Relinquish - His Second Chance

Chapter Thirteen

Sebastian

"It's lovely to see you again, Seb. How have you been?" Laura, the shrink, asks me as I take a seat opposite her in the barely decorated room that she uses for such sessions within her home.

It's white and bare in here, which is a massive contrast to the rooms I've walked through to return to her office.

Laura is a middle-aged woman with blonde hair, voluptuous. She is pretty in an understated kind of way, and she's vibrant; her house portrays that, yet this room is as mundane and as dull as they come.

"Things have... passed," I admit.

I've always found it terribly hard to talk, emotions not having been something my father taught me whilst I grew up.

In his words, a man should be the pillar of strength. And it is expected that he remains the strength whilst the woman falls apart repeatedly.

Yet I have no woman now, so...

"It's been a few months since we last saw each other; how has the grieving process been treating you?" She asks me, hitting the nail on the head as to why I'm here at all.

"Awful, it's been more than hard, and I'm still struggling. In fact, that's why I'm here; I need to figure out how to stop being so damned angry all the time... it's rubbing off on Melody, and I fear her anger is my fault."

"I see. Do you remember our conversation of the five main stages of grief?" She asks me whilst reaching inside that stupid little folder on her lap to produce much the same leaflet about grief that still lives in my office desk, unread to this very day.

"Of course, I'm not stupid, Laura."

"I never said you were, Seb. Tell me about your struggles?"

I laugh under my breath, remembering the hard times of late where Melody and I seem to take it in turns exploding at the smallest of things.

"My angers simmering at any given moment, even mundane tasks such as cooking flips the switch, and I'm finding I struggle to hold my temper. I find I'm unable to stop myself from shouting at Melody for doing normal toddler things."

"I see. Have you tried breathing techniques?"

"No."

"How about working out?"

"No."

"Reading?"

"I've tried nothing, okay? I'm just stumbling through life like a f*****g soaked sponge that has no clue how to put one foot in front of the other. That's why I'm here."

She nods at me, a knowing look on her face that does nothing for my inner self-esteem. What must she think of me? A thirty-six-year-old man who can't handle the emotions of losing someone.

Of losing Beth.

"I'm going to give you some sheets; follow the links and try the breathing techniques. Grief is one of those things, Seb. It takes as long as your body and mind wills. The anger will subside, and luckily, we know the root cause of why you are feeling this way. Be patient with yourself, be patient with little Melody. You've both lost someone that was incredibly important to you."

"Very important," I reaffirm.

"Let's talk about Melody, shall we?"

"Sure," I shrug my shoulders, happy to move along from myself to my daughter.

"Tell me about her behaviour?"

I scoff.

"She's having tantrums at every turn, her once subdued manners now given way for throwing of her head or stamping of her feet whilst she smacks and bites. I presume my behaviour has been rubbing off on her, but I'm unsure how to support her. I'm not sure I'm equipped to have the calm front Beth always did with her."

"Sounds like typical toddler behaviour; she's testing her boundaries, Seb. It's your job to show emotional stability to enable her to grow emotionally. Remember that toddlers' behaviours are temporary, and our parental job is to help emotionally regulate our child."

"So this is nothing to do with losing her mother?" I query, swinging my foot up onto my opposite knee to shake my ankle.

"Yes, her behaviour could be derived from missing Beth, but she is just turning two, and it is normal for children of her age to press their boundaries. If you are worried, I could always refer you to one of my friends; she deals with children and childhood trauma. I'm sure she would assess Melody for you."

"Do you think she needs it, or am I overreacting?" I ask her, worried that I'm genuinely blaming all her behaviour on something it is not.

But honestly, I have no clue how Melody feels about losing Beth because she's far too young to talk and hasn't the vocabulary to voice her opinion on the matter.

Does she miss Beth?

"No, Seb. I do not think you're overreacting. You are Melody's father. You know her better than anyone, so if you feel something is off. Then I believe that you should investigate that," she smiles at me, her eyes kind and soft.

"Okay. Refer her then; perhaps it'd do us both good to speak to your friend."

She nods, a small smile on her face as we wrap up our meeting.

Our sessions always seem to fly, and I feel like I'm paying far too much for such a little amount of time speaking, but it's been ninety minutes already.

Bidding Laura farewell, I place my jacket on to walk out into the rain to my car, the weather matching my current mood.

I have the afternoon and evening to myself, and I have plans to use every single hour of freedom.

I dial my best friend as I get into the car, shaking off my now wet jacket to shove in the back as I wait for him to answer in anticipation.

"Sebby boy, how you doing, mate?"

"I'm alright, Josh. Been better...Do you have plans tonight?" I ask, pulling out onto the semi-busy road that leads me home to the empty house I hate spending my days in. Yet I find I haven't left it in weeks, only to go to the store and mine and Beth's parents every week as I had stupidly promised.

I've also yet to fully infiltrate myself back to work, taking time off to spend with Melody, which is a complete and utter farce, but there you go, that's the excuse I've been sticking to for fear people find out that, indeed, I cannot stomach to face anyone after losing Beth.

"Drinks with the boys; feel like joining?" He asks me, though his tone doesn't indicate that I'll agree.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm free tonight. Meet at yours?"

"As always.... Hey, Seb?"

"Yeah?"

"It's good to hear from you, buddy."

I swallow the lump that appears, threatening to choke up in an unmanly fashion. His tone is truly prudent; my previous once-a-month outing has been nonexistent. I've kept myself in this bubble of angst since Beth's funeral, but I find it easier that way for some reason. Even so, the emotion in his voice takes me off guard, and I find myself excusing our conversation promptly.