Freefall

I heard the news the other day. You would think in my line of work I would at least somewhat be used to this, yet I never experienced it before.  To be honest, I don’t know if I can go to your funeral. I can’t begin to look your mother or father in the eye, or how to imagine how they would think of me after what had happened. The struggle of such a choice reminds me of “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”. I involuntarily start humming the tune of it. I think in retrospect it was to get my mind off of having to make a decision. There’s something quite odd though about making that drive after something traumatic- you seem to notice the quiet sounds more. Rain clattering down on the car sounded like the roar of raging rapids, plied with waves. Or maybe the subtle breeze of the A/C blowing in your face.

When I returned back to my office, I had to cancel all the appointments my clients had. I could only find company with the lonely sound of a ticking clock. I stared intently at the frames I had hung up: “PhD in Psychiatry” and “Middlesex County’s Best Therapist of 2018”. For some reason, the certificates I was staring at had the absolute nerve to be lying to me to my very own face. I couldn’t help myself, so I took them down and threw them in the trash. The glass panel covering my PhD cracked, and once again I stood there, silent except for the clock ticking, staring at a terrified, cracked reflection of myself. And, even though I wanted to, I couldn’t cry.

It dawned on me that I wasn’t doing anything productive, so I chose to close up the office and leave. After driving a bit, I took the train into Manhattan and I went to the top of the building on 73rd street. I climbed up to the rooftop and I just took in the smells, sights, and sounds of the City. I walked up to where you were, when you took your free fall. 45 stories up, and what seemed like an abyss below, but unlike most abysses, there was life at the bottom. Sitting on a ledge and closing my eyes, immersing myself in what you were thinking: Demons whose faces you can’t recognize, or even feel confident they were there at all. A whimper of an apology for not helping you when you were alive. I wondered if there was an afterlife. If so, I wonder if I could help you there. I felt a tear wipe down my face, and then a scream that sounded like it came from me but I don’t remember making one. I felt the rush of air and the acceleration, the feeling of the coming end, and then there was nothing. I experienced my very own free fall.