TW: discussions of depression and grief (in a therapy setting)

This chapter goes into the situation of Eli's parents' death. There is nothing here merely for shock value, just don't want anyone to be caught off guard.

***

November 2024

"Talk me through your first depressive episode."

We've been at this for three years.

The first time I came to Dr Wooding, after I moved, I still couldn't talk about any of it. But Dr Wooding says being able to talk about things is important. Telling the story over and over will help me take power away from 'the trauma'. Help me heal.

So I humor him.

We still talk about the normal things - how was your week, it was fine, how is the team, it's fine, how was the game, it was fine. But if I don't mention anything to set the tone for the appointment, he tries again.

The first time, I shut down after two sentences. I've had more practice since, though.

"It was after they died."

"Your parents," Dr Wooding speaks softly.

"Mh."

"How was that?"

"Their death?"

"The whole thing. Whatever you want to share."

I take a deep breath in. Short, factual sentences at first.

"I was sixteen. They were going out on date night. They always had date night on Fridays. Saturdays sometimes, if they had something else on Friday. I was staying at Owen's. Dean was staying with us too. Elliott had the house to himself. He invited some friends over. They were playing poker."

"Okay."

"We went to bed earlier than usual. We were going to meet the other guys at the rink in the morning. Owen's mom came into the living room to wake me up. Dean woke up too. Owen's mom said Elliott had been at the door‐ Actually, Dean was already up. He woke up with the doorbell, not Mrs Holmes."

"That's okay."

"She said Elliott got a call from the hospital. My parents had taken the car, so Owen's dad drove Elliott. They had already left so I had to wait. Dean called his dad. He drove me. Dean and Owen came too."

"Did your friends asked to go with you?" Dr Wooding interrupts gently.

"I asked them."

"And they said yes?"

I nod. "Owen was still half-asleep. But they both came."

"That was kind of them."

"Yeah. They're always there."

Dr Wooding nods. He's writing something on his notes. "Want to continue?"

"When I got to the hospital the doctors were talking to Owen's dad. Elliott was sitting down. His eyes were red but he wasn't crying. He didn't talk to me."

"Did you try to talk to your brother?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I was focusing on the doctors. And Owen's dad."

"What about them?"

"He kept looking at me. Owen's dad."

"Did that bother you?"

"A bit."

"Why?"

"It was the look in his eyes. I just knew."

Dr Wooding nods slowly, looking at me. "What next?"

"Dean's dad told us to sit. He went to the doctors. He cried. He and my dad were childhood friends."

Dr Wooding takes a quick note, but nods his head to encourage me to continue.

"Owen's dad came over. He said there was an accident. My parents were driving back. A drunk driver came their way. They fled the scene after. It was another driver who passed later that called 911. My mom was already dead when the paramedics got there. My dad was rushed to the hospital. He died before they could do anything. I didn't get to see either of them."

"So the last time you saw them was when you said goodbye, before they left?"

I shake my head. "I didn't. I said 'later'. They were just going out for date night. I was just going to stay at Owen's. My dad was supposed to drive us to the rink in the morning. I told them 'later' and left. My mom told me to take a toothbrush. I closed the door on her before she even finished her sentence."

"Did you?" His voice is mildly curious. "Take a tooth brush?"

I smile feebly, but it feels like a grimace. "No. I knew Owen's mom would have extra."

Dr Wooding's small smile comes a little easier than mine, and it feels more genuine too. "And your dad? Remember the last thing he said to you?"

"No. Sometimes I think I do, but I'm not sure. It was probably something normal too. Like a toothbrush."

"What happened after you heard the news?"

"The doctors needed to talk to Elliott. Owen's dad took us all home at some point. Dean's dad stayed with Elliott. A social worker came over the next day. She asked if Elliott wanted to tell me or if she should. Elliott went to the kitchen. She told me I'd be taken to a foster home."

Dr Wooding frowns. "What was that like? Losing your parents so suddenly, then being told you would be removed from your home too?"

"It was shit."

Dr Wooding smiles, nodding. "What did you do in the time that it took before you were taken away?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't say goodbye to your friends?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to. I didn't know how to. I was afraid of seeing anyone. Of seeing pity in their eyes. Seeing honest concern and crying in front of them. Or not crying and looking like I didn't care."

"Was this something you felt a lot? Concern for how others may perceive your emotions?"

"I guess."

"Even Owen and Dean?"

"I guess."

"What about your foster family? Did you have the same concerns in regards to them?"

"Not really."

"What were they like?"

"Nice."

"How so?"

I shrug. "I didn't leave my room much. Didn't talk to them that much either. But they gave me my own room. Let me stay there with the door closed. Didn't push me to talk to them."

"So they gave you space?"

"Yes."

"May I ask how you made use of that space?"

"I don't know."

"Were you allowed to see your friends? Moscow is within driving distance from Brunson, right? I believe that's what you told me."

"Yeah, but I didn't have a car."

"Would your foster family have driven you if you asked?"

"I don't know."

"Would your friends have gone to you if you asked them?"

"Probably. I guess."

"So you didn't ask your foster family to drive you, or your friends to come see you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I wanted to be alone."

Dr Wooding doesn't say anything. The silence feels all-encompassing. Like suddenly I can't hear the clock on the wall either. Or the cars outside the window.

"It was like that moment you realize you're having a nightmare because what's happening is too bad to be real. But instead of a split-second moment, it was like that every day, all day. I didn't know how to deal with it. It felt like a feeling too strong to last, but it refused to go away. Like... I... I don't know how to explain it."

"That's okay." Dr Wooding takes a note then looks up. "Did people ask you to explain it? How you were feeling?"

"Not really."

"Did you feel like you had to explain it to anyone?"

"No." I sniff, feeling a warm tingling behind my eyes. "Maybe. I guess."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Do you often feel like you need to offer an explanation for your emotions?"

"I guess."

"Why? Or better yet - to whom? Who has the right to this explanation?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think I'm entitled to an explanation of how you feel?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Why?"

"It's your job."

Dr Wooding puts down his pen and leans back in his chair. He rests his elbows on the armrests, fingers laced in front of him. "My job is to help you process your emotions," he speaks evenly. "Give you tools to live your life through your depression. I have neither the duty nor the right to force you to talk about what you don't want to. Your emotions are yours, and yours alone. You owe me nothing you don't mean to share."

"Okay."

"Do you ever feel like that's not the case? With me, or anyone else?"

"I guess."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just... I don't know."

"That's okay, Eli." He smiles. "That's quite alright, in fact. You don't have to know."

I nod, looking down at my lap.

"What about your brother?" Dr Wooding asks. "When was the next contact you had with him?"

"When I moved in with Owen's family."

"So you didn't talk during the summer?"

"No."

"And the funeral?"

"No. I didn't talk to anyone."

"And when you moved in with Owen's family, was your relationship changed?"

"I guess."

"How so?"

I shrug. "It was just different. We didn't talk much."

"Why not?"

"We were living in different houses."

"Did you talk a lot to each other when you lived in the same house? Before the accident, I mean."

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"Brother stuff."

He smiles. "Like what?"

"Mom and dad, school, hockey. I made fun of his girlfriends. He made fun of my friends."

"And when you were living with Owen, you were still working with your brother, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk at work?"

"Not much."

"You told me he got you that job?"

"He got Owen an interview there during the summer. Owen mentioned me to the manager when I went back home."

"What was your brother's job there?"

"He used to be a part-time bartender. After my parents died he got another part-time as a waiter. The manager was promoted to the office levels the next summer, though. He recommended Elliott for the job."

"So your brother became manager at that point?"

"Yes."

"And this was important for the guardianship process, correct?"

"Yeah. The reason he couldn't be responsible for me was because he wasn't financially independent. He needed a steady salary and stuff."

"I imagine a manager salary is better than two part-time server salaries," Dr Wooding muses.

I nod. "It is."

"How did you feel about moving back in with your brother?"

"I don't know honestly. It was strange. I hadn't been inside the house since right after they died. For a year, basically. It was weird to be there without them."

"Do you think your brother felt that too?"

"I can't read his mind, but... Yeah. I guess it was probably weird for him too. He had to move into my parents room."

"Why did he have to do that?"

"Guess he didn't have to. But he did. So we could each have our rooms."

"What did you think of that? Having your own room?"

"I guess I appreciated it."

"You used to share that room with your brother before, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you not like sharing a room?"

I shrug. "I don't know. It was fine. We used to be closer. And, uh." I bite my lip. "I used to feel weird when I was alone. Before. But after my parents died... After that summer I spent alone. I felt like I needed to shut myself out sometimes."

"Were you able to do that at home? With your brother?"

"I guess."

Dr Wooding leans forward. "Mind if I ask a very personal question, Eli?"

"I guess."

"Do remember you don't have to answer. And you also don't need to know the answer."

"Okay."

"Do you think you ever resented your brother?"

I feel the tiny lump that's been growing in my throat swell to tennis ball size. 

"For what?"

"You said when he got the call he called Owen's parents, but he didn't talk to you," Dr Wooding speaks calmly. "And when you got to the hospital he wasn't talking to the doctors, and he wasn't crying either. You also said he went into the kitchen to let the social worker tell you about being moved to a foster family. And you didn't go into your house for a full year after the accident. You were staying with your friend Owen instead, because your brother wasn't considered fit to be your legal guardian. Did any of this ever make you feel resentful in any way?"

"Maybe." I gulp, trying to swallow the tennis ball. "I don't know, honestly. I think sometimes, yeah. But it also feels unfair."

"How so?"

"Because I was sixteen when my parents died, but he was twenty-four. He changed a lot after that night too. People said I used to be social, but Elliott was the life-of-the-party guy. He had a million friends. Could strike a conversation with anyone in a second. Made people laugh without even trying.

"When they died, he had just graduated college two years before. He had no plans to rush into anything. He and dad talked about that a lot. My parents got married and got jobs really soon after high school. Elliott didn't want that. My parents liked that about him. They wanted him to have the privilege of time."

Dr Wooding nods. "Do you maybe think your situation after your parents' death robbed him of that time?"

"Yeah. I mean. He had to get a full-time job. Any job. Inherited a house. Got a kid in his legal custody."

"Mh. Does that make your feel guilty in a way? Like you specifically robbed your brother of that time your parents wanted for him?"

I can feel my throat tighten painfully around that lump. "Maybe. If I wasn't a minor, he wouldn't have had to change his life so drastically so fast."

"Do you ever think it was his responsibility as your brother to do that?"

"I don't know if it was. He's my brother, not my dad. His responsibility was to make fun of me, go to my hockey games and pretend he didn't care, embarrass me in front of my friends when he dropped me off at school. Not... check on school reports, and sign permission slips, and make sure my clothes fit, and my hockey gear was clean. He lost his parents too. And while I was away in Moscow sulking in my room, staying in bed all day, he was restructuring his whole life. Trying to step into a role he didn't want so soon."

"When you say you were away in Moscow sulking in your room, staying in bed all day," Dr Wooding starts gently, "was that out of laziness?"

I sniff. "No."

"Were you in bed happily watching movies or playing video games?"

"No."

"Were you sleeping eight hours a day, eating healthy, feeling well? Feeling yourself?"

"No."

"Then what were you doing?"

"I felt like shit." My voice sounds wet. "I couldn't sleep at all. Even though I was in bed all day. I didn't feel like eating. I didn't feel like doing anything. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't even get up to go to the bathroom."

"So you weren't staying in bed all day by choice, were you?"

"No."

"You weren't having a nice, relaxing time."

"No."

"You were doing the best you could at the time."

"Which wasn't much."

"But it was the best you could," Dr Wooding says. Firmly. "What else could you do?"

"Elliott was going through the same loss. He had other shit to worry about too. He had more reasons to shut down, but he didn't."

"Elliott was home. Surrounded by his friends, and friends of the family. He had a network around him for support. You were plucked from you familiar environment and sent to live with strangers."

"I could've reached out to my friends. Visit home."

"But you didn't. Because you were dealing with your own situation. And Elliott had his." He laces his fingers again, hands over the table to lean forward. "The problem with playing the comparison game is precisely this. You and Elliott are different people. You dealt with your loss in different ways. And you each did the best you could. And the best you could was different at different times and different places. And you both had your hardship and your extenuating circumstances."

He smiles, pushing his glasses up. "You said you don't resent your brother. Not really, at least. Because it isn't fair. Elliott shouldn't resent you either, Eli. Because it wouldn't be fair. Just like it's not fair for you to blame yourself for how you felt after this traumatic event."

When I don't say anything, Dr Wooding speaks again. Quietly. "Have you ever told your brother that you don't resent him? That you understand what he went through was hard and that you appreciate what he did try to do for you?"

"Kind of. When I first told him I needed help. From a therapist."

Dr Wooding smiles again. "What exactly is 'kind of' here?" His eyebrows raise just the slightest. "Correct me if I'm off, but it seems to me that you and your brother have had some communication issues since your parents' death. Sometimes the best way to get that out of the way is being as honest as you can. Even if you think the other person should already know how you feel."

He waits another moment in which neither of us says anything. His smile takes on a knowing edge.

"I understand," he says, "that stating your feelings plainly to other people is hard for you, Eli. And from what I've heard it seems like it might run in the family. But I can tell you love your brother. And maybe doing some work to start mending that relationship could offer you a world of comfort."

I nod.

Dr Wooding waits a few seconds before checking his wrist watch. "I'm afraid we're running out of time for today. Is there anything else you'd like to ask, or mention?"

I shake my head.

"Then we'll see each other in a week. Through a video-call, I believe, since you'll be away for a game. Florida, is it?"

I nod.

"You have my number and my email. You can use either one if you feel like something urgent comes up that you need to talk about."

"Thanks."

Dr Wooding smiles. "Of course. And Eli?"

"Mh?"

"You did really well today. We talked about a lot of different things we had never talked about before." He nods reassuringly. "In its time, I'd like to circle back to each one of them, but you should know you did well today."

I nod and stand from my chair. Dr Wooding does the same to walk me to the door and wish me a good week after I bid him goodbye.

On the subway home, I feel beat. I want to take a nap.

I take my phone out of my pocket and without really thinking about it I scroll through my contacts until I reach Elliott's name. My thumb hovers over it for a minute before I block the screen.

My leg starts bouncing up and down without my permission. I try to still it and end up reaching for my phone again.

Elliott answers after a couple of rings.

"Eli," he sounds sleepy.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, sorry. Stayed up really late last night. Trying to figure out staff schedules for next week. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Okay." I hear sheets ruffling. "Why did you call then?"

"I just... misdialed."

"Okay."

"Sorry. You should go back to sleep."

"Think I'll just get up now."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Don't worry."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Not today.

***

To make it clear, this happens roughly six months before chapter one. And it may be the last look into the past we get.

I currently have five chapters ready and nine to go. I needed a break after finishing my school work, but I'm back to writing.

Thanks for reading and commenting! Reading your reactions is always really fun and motivating :)