July 29, Wednesday
I HAD just cast off another knitted knocker when the attorneys began peremptory strikes. Each number called sent a small tremor through what remained of us. It was personal now.
The physical therapist, gone. The retired banker, gone. The city accountant, gone.
I knitted through all of it, and my fingers were getting faster. I was going to run out of yarn before I ran out of proceedings.
By four o'clock nineteen of us remained. From a thousand.
Judge Arnold looked at us with the expression of someone who could see the finish line. "Return tomorrow," he said. "Nine a.m."
I drove home with excited anticipation. Both kids had texted during the day, assuring me they'd be on the therapy Zoom call.
Lily: i'll be there i promise
Josh: yeah same
Warren: I'll make sure they're both on.
I made a sandwich, opened the laptop, and logged in two minutes early. At six o'clock the grid loaded. Dr. Anders' face. And mine.
"They promised to be here," I told her.
She smiled and nodded.
I willed them to sign on, to show up for our family. I started to text them, but stopped myself. At ten minutes past, Dr. Anders gave me a sad smile. "It appears we're alone again."
"It appears so."
"I want to say something directly, and I hope you'll receive it as it's intended.
" She folded her hands with slow precision.
"I cannot help a family that doesn't want to be helped.
Therapy requires participation. I can work with resistance.
I can work with anger. I can work with people who arrive every week and disagree with everything I say.
What I cannot work with is consistent, repeated absence.
That absence communicates something, and it's my professional obligation to tell you what. "
"What does it tell you?"
"That your family dynamic is set and that your children and ex-husband don't believe this process will help them. I think we should hit pause for now. I'm always available if you need to reach out."
"Okay. Thank you, Dr. Anders."
I closed the laptop and sighed. Something had to change.
For all of us.