Chapter 19 Ella #2
Megan’s comment from Christmas Eve sprang to my mind.
The one that alluded to me having a savior complex.
Was she right? Was Sophia? I looked back at my interactions with Ben.
A troubling pattern began to emerge. He told me about the Commissioner of the USFL, and I cracked a joke about an egg account.
He was clearly struggling New Year’s Eve, and I made a fool out of myself for him.
And then there was the day he told me he was getting tested.
“I think it’s why you can’t be around your mom much this time of year,” Sophia said. “You know that no amount of joking or self-deprecation can pull her out of it for more than a few minutes.”
“Can we please not talk about Mom right now?” I asked. “I’m already sad. I don’t want to be pissed off too.”
“I understand.”
Unable to stop myself, I said, “Have you seen her lately?”
Sophia nodded.
“How is she?”
“Same as she always is this time of year. She still refuses to listen to your father or me.”
I raked my hands through my hair. “How do I…how do I stop doing this? Feeling like I need to save everyone?”
She pulled up her phone. “I can send you a list of emotional exercises I think will help, but you may want to talk to someone other than me about this.”
“And my sociopathic ability to read people?”
She shot me a grin. “I was kidding about that.”
I stared at her. “Sophia! I’ve been freaking out over it.”
She chuckled. “Sorry. I thought you knew how to take a joke.”
I glared at her. My phone dinged with an incoming email. I looked down to see she’d sent me a rather large PDF file. My glare disappeared. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome. Let me know if you have questions about the exercises or want help with them.”
“I will.”
“Right now, I think we need to focus on your path forward through this current situation,” she said.
“You need to feel these emotions. But with balance. If you start to get overwhelmed, like you clearly were when you got here, stop whatever you’re doing.
Get up and do some jumping jacks, take the dogs outside, or even watch a bunch of videos of people doing dumb things on YouTube.
Distraction techniques can be really beneficial in the short term. ”
“Okay.”
“When you’re able to, go all the way to the end of that worst-case scenario.”
I reached out and grabbed Mr. Bear off the counter, clinging to him like a shield.
Sophia caught sight of my expression and softened her tone.
“It doesn’t have to be today, or even tomorrow.
But Ella? You need to chase that path, and instead of dwelling on how horrible it will be, find solutions.
Say he might have memory loss. You could search for some brain exercises that have proven effective for Alzheimer’s patients. Things like that.”
“I…I think I can manage that.”
“I think so too. You’re a helper. You have been for as long as I’ve known you. That desire to take action, to do something to make things better is your best ally right now. Especially after Stan’s diagnosis. However it turns out.”
“Are there ways I can help him in the short term?” I asked.
She nodded. “There are. One way is to encourage him to feel whatever losses he might have. Loss is like a wound, and grief can be considered the healing element. The bigger his loss, the longer it might take for him to heal, so expect him to be down for a while.”
I chewed my bottom lip for a minute. “So, he has depression and anxiety. Could heavy grief be dangerous for him?”
“You mean could it make him suicidal?”
Oh, God. “Yes.”
“It might, Ella. There’s really no way to tell. Everyone is different. But yes, I’d say the chance is higher. Does he have a therapist?”
“He does. And he told me that during his lower points, he talks to him every day.”
She nodded. “That’s good. He should stick tight to that. His therapist might adjust the dosage of any medications he may be on too, which might alter his mood in the short term. Does he have anyone with him right now? He probably shouldn’t be alone either.”
“His parents are with him.”
“He might need them to stay for a while,” she said.
“With brain injuries, as with diseases like cancer, there can be a lot of collateral loss. Like the financial burden of medical bills, the inability to trust yourself in social situations, or not being able to work or drive. These will be future losses for him, things his doctors will eventually tell him he has to consider, which can cause something called anticipatory grief.”
“Anticipatory grief? I’ve never even heard of that.”
Her expression softened. “Renee went so quickly after her diagnosis that there wasn’t really time for me to bring it up with you.
Basically, once Stan’s initial grief is over, he’ll have all these microcosms of it.
The important thing is to keep to the same process of healing.
He needs to allow himself to feel each potential loss ahead of time and accept the reality of it.
This will really help him when it comes time to actually experience the loss.
And he needs to realize that he’ll have setbacks.
That some days he might feel fine, and then the next he can’t get out of bed because he’s so sad. ”
“Is there anything I can do to help him with that?”
“You might experience it right along with him,” she said.
“Apply the same techniques to your own emotions. Grieve, accept the potential loss, and, for you, find a way to help him do the same. Whether that’s as simple as staying with him on his bad days, or encouraging him to feel his emotions. Men often struggle most with that.”
“Okay. Thank you so much for this.”
She reached for her phone again. “You’re welcome. Here, I have some more exercises for you. And some links if you get stuck and can’t reach me for whatever reason.”
My own phone dinged several times from beside me.
“Do you have anything to help me through the next few days while I wait to hear from him about his results?” I asked her.
She arched a brow. “I got some horse tranquilizers I could douse you with. Put you under for at least 48 hours.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, but if you’re not, yes, please.”
She grinned. “You knew I was joking. Okay, so here’s what I’d recommend...”
We talked until I ran out of questions. When we were done, she invited me to stay for the rest of the afternoon.
We huddled together for a long time in the kitchen and planned out Jacob’s welcome home party.
When the sun finally broke through the clouds, we shoved ourselves into our snow gear and went out to add another snowman to the village cluttering up their front yard.
Afterward, I read a sleepy Evan his favorite book.
He conked out on the couch halfway through the third chapter.
Michael and I sat close by him on the living room floor and played a few quiet rounds of Mario Kart on Jacob’s old game console.
Michael kicked my ass, the little game shark.
Later, I helped Sofia make her mother’s recipe for pasta fazool, and she taught me some Italian while we worked – mostly swear words, which she insisted were the best introduction into any language.
I left her house feeling much better than I when I’d arrived. When I got home, I sunk down onto the couch, let myself be terrified until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then pulled up the YouTube channel for a vocal competition and watched all of the auditions.
I went to bed earlier than normal, worn out from the emotional rollercoaster I’d been stuck on the past few days.
I fell asleep thinking about Ben.
And woke up to what seemed like a nightmare.