Chapter 39
Near the end of her last session, Mary Louise had told Cheyenne about her father’s death and her perceived role in it. Even her own children didn’t know what had happened. Cheyenne had gone way over their session time, gently guiding her through questions and getting her to a place where she was in the present and had a reasonable hold on her faculties.
This was their last session, or at least the last session that had been paid for. Mary Louise would be eternally grateful to Cheyenne for helping her clean out some old wounds that might actually have a chance to heal now. There was so much talk about mental health these days, and that was probably a good thing. She thought about her grandsons and what a crazy, confusing world they were growing up in.
She had only had a single sip of tea when Cheyenne asked her, “Were you angry at your parents?”
Mary Louise was thrown a bit off kilter. Cheyenne usually gave her the option of choosing what they wanted to talk about first, although Cheyenne did have a way of veering the conversations around to what she felt Mary Louise needed to work on.
She had learned to consider Cheyenne’s questions before answering them. Too many times she replied with an expected answer, not a true answer, and Cheyenne always called her out on it. She chose a safe response.
“Maybe.”
“Every day your father’s presence caused tension in the house. Every moment, every action revolved around him. Is that correct?”
Of course it was correct. Wasn’t every child just a bit player in their parent’s show? At least that’s how it used to be. Mary Louise recalled a House Hunters episode where a teen-aged girl declared she was going to take the master suite because she “needed” it. The father was actually considering it. Times had changed.
“For the most part, yes. But he couldn’t help the way he was. It was because of the war.”
How could she be angry at a man who had seen countless men, including his buddies, blown to bits?
“And your mother? She spent all of her time and energy taking care of your father.”
“She loved him. She did the best she could under the circumstances.”
Mary Louise was transported back to those days. It was very much an “us” and “them” scenario with her mother shielding and protecting her father and Mary Louise shielding and protecting her brother Roger. Two warriors standing face-to-face, battle lines drawn but both knowing neither was going to cross the line. Or win.
“There was nothing left for you and your brother, was there?” prodded Cheyenne.
“She did the best she could.”
It was true. What other choice did her mother have?
“And then your father abandoned you in a very tragic way.”
Mary Louise took a ragged breath.
“He wasn’t well. There was no help for him back then.”
Tears stung her eyes. Why was Cheyenne attacking her parents like this? She didn’t know them. She didn’t know what they went through, what they had to deal with.
“How does this make you feel? How your mother treated you? How your father treated you?”
“They loved us as best they could. It was a difficult situation.”
She meant it except it wasn’t a difficult situation, it was an impossible situation. A poor little girl from Houston, Texas expected to deal with the mental illness of a man who had been to war and definitely did not come back the better for it.
“You are making excuses for them. They are gone now. It’s just you and me here. So I ask you again. How did you feel all those years growing up in that house?”
“I felt lonely. I felt isolated. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I couldn’t ask other girls over to the house.”
Mary Louise had never tried to articulate these feelings before. No one has perfect parents. No one grows up unscathed. It’s just the way of the world.
“What else? What other feelings do you have around the situation?”
“Look, Cheyenne. That was a long time ago. My father’s been gone over forty years.” Was it really that long? She did the mental math. More like forty-five. “My mother’s been gone over twenty. What is the point of bringing this all up again?”
“Just bear with me. Close your eyes for a minute.”
Mary Louise took in a breath, let it out, and then did as Cheyenne asked.
After a minute, Cheyenne said, “Imagine feelings are floating around in front of you. Joy. Disappointment. Fear. Sadness. Delight.”
The words floated in front of Mary Louise, swirling around like leaves caught in a windstorm.
“What feeling most resonates with you about your childhood?”
She considered each one as if she was trying to fit a piece into a jigsaw puzzle. Then she saw it, floating around in the back trying to hide.
“Anger,” she said. The piece fit. The piece fit exactly. Cheyenne’s initial question to her was if she had been angry at her parents. She had immediately shoved it away, but now there it was.
“And where do you feel this in your body?”
What kind of stupid question was that? It was in her head. You don’t feel anger in your body. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to figure out the answer Cheyenne was looking for.
“This is about you, Mary Louise, not me. Just take a moment to get in touch with this emotion. Where is it living in your body?”
Mary Louise concentrated. Then her eyes popped open. “In my chest!”
Cheyenne smiled at her. Mary Louise’s hand went to the center of her chest, and she could feel a rock in there, a big, heavy rock labeled ANGER.
“As I was asking you about your parents, you were defending them. I wasn’t trying to attack them. I was trying to understand the situation. A very difficult situation. Your father was damaged. He couldn’t help what happened to him. Your mother was trying to take care of a man who had probably once been the love of her life.”
“He was. Oh, he was. She had been so in love with him. But when he came back from Korea he wasn’t the same man. It must have been so hard for her. He looked the same. Every now and then parts of the man she married would shine through. Then he’d take us all on the train to Crazy Town with him.” It hadn’t been fair, but it’s what happened. Mary Louise knew they weren’t the only family who had dealt with PTSD, and certainly weren’t the last. “She always said she’d walk through fire for him.”
“And so she did,” said Cheyenne.
She let the words sink in. Let Mary Louise catch her breath. Then she said, “You were angry with both of them. That’s okay. It was a valid emotion to have at the time, especially given your age and the circumstances. What’s not okay is hanging onto that anger and still feeling guilty about it.”
Mary Louise pursed her lips. Cheyenne looked at her with kindness and the slightest of smiles.
“Close your eyes.”
Mary Louise rolled her eyes, too raw to worry about offending anyone.
“Please,” said Cheyenne.
Mary Louise took a deep breath and did as she was asked. She clenched her hands, resting them on her thighs and waiting for Cheyenne to speak.
“Imagine you’re holding a wooden box above your head, about the size of a large suitcase but open on the top. There is no lid on it. Someone begins to slowly start pouring water into the box. It’s not heavy at first, but as you continue to hold it and it continues to fill with water, your arms begin to ache. Some of the water drips through the boards and onto your face. You do your best to shake it off. It’s the only thing you can do. Your hands are busy holding up that box.”
Mary Louise’s shoulders actually began to ache. She clenched her hands harder to avoid raising them to her face to wipe off the imaginary water. Cheyenne let her sit with this for a lot longer than Mary Louise cared for. She was about to say something when Cheyenne’s soothing voice stopped her.
“Someone opens a small door in the bottom of the box and the water spills out over you. You’re sputtering and trying to take breaths the best you can. You’re trying not to panic but then you realize the box is getting lighter. The flow of water is getting less and less. When it stops, throw the box aside.”
After a few minutes Cheyenne said, “When you’re ready, open your eyes.”
Mary Louise would have preferred to just lay her head back and take a little nap. The weight of that box. The relief when the water stopped and she threw the damn thing down. Why did she feel so much lighter? She reluctantly opened her eyes.
“Can you tell me why I walked you through that vizualization?” asked Cheyenne.
“The pain. The anger. The shame. I’ve been holding onto it for so long. But there was no reason for it. I needed to just let it wash over me and be gone.”
Cheyenne nodded, slowly, like the clap in a theatre when the performance was so mind blowing it took the audience a few minutes to realize what they had just witnessed.
“So am I cured?”
Cheyenne laughed.
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