New York Law School - The counsellor

The Counsellor

By

Gillian Jackson

1996

Maggie Sayer smoothed the soft green fabric of the rather expensive dress over her hips, turning to check the effect in the shops ornate cheval mirror. It was perfect, well apart from the figures on the price ticket but everyone deserves a little spoiling sometimes its good for the soul. The reflection presented not only a stylish, well cut dress but a happy, confident woman who at twenty nine, slim with shining auburn curls an olive skin and hazel eyes, was convinced that life could not be more perfect. Chris, her husband of three years had booked a two night break at a fabulous country house hotel in celebration of their wedding anniversary at the weekend, the anticipation of which buoyed Maggies present good mood, bringing a light flush to her cheeks. She was a woman in love who knew that her love was reciprocated.

Turning her attention to the young sales assistant hovering close by and obviously anxious for a sale, Maggie smiled, telling her she would take the dress.

Stepping out of the comfort of the warm shop, the bitterly cold late September wind tugged roughly at her coat as she quickened her step to avoid being late. Hugging the collar closer to her throat she laughed into the biting wind, even the wild, murky weather couldnt dampen the high spirits of the day.

But what Maggie Sayer did not know that afternoon, was that before her anniversary weekend was over, she would become a widow.

The pale autumn sun struggled to break through the gray clouds as with barely a minute to spare and taking the stairs two at a time, she pushed at the heavy office door, completely unaware of the impending news waiting to shatter everything she held dear. As the door reluctantly creaked open Maggie almost collided with May, the office supervisor, a thin wiry woman of indeterminate years, generally thought to be well past retiring age and who appeared to be unusually agitated, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Something was wrong. The tension in the atmosphere was almost tangible as Maggie became aware of the eyes of colleagues focussed in her direction. May began to speak, the words stilted, distant, unreal. All Maggie heard was Chrishospital.

Shaking her head, a thin nervous smile flickered briefly across her lips, this couldnt be happening; it must be a mistake or some sort of sick joke. May, normally a morose character, spoke kindly but with a demeanour which gave away how serious the situation was.

Ill take you. Mays voice was barely a whisper as she gently took Maggies arm to steer her out of the office, with sympathetic glances following their every step, confirming the worst possible scenario imaginable.

The Friday afternoon traffic was heavy and the usually short journey to the hospital took what seemed to be an age. Maggie thought she ought to be asking questions, When? Who? Why? but her mouth was dry and the words refused to come, as if her brain was trying to function through a thick fog. Later she would remember getting out of the car to be ushered down an endless hospital corridor, with the smell of cleaning fluid and over-cooked cabbage lingering in the air. Lifts hummed and pinged, travelling ceaselessly up and down with a disembodied voice announcing each floor number. Maggie stood in a doorway, an observer, watching as nursing staff worked frantically around a high hospital bed, shouting indistinguishable words to each other. The man on the bed was bare-chested with monitors clinging to his body. Broad shoulders and soft blonde hair did resemble her husband, but it couldnt be him. Chris stood tall and strong, with blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and he laughed a lot. This mans hands were still. Chriss hands were large, busy, and capable. Hands which could tackle repairs with ease, hands that effortlessly opened jars which she had wrestled with, hands that could hold and comfort her when she was sad and hands that gently cupped a spider to release it outside rather than killing it. It couldnt be Chris. He was the strong one, the one to make all the plans, like their anniversary weekend. He was the organizer, the practical joker, the life and soul of the party. He was her husband, her best friend, and her protector.

For two days the man lay on the bed whilst doctors performed endless tests and monitored him. Maggie felt utterly useless, all she could do was stay as close and as long as they would let her. A massive brain haemorrhage they said, there was nothing they could do, he would never recover. Holding his hand, willing him to get better, she could not face the reality that he had already gone and it was only the machinery keeping his heart beating and his lungs working. They left her alone with him, telling her she must say her goodbyes. Chriss parents had already gone, his mother led by her solemn husband, looking pale and on the point of collapse.

Maggie thought of all their plans, the weekend away, the family home they would one day exchange their little flat for, the children that now would never be born, the places they wanted to visit but never would. Life without her husband unfolded before her like the mouth of a cavernous tunnel reaching out to engulf her into its inky darkness. Chris was the only man she had ever loved, three years was not enough, not nearly enough

Chris was dead and a huge part of her died with him. Spiralling into a deep, dark depression, she could no longer function, didnt want to function. He was dead. Maggie felt as if she was dead too.

2011

I just love daffodils, Maggie announced chirpily as she walked briskly through the reception area of the doctors surgery.

Remind me to put some on your coffin, came the quick reply from the receptionist.

Maggie leaned on the counter, laughing,

You know Sue; you have a completely negative attitude to Monday mornings. Would you like to talk about it?

Sue answered with an exaggerated smile, moving away to pick up the telephone. Carrying the daffodils to her room, Maggie buried her face in their bright yellow trumpets, savouring the evocative scent of spring and new beginnings. She took off her coat and hung it on the little hook in the corner. At forty-three, she was still an attractive woman, five foot six with a slim build and naturally curly rich brown hair, as yet showing no gray and cut short to frame her heart shaped face. Expressive hazel eyes enhanced her appearance, not a classical beauty but certainly an attractive woman. Scanning her diary for the coming week she noted that there were two new clients to see, although the first, Julie Chambers, had been due to start a couple of weeks ago and a month before that too.

Could be a no show, Maggie thought, although she hoped not. Julie was a GP referral and Dr Williams must be keen for her to come as he usually didnt give second chances, and any no shows were put back on the waiting list. Julie was the first appointment that morning, booked in for 9.30am, after which there was a client who was coming to the end of her sessions, and in the afternoon a private client followed by a meeting with her supervisor.

Maggie Sayer was an excellent counsellor having developed an interest in therapeutic counselling after firsthand experience of its benefits fourteen years previously when her husband had died quite suddenly. Naturally shed been devastated, only getting through the funeral and its associated bureaucracy with the help of her own, and Chriss family. People tried to be kind and she received the usual platitudes, but also some insensitive and unhelpful comments.

You were married such a short time, life will soon return to how it was before.

How callous, she screamed inwardly, as if Chris had never existed. Three years of marriage may not be long but she couldnt begin to imagine life without him, it seemed as if they had been part of each other forever, his death made her feel like her heart and soul had been physically ripped out of her body.