If you read the first part of this post last time, you already know that I had nothing but bad experiences with therapists my whole life. You also probably know (if you’ve ever read any of my posts) that this inspired me to become a therapist myself to help bereaved parents. That is the legacy of my son.
But, like I said, that is not what this post is about.
Recently it has become clearer and clearer to me that if I am going to be an effective therapist myself, I need to make sure that things are right in my own head. I need to be able to be present with my clients and with the bereaved people that I help.
I very recently decided to take another swing at this therapy thing. Practice what I preach, if you will. I was referred to a place that is quite the drive away from me but it’s not too frequently so I figured I would stick with it. And so I embarked on my next attempt at therapy for me.
If I could sum it up in one word? Validating.
When I first saw this man, I was anxious. He had a scruffy beard and messy grey hair. His age showed on his face by means of fine lines and slight bags under his eyes. He was wearing reading glasses. I know they were reading glasses because he wore them on the end of his nose and looked over them when he talked to me.
As is typical in a first session, he asked if I had therapy before. I did not give him the details, but I did tell him that I had two previous bad experiences and was put off by it ever since. What he didn’t do, that surprised me, is ask me what brought me in. This is something I typically do with my new clients but since I experienced his intake, I’m wondering if I too, can create a more personal experience for new clients. He got me to talk without forcing anything out of me at all. I lead the conversation completely. Somehow, we ended up talking about my son.
He was genuinely empathetic about my son’s death. He shook his head and validated that that would certainly make a person a little bit sad. I appreciated the nonchalance with his “little bit sad” because I’m tongue in cheek like that myself. It made it easier to talk to him. What unfolded in our therapeutic relationship was surprising to me and took me off guard so much that I was moved to write this three part, extra long post.
“What was your son’s name?” Did you hear that? He didn’t ask me if he was going to have a name… he asked me what my son’s name was. My son. The boy that I gave birth to.
“Jasper.” Honestly, his name can’t slip through my lips without ending with a slight smile. I love his name.
“Jasper?” He asked and I nodded. He continued “That is a nice name. Jasper.”
“Thank you!” Of course, those of you that know, know… when someone else says your baby name your heart skips a beat.
“Obviously this is going to affect you forever and nothing can change that. So what exactly is it about losing Jasper that is affecting you in a negative way?”
Bruh, ya got me worried with that question… I tiled my head a bit “um, what do you mean?”
“When we lose someone, we grieve the future we had hoped to have with them. We had plans with them. Perhaps similar to a divorce but of course much much more. We grieve what we didn’t get to have.”
I nodded.
“So I guess what I’m thinking is, it sounds like we need to work on helping you sort of face what it is that you didn’t get with Jasper. You didn’t get to teach him things and share things with him. You didn’t get to do any of the things you planned to do with him.”
I shed a single tear at that point as I considered what he was saying. I don’t cry in front of people. (Keep in mind that I am paraphrasing so as not to write you all a novel.)
“You have all of these unmet expectations of the things Jasper should be doing. It doesn’t end. There is always the next thing that Jasper is missing and you’re missing watching him do.”
I nodded.
“Have you ever thought about writing him a letter to sort of explain and tell him about all the things you’d wished to do with him?”
I nodded, holding back the tears. “Yeah, I actually write for a blog called Still Mothers which is especially for mothers with no living children but I guess I haven’t done exactly what you’re saying….”
He seemed to be accepting of my writing and continued. I wouldn’t say he was advising me as much as brainstorming with me, as any self respecting therapist should do.
“I think what we can work on together is sort of moving through this. Honoring his very short life; honoring this boy that you gave birth to. Your son. Recognizing that short time that you had with him and focus on that.”
I nodded. This time I grabbed a tissue to wipe my nose because you know how conveniently the snot creeps out even if you hold the tears back.
“What do you think about writing those things down, maybe in a letter to Jasper? Get it all out of your head; all of the things you wanted to say to him, do with him, teach him. You can say it or pray or whatever you want- you don’t have to do it at all I guess…” He cracked a smile. “But maybe it would be helpful to sort of recognize those things.”
I liked this idea. I also liked the steps it took to get to this point which is why I wanted to share them with all of you. I’m going to write this letter and I’m going to share it with everyone. I’m going to honor Jasper’s short life and give myself credit for grieving the things I didn’t get to do with him.
Stay tuned for Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter.
They knew they wanted more children and have since suffered many early miscarriages during the process of multiple IVF and IUI cycles which have left them with broken hearts.Feeling defeated and alone, the bereaved parents moved to Connecticut in search of a much needed new start.
Amber was inspired to work towards becoming a therapist during her process of trying to find support after her loss. She is currently a freelance graphic designer, artist and marriage and family therapy graduate student. She takes comfort in the idea that their son was a driving force for her to help other people through a time that she and her husband felt so alone.
- On Being Too Sad To Support Me In Celebrating My Son. - April 9, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter - January 26, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors Part II - January 24, 2018