If only my mother knew about this. Sylvia laughed, it was the only humorous thought she had had in a couple of weeks. She sat in the parking lot outside of the Wilson building and checked again to make sure she didn’t see any familiar vehicles or people that would recognize her as she walked in. How would they know what office or even floor she was going on, unless a person was to follow her. Who would follow an old hag like me around? Her second humorous thought of the day. Shit. This may already be working for me. 

Sylvia quizzed herself on her story while arranging her belongings in her purse. You have lost a loved one, a husband. No, maybe a daughter. Too personal. We decided on a best friend. When did I start referring to myself as we? Doesn’t matter. She was a friend from childhood and you lost her suddenly, okay? After making sure the check book was accounted for, she decided her fake lost friend would be Julia, and that Julia had passed away suddenly in her sleep, unexpected heart failure. Just be sure not to say too much, let’s just listen to the others and see how this first day goes. Lets! I did it again, or should I say we. She laughed again and felt ready to leave the security of her Lexus.

It was a long walk to the front door and when Sylvia made it inside, she had not expected the terror of not knowing where to go. God forbid she ask for directions. To the left was a plaque with names of offices and departments. Relieved, she searched the list that seemed to have no organization to it whatsoever until she found it- Permian Counseling.

Lord, I bet they have drug addicts in this building too, probably just here for the free food. With a sigh she practically had to rein in, Sylvia made note of where she was to go. Floor 3, Suite 312. Floor 3, Suite 312. Floor 3, Suite 312. Repeating notable information seemed to help her remember. She was never sure why, but she had done it her whole life and after a while, no matter how uninteresting what needed to be remembered, the phrases became a kind of melody to be sung until it was no longer needed.

The halls were all stale and gave no comfort. Sylvia felt a sense of regret much sooner than she had expected, but that thought was cut short by the time her steps brought her to Suite 312. The flow of the room directed her to a desk where a young unkempt woman sat.

“Hello, I’m here for group.” Sylvia said with hesitation, she figured everyone felt uncomfortable on the first day and that almost put her at ease.

“Sign in please, I can show you around after I get your payment.” The woman’s name tag said Kristen, and Sylvia noticed she had an engagement ring. Silly, she thought, women could never get a husband, much less a man to go with them in her days as a debutante dressing as Kristen had. She pictured what this newly engaged woman’s life was like, a few out of wedlock children had to be in the picture for sure, this Kristen probably had to hold a gun up to the man’s head to get a proposal. Sylvia handed the young woman her check and followed her down the hall.

“Alright, this way is the bathroom if you need it. Over there’s some coffee and water, and in the group room you will have snacks.”

A-Ha. The food for the addicts. I knew it. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Sylvia chastised her cynical self. We’re paying a lot of money and we’re not going to get anything out of this if we keep being cynical. She had come to terms with her third person references and decided to let them stay in her inner dialogue, who could judge her anyway?

“Your group will meet in this room, you are a little early so just wait until the others show up. Let me know if you need anything.” Kristen disappeared quickly, and Sylvia was left to enter the room on her own. The room had a nice feeling from the second she entered, which surprised her. Although it was a cheaply decorated room, it was warm, and relaxing. There were no overhead lights, just a number of little lamps, maybe one too many, that lined the room accompanied by little stiff chairs surrounding a small table with the bowl of snacks. A large black woman sat waiting as if she had been there for hours, but comfortably so. She seemed to have been installed at the same time as the feel-good decor on the wall behind her. Sylvia nodded and smiled. Floor 3, Suite 312. Floor 3, Suite 312. She allowed her mind to repeat the numbers in an effort to comfort herself.

A small drably dressed man not much younger than herself entered the room and energetically discarded his tote bags and sweater, “You must be Sylvia! I’m John- welcome to group, I’ll be leading our discussions, we’re so glad to have you here!” Sylvia shook the hand offered her and though her face said “Thanks”, her mind became worrisome as she took her seat against the wall. Good Lord, please tell me this isn’t going to end up being a bunch of hippy bullshit. Maybe this is a meeting for a Cat Steven’s fan club, or wasn’t he a Muslim now? Yousef Muhammid I think it is, oh hell, how should I know. Just one day. Try it out just once, then we’re off the hook, a Scotch bottle could listen to me bitch if I ever felt the need. I could go for some Scotch right about now.

While Sylvia was planning her date with Glenlivet a few more people entered the room that no longer felt as comforting. Everyone seemed to know each other and it felt more like she was fulfilling a civic duty serving on a Jury of her peers. There were hispanics, blacks, young girls… even an older man walked in and took a seat. What will we all discuss? She thought, I’ve never talked about myself in anyway that wouldn’t be socially expected of a lady, much less discussed my emotions with strangers! She had assumed that the group would be mostly feminine, drawing from her personal experience that men would rather do the dishes than be open to the idea of talking about their feelings.

John welcomed everyone and motioned to the young woman on his right. “Elizabeth, how was your weekend?” Elizabeth smiled nervously and fiddled with the pen that she held in her hand. “It was an okay weekend, I spent it at my mother’s house… she was easy to get along with mostly, but it feels like she is never happy with me. Like, everything I do is wrong, but there’s no right way to do it!” As soon as the mother was mentioned an outpouring of comments about mothers came from the once quiet room. “Mmhmmm! I heard that girl! Shit, If I said the sky is blue, my momma would tell me I need to get my eyes fixed!” There was laughter from the circle of chairs, but Sylva sat in silence as anecdotes filled the space of the room about pesky mothers and wanting daughters. Story after store, she was surprised to hear that these daughters were so concerned about their relationships with their mothers. These were grown women, what did they expect? It was endearing that they were all so engaged with their parents, but it seemed simple to her that these women could just keep their interactions with their mothers to a minimum.

That’s what Sylvia had done. She had married and created a new life and family with Marty and their daughter Amy. As soon as her mother had been widowed and became an issue, she hired a nurse to live in with her. I guess these people can’t afford assistive care, what a shame. Her thoughts went on. Well, certainly I couldn’t have cared for her! I had my own things going on back then, Amy was in every activity imaginable, and the horse shit, it was never ending. Every weekend with the goddamn horse shows, I was Amy’s private chauffeur, how could I expect to be a caregiver as well?

Sylvia came back to the attention of the room and noticed that a hispanic man was now discussing his weekend with the group. She realized she would be expected to speak soon and felt her heartbeat take on a more impressive frequency. The man seemed sad but also confident, in fact, that was how everyone in the group seemed. Wasn’t this class supposed to be a group of depressed people? Everyone seemed normal to Sylvia aside from the obvious sociocultural differences, but she still wasn’t sure why any of them, even herself were in this group. The hispanic man talked about losing his home and the in and out nature of his cohabitants in the group living home, particularly a man he called Melvin. “This guy, man he sleeps all damn day and keeps us all up at night screaming at the walls, they say he hears things but I think all he can hear is himself screaming!” Well. That certainly makes living alone seem glamorous. John asked the man how he was handling the stressful nature of his home environment, the man grumbled and said it’d been difficult not being able to drink himself to sleep but that it was okay, “It’s not Melvin’s fault he hears things, he just can’t afford the meds, I don’t blame him, I just miss the quiet.”

Missing quiet in a home was something that Sylvia hadn’t thought of since Marty and Amy had been gone. Amy had been gone for nearly twenty years and had since been replaced by two little Yorkies. Marty had left only five years ago, even though it felt closer to ten years since she had been with him.

“And what about you Sylvia, how are you doing?” John’s question stunned her. How am I doing? What kind of question is that! Sylvia thought about what to say and what not to say. She looked around the room, everyone was listening.

“Well. I’ve been fine, just fine.” There was a shame in her answer, but Sylvia didn’t want to think about it, she just shifted in her chair. She considered why she hadn’t mentioned the loss of her fake friend Julia. The structure of questions wasn’t what she was expecting and so her false story never come to mind. She was expecting a question like “What brings you here today?” Certainly that question would have prompted her to validate the reason she was attending a Grief and Depression group therapy session. John smiled, “It’s okay, you don’t have to share unless you want to. How about you just tell us what you enjoy doing, so we can get to know you a little better.”

Lately, Sylvia hadn’t been doing much of anything. Her ladies card club had disbanded since there were only two former members left alive and it had been really the only activity to get her out of the house other than shopping for groceries. “Well, I had been involved in a number of clubs with other ladies, but now that I’m an old lady it seems best that I stay around my house with my dogs.” Sheepish in her answer she could feel that John was hoping for more. “I also like to cook.” When was the last time we actually cooked a full meal Sylvia? Lord knows we haven’t had guests in the house in who-knows-how-long. She had only left her house once in nearly two weeks and that was when she saw the flyer for this group at the medical clinic.

“Grief and Depression are tough, we are here for you.

Permian Counseling.

Join our group discussions Tuesdays and Thursdays”

Since the pressure was off of her now, John directed his attention to an adolescent woman that was describing her anxiety about upcoming anniversary of her parent’s death. “It’s been almost a year, and I’m in a better place- but I know that this next week will be tough for me.” They discussed a plan for the young woman, on how to handle this upcoming emotional episode and the girl responded proactively. A number of the group members discussed their own experiences and offered support to the young woman, mostly in colorful stories from their own lives, but in a genuine sort of way. Sylvia had never seen anyone talk about emotions in such a manner. Emotions happened and you dealt with them, she never considered mapping out a strategy as far as how to handle them.

As soon as group had started it was over. She could feel herself missing the company of the strangers already and wishing they had more time. Maybe I will tell them about the Cancer next week. She almost felt relieved.