Because feeling it costs too much when there was nowhere to put it. Tonight he had somewhere to put it.
He said softly to the space where he kept her. I am going to be okay, Samantha.
I think I am finally going to be okay. The intake appointment was on a Friday.
Diane drove him herself. The counselor’s name was Dr. Anthony. He had been sober for 11 years and did not make a point of mentioning it unless it was useful.
He looked at Eugene’s file. Then at Eugene, he said, “Tell me why now.” Eugene said because I have a granddaughter I have never properly met.
Dr. Anthony said how old? Eugene said five. He said what is her name? Eugene said Ammani.
Dr. Anthony wrote something down. He said what does Ammani mean? Eugene said it means faith.
Dr. Anthony looked up from the paper. He said all right Mr. Holt let us get to work.
90 days. Eugene did not miss a single session. He showed up on days when showing up felt like carrying something he was not sure he could lift.
He showed up on the day that would have been Samantha’s birthday. He sat in the group room that day and a man named Leonard, who had been a high school football coach, talked about his son, and Eugene listened and understood that grief was not a competition.
The point was not to compare losses. The point was to carry yours honestly. Week seven was the hard week.
There was a man in the facility named Douglas. He had been in and out three times.
He said in a group session that he had decided this time was going to be different just like the last time and the time before.
He said it with the exhaustion of someone who no longer quite believed his own words.
That night, Eugene lay in his room thinking about Douglas. He picked up the phone.
