeing you IS therapeutic for him, because you remind him of his wife."

"That makes sense, but if he were comfortable around me, don't you think he would've opened up to me by now?"

Alan sat thinking for a moment, staring at his plate. Finally, he said, "Let me show you something", and motioned down the hall with his head. We left the table and began walking back to his home office. Once there, he plopped down in his chair and logged into his computer. He was a software designer, and although most of what he did went over my head, I tried to humor him as much as possible.

"Let me ask you a simple math question," Alan said, grinning up at me as I stood over him.

"You bastard," I said, and playfully punched his arm. "Shrinks don't need to know how to do math." He knew that I had barely scraped by in college algebra.

"Hey, even you can answer this," he responded, rubbing his arm. "What is one divided by zero?"

"It's not possible," I responded, for once actually feeling confident in my knowledge of maths.

"Why?"

"Because you can't divide something into zero parts."

"That's true." Alan loaded up the built-in Windows calculator, typed in 1/0, and the readout confirmed as much. "However, this is only true for real numbers. It IS possible to divide by zero, but it doesn't produce a numeric value." He closed the calculator and loaded up his development software. "I'm currently working on some educational programs to help students learn calculus. It is in calculus that you can learn additional mathematical rules that allow you to do things not necessarily possible with basic arithmetic."

A swamp of code appeared on the screen. Alan selected a large chunk of it and deleted it without explaining himself. "Right now, until this computer is told otherwise, it is operating under the basic rules of arithmetic. So if I try to divide by zero, it won't work." He compiled the software and his new calculator program appeared. He punched in 1/0 and it gave an error. "BUT, if I give the computer some new rules for division, then the result will be different." Alan returned to the code, replaced the chunk he had previously deleted, and recompiled. When the prompt came up, he entered 1/0, and instead of a simple error message, the program produced a series of equations and a sample graph.

"Why should I care about that?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter. Especially not to a math neophyte like yourself." I glared at him, and he just smiled back. "What DOES matter is that I think it's possible for people to behave in the same way. This guy may not know HOW to open up to a psychiatrist."

"So I need to reprogram him?" I said sarcastically.

"No," he retorted, now playfully punching at me. "What I mean is, I do extra work to get the computer to do what I want. Maybe you need to do extra work to get him to do what you want. Make some concessions. Appear like less of a shrink and more of a friend... or a wife."

"Hold on a minute," I said, shocked. "We have established that Wade is already experiencing some displacement regarding me and his wife. Now you're saying that I should encourage that?"

"Sure," Alan shrugged.

"Do you have any idea what that might mean? It might hurt him even more! And never mind that I could lose my license! This isn't ones and zeros I'm dealing with here, Alan, this is a person!"

"From my point of view, the same concepts apply. Three minutes ago, you had no idea it was possible to divide by zero."

I huffed. "This would be EXTREMELY unusual."

"It's an unusual situation," Alan said.

I thought for a moment. Even if it did work, what would happen after that? Would Wade try to hook up with me if I encouraged his feelings at first? That would only set him up for later disappointments, and then we'd be right back where we started.

In the end, though, I was too curious about his case to not try it. After all, nothing else was working. "Fine, we'll see," I said, and then let a playful grin spread across my face. "But do you promise to not get jealous if he starts hitting on me?"

Alan leaned forward in his chair, put his hands around my hips, and said, "Oh, I'll be exceedingly jealous."

"Good," I said as he tugged at the clasp on my skirt. "Just remember that you can have me at night and he can't."

"Sounds like a plan," Alan whispered as he stood up and led me to the bedroom, my skirt sliding off en route.

---

The next morning, I had Zoe call Wade and inform him that I was keeping his appointment next Tuesday.

In the time between, I did as much as I could to prepare myself to become Andrea Sweeney. I went and bought some hair coloring and a straightening iron (two things I had never used before) and some teeth whitener (damn coffee). I also managed to rent an Empathy Belly from a medical supply shop. If I was going to present myself as his late wife, I was going to go as far as possible. After an uncomfortable trip to the Target maternity section for some clothes (having a bunch of bloated preggos shooting disgusted looks at my trim waist was pretty awkward), I was ready to play the part.

Tuesday finally rolled around, and I got up early to make sure I was ready in time. Styling and coloring my hair wasn't a big deal, but I'll be damned if that Empathy Belly wasn't uncomfortable. Alan and I had talked about kids before, and we'd both love to have them, but not at the expense of becoming an oversized, sweaty, stretch-marked freak show for nine months PER KID. Slipping into the huge belly vest only reinforced my opinion on that matter. But after putting on the skirt and blouse, I really looked like I was pregnant. So convincing was the getup that our airhead next door neighbor nearly had a heart attack as I walked to my car. It took me opening up the blouse to show her the fake belly before she relented, and even then she had questions about why I was wearing it. All I could say was, "I'll explain later." Of course, I couldn't explain later (remember that little thing about privilege?) but it bought me some time to cook up something plausible. Besides, she had only seen me normal yesterday. What a waste of carbon.

I got to work, and Zoe did a double-take at my midsection, even though she knew what I was planning. I retreated to my office and caught up on my messages before the appointment with Wade. Finally, I heard the outer door open, and heard Kacy's stomping footsteps as they came inside. I stood in the center of my office waiting for him to enter.

When he came through the door, he froze in his tracks when he saw me, similar to the very first time he met me. Almost entranced, he closed the door behind him and approached me, reaching his hands out to touch the fake belly. Then he looked up at me and started to draw even closer. I reached my left hand up to my face to scratch my nose, making sure my diamond ring twinkled in the light from the window. He noticed it and stopped, but he still marveled at my appearance. "My God..." he said softly, "you look just like she did."

"I did the best I could," I replied, then motioned to the belly. "I don't know how she carried this huge thing around for so long."

"She always did enjoy being pregnant," Wade offered. "Sort of like she was fulfilling her role as a woman."

"Well, then she was a better woman than I."

A pregnant pause (no pun intended) hung in the air for a few moments. Wade eyed the floor for a minute before speaking up. "I think I'm ready to explain what happened."

I motioned for him to sit on the couch, while I assumed my position in the chair across from him. He sat, then said, "Look, you may not believe what I'm about to say, but it's absolutely true. So just let me explain."

"Understood."

He paused for another minute, took a deep breath and sighed, and began recounting the incident...

"We had just put Kacy to bed upstairs, and decided to go relax on the porch and watch the sunset. Andrea was just a week or two away from her due date. Her pregnancy had been completely healthy, just like her pregnancy with Kacy. We had been out there for a while when she mentioned that she was starting to feel light-headed. I went inside to get her some water, and when I came back she was just sitting there holding her stomach. She looked up at me and said, 'I'm getting bigger.'

"I kind of playfully joked with her and said, 'Yeah, that's kinda what happens during pregnancy, hon.'

"But she looked at me dead serious and said, 'No, RIGHT NOW, I am getting bigger!' I looked down at her belly and sure enough, she looked a little bigger. Her shirt wasn't coming down quite as far. I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. She finally started screaming, 'Do something!' So I ran back inside to call 911.

"As soon as they answered, I heard Andrea screaming again from outside, 'HELP! Wade!! It's getting faster!' I quickly told them our address and that my pregnant wife was in trouble and hung up the phone. By the time I got back outside, Andrea was already a lot bigger than when I left. She had stood up and her shirt barely covered any of her stomach anymore, and the rest of her body was growing as well. Andrea was crying, and she kept saying, 'It hurts! Get my clothes off! What's happening to me?!' I was able to get her shorts off, but her shirt was too tight.

"Then a new look of horror blazed in her eyes, and she started shrieking, 'Oh my god, Wade! The baby! This is gonna hurt the baby!' And she just started sobbing. Her shirt ripped away and she started crying harder.

"I was trying to stay calm and not look shocked because it would only scare her more. But she kept getting bigger and rounder, and I still had no idea what to do. So I figured the best thing for me to do was to hold her and try to calm her down. So I reached my arms around her and held her hands as best as I could, and pulled her closer to me and told her that everything was going to be ok, that the ambulance would be here soon, and that she and the baby were going to be fine. I tried to reach in to whisper into her ear, but she was too... too big. I made her look me in the eye and I told her that I loved her, and she told me she loved me.

"So I thought she was starting to calm down, but then she started to float up. She started screaming again, 'HELP! I'm floating away! Wade, help me!!' I tried to pull her down, but she kept floating back up. It wasn't until then that I noticed how big and how round she was. I finally had to hold just one of her hands since I couldn't reach both of hers anymore. I kept telling her that I would hold on until the ambulance came, but she just kept sobbing and worrying about the baby.

"And then, I started to float off the ground with her." A pause. "And..." Wade's voice broke as he struggled to continue. "My first instinct was to let go." Tears welled up in his eyes. "And I did. I let go. Without even thinking, I let go."

He paused a minute to wipe his eyes. "And by the time I realized what had happened, I'd lost her." He paused another moment, fighting back the tears as best as possible. "I could hear her screams and sobs as she floated away. And I just fell on the ground, and all I could do was watch. She just kept floating away, and all I could do was look up to her and shout, 'I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!' over and over again and hope that she heard me. She finally got so high that I couldn't hear her anymore, and I just started sobbing."

"As I kept looking up, out of the corner of my eye I saw two little hands and Kacy's face pressed against her window. She had seen the whole thing.

"And then I heard a loud bang..." Wade wiped his eyes again. "And Andrea was gone. She and the baby were gone... They were just gone." And he lost it, collapsing on the couch and sobbing loudly into a pillow.

I was floored. I had no idea what to say, what to do, what to even think. what a horrific, yet strange, way to die. And what shame and guilt Wade must be living with. And what a traumatic thing for his daughter to witness the entire thing. I wasn't anywhere near qualified to deal with this.

I gave Wade some time to release while I collected my thoughts, then finally sat next to him on the sofa. I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wade, what did the doctors say?"

He lifted his head out of the pillow, his eyes red and his nose runny. He sighed slightly and sniffled, wiping his nose with a hankerchief. "They didn't believe me when I told them. It wasn't until the police were able to get some radar images from the National Weather Service that they believed me. And even then, they didn't have an explanation, just that sometimes 'strange things happen.'"

"Well, Wade, I'm afraid that I can't help you with all of the uncertainties surrounding Andrea's death. But what I do know is that if you hadn't let go, you would've died too. Kacy would be alone."

"But how am I supposed to raise her without a mother?" he cried defiantly. "I'm not strong enough."

"You ARE strong enough," I reassured him. "And that's something that we can continue working on in our future sessions, to rebuild your self-esteem. We can also plug you in to a single dads support group." He just sat there. "Listen to me, Wade. Kacy has someone to take care of her now. That is what's important."

He slowly looked up at me and made solid eye contact with me, perhaps even the surest eye contact he'd ever made with me. "You're absolutely right. She does have someone to care for her." And then, for the first time today, a blank stare crossed his face. I wasn't quite sure what thoughts were reeling behind it, but I could tell he was thinking about something.

I tried to steer the conversation in various directions, and he would answer, but there was no real substance to his answer, as if his mouth were talking on autopilot. Something strange was definitely going on upstairs. Eventually I noticed the circles under his bloodshot eyes and decided to call it a day for his sake.

"Wade, we've been through a lot today. I think you should take Kacy home and just relax. How about we schedule an appointment for Thursday?"

"Okay."

I stood to wish him well, and was reminded again of the damn Empathy Belly's weight as I nearly fell forward before righting myself. I extended my hand to shake his, but he stood up, put his arms around me, and held me for several seconds. I didn't resist, since it was probably therapeutic for him after everything he had recounted. Finally he pulled back, making eye contact with me, and he just sighed and said, "Thanks." Then he turned and headed for the door.

"See you on Thursday," I said.

"Yeah."

As soon as the door opened I heard Kacy exclaim "Daddy!" as he exited my office. He maintained a brief conversation with Zoe before finally excusing himself. After I heard the main office door close, I ripped open my blouse and took that dreadful belly off of my body. My back hurt and I was sweating everywhere, but I instantly felt light enough to run a few marathons. I don't know how women put up with being babymakers.

I'd forgotten to pack a change of normal clothes, and the maternity outfit was way too loose without the belly on, so I said "fuck it" and left the office in my undies, giving Zoe the rest of the day off on my way out.

That evening I made a few calls, pulled a few strings, and was able to talk to some people "in the know." The story checked out: at around 8:30 the night of Andrea's death, Wade had made a 911 call. And about five minutes later, doppler radar had detected an unknown object in the sky near the Sweeney residence. Around two minutes later, the object disappeared and never returned. I talked to every MD in the city and none of them had any bright ideas. So really, now I knew about as much as Wade.

"What do I do?" That question kept me up for much of the night. Not even Alan the All-Knowing had an answer for me. Finally, by around two in the morning I was mentally and physically exhausted enough to doze off. But the telephone rang not long after.

---

Wade had killed himself a few hours earlier. Overdosed on valium, with a couple bottles of Beam to top it off. He had sent Kacy off with a babysitter for the evening, and when they came back later that night they found him on the floor, holding a framed 8x10 of Andrea in her wedding dress. A note was left nearby, with only four words:

"We are together again."

I had been listed as Wade's next of kin.

Alan and I attended the funeral later that week. There sat Kacy among her extended family, mostly oblivious at her age to what was going on. My heart was broken for her; she would probably never remember either of her parents. And what would her life be like after this? Old college buddies of Wade's got up and gave eulogies, telling tales of zany adventures, how Wade was there for them when they needed it, and how it was the best day of his life when he met Andrea. Yet they were talking about a different person than the devastated man I had known. After the service I sought out Kacy to give her a hug.

"You look like my mommy," she said and smiled. I couldn't help but hug her again, and although I barely knew her, I felt nothing but pure, genuine love for her. My eyes watered up again.

As I waded through the family introducing myself, an older couple gasped as I greeted them. Turned out they were Andrea's parents, no doubt struck by my likeness to their late daughter. I kept noticing other family members looking at me and whispering to each other for the remainder of the day. Oddly enough, I was starting to feel like part of the family. When we finally got back to the car, I finally broke down, too overwhelmed - by Wade, by Kacy, by everything - to keep my emotions in check any longer.

A couple of weeks later, I got a phone call from the attorney handling Wade's will.

Wade had left us with custody of Kacy.

I was confused and furious all at the same time. My biggest concern was, why not someone from the family? As it turned out, both of their parents were too old to be chasing around a pre-K'er, and neither of them had siblings who could care for her. Concessions would be made if we did not take her, but she was legally ours. Both sides of the family had approved it.

We were given some time to decide how to proceed, but by the time we got outside, I so desperately wanted to go and take the sweet little girl home with us. Once at home, Alan and I discussed all aspects of the decision: finances, lifestyle changes, what room she might get. And after a few days of mulling it over, we decided to take Kacy.

A few weeks later, we were getting off the plane in Andrea's parents' home town, and they met us at the gate with Kacy. As soon as we came into view, Kacy came running up to us, wrapped herself around my leg, and exclaimed, "Mommy!" I didn't know if she recognized me from before, or if she mistook me for her real mother, but it didn't matter. It was then that I knew without a doubt we made the right choice.

I still feel mad at, disappointed with, and utterly confused by Wade from time to time. But at the same time, he made Alan and I adoptive parents of one of the best little girls I have ever met. So Wade and I have a love-hate relationship. whenever I die, I'll get the opportunity to meet him again and personally slap him in the face. Then I'll thank him.

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