So Far Away

Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes until I could leave. Forty-five minutes until I would be free to waste my time as I pleased.
Here I am, eight years and three months later-currently situated on a leather sofa in the private office of Dr. Helen G. Swells, my therapist. After the loss of my mother, therapy was the unanimous solution to all of our grief.

However, the only thing Dr. Swells would seem to talk about was music or school, or the hobbies I had. She would talk about my childhood and my grand-parents. She would talk about my Dad and his friends and the 'extended family'.
But not once did she actually talk about my mother, the memories I had of her, her death, the funeral. It was if my mother had never actually been apart of my life.
And for a forty-five minute appointment- I was actually 'OK' with that.

"How are you today, Ian?"

I ran my tongue along my bottom row of teeth, eager to dislodge the residual evidence of the poppy and sesame seed bagel I had eaten prior to our appointment.
"I'm 'OK', Helen."

"Good, good! How is your father?"

Helen was a rather pleasant lady, a pleasant lady who was also 'pleasantly plump'. With each word or phrase that left her mouth, her chin- which in my opinion resembled a turkey wattle- would appear to tremble.

"He's 'OK'. He has another girlfriend..."

Helen would smile fondly upon word of my father's recent affair. After my mother's death, my father had waited a long time before approaching the possibility of an 'R-word' (Relationship).

"Oh, that is wonderful! Be sure to send my adulations!"
Helen would pause, her face held a smile of satisfaction as she made a note on her notepad.
"And how do you feel about 'the girlfriend'?"

The truth about Gena was, I liked her, I did.
She was smart, friendly and attractive. She was perfect.
She made my Dad, 'happy' and 'happy' was a sentiment he hadn't felt for a long time.

"She's great, I guess. I like her."

Helen would nod casually as she made another note on her notepad.
"What is she like?"
Although Helen wasn't too detail oriented, when she found a topic worthy of scrutiny, she was like a cat on a mouse-hunt.

"She had blonde hair."
Helen would nod again, a sign of hers that was often meant for me to continue.
"She's into fashion, real trendy. She likes to quote Christina Ehrlich, a lot. She's... a real pleasure to be around."

I held my breath for a moment, a pause, as I waited for Dr. Swells to respond.
I wasn't into the 'talk' portion of therapy.
What I had already said about Gena was, a lot, and I did not plan to go any further on the topic.

"Good. Good! I'm glad."

I would smile and then I would nod.
What the good doctor did not know was what I had to say wasn't exactly the whole truth, but it did pacify her.
I liked Gena, that much was true.
But Gena, Gena wasn't my mother and I wasn't ready to open that can of worms with Helen.
If she wouldn't talk about the 'm' word, biologically or by marital status, I wouldn't either. Like I said before, the less we actually talked about my mother, the easier therapy was to endure.
And for forty-five minutes an appointment, I was 'OK' with that.