The time I had to reset my brain was productive. When Sean Logan arrived Monday for his session, I had concocted another aspect of my plan.
Sean had been stuck at that red door. In spite of our dedication to the process, no more memories had been recovered. I had begun to move from frustration to acceptance. Sean had been just off from the center of the blast. It was his colleague, Hector Valancia, who had taken it straight on. The investigative report put him standing over it, like maybe he was looking down at an IED. Still, Sean had lost consciousness. It is quite possible the memories from the time around the blast never got filed at all.
He came in with a smile on his face, and he seemed uncharacteristically relaxed.
“How are you? How was your weekend?” I asked.
Sean sat down and patted his knees. Pretty good, Doc. Pretty solid.
“That’s good to hear. Anything in particular?”
I dunno. The weather’s starting to turn.
“Yes. The snow is finally all gone, isn’t it? Took a while this year.”
Sure did. Got to sixty degrees on Saturday. Sun was shining. Took my kid to a Bluefish game. Might as well have been the World Series, he was so excited.
“That sounds really nice. And Tammy?”
You know. She’s hanging in there.
“Any outbursts?”
Nope. Not a one. Guess the meds are finally doing their job.
“It’s not just the medication, Sean. You’ve been on the same regimen for over a year. It’s the work you’re doing.”
Sean was the most humble, modest man I have ever known. In spite of our stalled progress recovering his memories, he had been fighting like hell to control his behavior, to recognize his emotions, his “ghosts,” and order them to retreat before he punched more walls in his home. He had never hit his wife or his son. He would put a bullet in his own head before doing that. Still, it was terrifying to be around him when he lost control. When the ghosts won the fight.
He shrugged and looked down at the carpet.
“You need to own your success, Sean. What do you think has been helping you?”
I knew the answer. I was curious as to whether he would say it out loud.
I dunno.
“Can you describe one thing, maybe how you felt with your son at the baseball game? In the past, you were just going through the motions. Pretending to enjoy him so he wouldn’t feel rejected. Did it feel like that on Saturday?”
No. Not at all. There was this moment. Our team had bases loaded. I nudged him and said, “This is it, big guy! The bases are loaded!” And he got all wide eyed … stood up and grabbed the rail and started bouncing up and down. He started saying, “Oh boy! Oh boy!” And I was like, “Yeah, buddy! This is it, right?” He didn’t really know what that meant. I don’t think he understands anything that’s going on, really. But then he looked at me and he was still so overflowing with joy and he … he just couldn’t contain himself, like he was about to explode with joy … Sean’s voice started to tremble.
“It’s all right, Sean.” I said.
And with that permission, he teared up a little. Just a little, mind you. Uhhhh, Doc, I’m sorry. It’s just … it just overwhelmed me. I can still feel it.
“That’s really good, Sean. It’s good to feel things. I know we spend a lot of time trying not to feel things—the things that don’t belong inside you. But this does. This overwhelming joy belongs very much.”
Aw, man. Damn. I guess.
“What did Philip do then, after jumping up and down with joy?”
Sean grinned from ear to ear. He looked at me and he said … Aw, man … hold on a second.… Okay … he said … “Daddy! I just love you!”
A few more tears fell. I handed him a tissue. It was so beautiful. Even after my twisted weekend, the corruption of my very soul, I was still moved by the sight of this enormous, powerful man completely decimated by the love of his child.
“Sean,” I said. “What you’re feeling right now. This is good! This is love. You felt, and you still feel, love for your son. What else?”
I’m grateful, you know? Just so fucking grateful. This little guy, this little life living in this crazy-ass world, and somehow I managed to fill him with joy. Just by driving an hour to Bridgeport and buying him a hot dog.
“Ah, but it wasn’t just that! Don’t you see? He felt your love for him and your desire to be with him, and that’s what filled him with joy! That connection. In this crazy-ass world, there is a big strong man who loves him, and so he knows he’ll be safe. He knows he’ll have a home—not walls and windows, but a home in another person’s heart. That is what it means to be human!”
Sean looked at me strangely, and I realized I had become far more emotional than I normally allow. I took a breath to contain myself. My nerves were frayed and now my guts were spilling out all over the room.
“The feelings you just had when you recalled this memory—do you see how our emotions and memories are connected?” I shifted gears quickly and with admirable precision.