Year's End II

Mom called Saturday morning, the day after the school was out. She asked me if I had finished my finals and that Grandma left at 11:15 local time. “Don’t worry,” she added, “we are going to bring the ash back, and put it right next to Grandpa’s.” 

“Ok, Mom.” I hung up the phone and crawled back to bed. We shut off the phone and lit a candle. 

I never thought that I wouldn’t be around when it happens. 

We shut out the world to mourn. Then we realized, it’d be Grandma’s wish that we go out and live. It has always been. 

Monday, I followed the routine and showed up in this office. “The doctor will see you now.”

The secretary led me into the office, where a picture of human anatomy hangs on the wall.

“Come in. How are we doing today? Oh have you read this?” he handed me an article in the newspaper, stating that medical doctors are part of the richest professions in this country. “Can you believe it? And me? I am also a doctor. But I am not making as much as they do! I am barely making half of what they make! (We are talking about 8000 euros a month! So around 4000 euros a month is not enough for you?!) The system is not fair towards psychologists I am telling you… anyway… how are we doing today?”

“Grandma left last Saturday.”

“Oh…” 

Let me guess, you didn’t say anything contained the word “condolence” because patients are supposed to be only subjects for you? Is that how you define “professional”? Did I hear you correctly, your reaction upon my news, had been, solely, “OH”?!

“You know I am glad that you signed up for that class I suggested.”

“I didn’t sign up.” (Do you ever look at your own notes or listen to your patients?)

“Oh. Eh… why?”

“Like I said last week, the schedule for the coming semester is not online yet, and I need to see when I have time outside of school, for other things.”

He stood up from the desk, and I said to myself: “if you are going to show me your fucking certificate again, for the 100^th time, I am going to take that piece of paper and slap it you across your face with it.”

“See? Here is my certificate,” I wondered if he was suffering from Alzheimer. “I did a course and it cost me more than 300 euros!”

I am not a violent person, but I really wanted to slap him with it. I am bringing you around 90 euros an hour, and you are pushing it for twice a week. I am not doing it, because I have a life, and more than ever, I need to go out and live, not sitting here and counting your useless certificates and listening to you bitch about how much money you would like to make! Let me out! Let me out!

“We did some great exercises during the seminar, in order to obtain the certificate. For example, we spent 15 minutes with a grape. First of all, you don’t touch it, just look at it; then you touch it a bit, with one finger, afterwards with two, or three; before you put it between your teeth…”

My mind went blank after 30 seconds, while he went on and on and on about this fucking great grape that he had been in love with. 

“So, how does it improve my life?” I asked, noticing that he has stopped talking.

“It made everything slower. For example, when you cook, don’t talk to anyone, but concentrate on the things in your hand…”

“Listen, I do not cook; secondly, when WE cook together, we talk to each other, because that’s what people do when they are in a loving and satisfying relationship. People TALK to each other! Even when he is cooking for me, I am in the kitchen too, talking to him… because we are happy together!”

“It always surprises me that you have a functional relationship. But yeah, take that 6-week class I suggested. If this class were not good, that Institute wouldn’t have offered it.” The Doc. uttered.

Well, it always surprises me that you are working here, or the fact that being employed anywhere at all. 

“I just lost the most important woman in my life, facing financial and career crises, and all you can offer is a 6-week class from a new age-y institute with the argument that BECAUSE the course is from that institute, it can’t be wrong. Do I look stupid to you? Do you think I am 5 years old? You might as well tell me something is true because it says so in the Bible! I am gonna need a better argument than that!” 

Pause. Probably more uncomfortable for him than for me. 

“So, when can you come twice a week?”

“I don’t know.” I don’t even know if I want to be here at all, “I am waiting for the semester schedule to be put online. I will let you know though. I don’t have the luxury to make everything slower or to spend half an hour staring at two grapes every day. It takes me 3 hours every time I come here, and 6 hours a week isn’t anything I can afford in the near future.”

“But write to the institute and ask about that class!”

Has this become a religion for you? Do you have doubts in your own belief? If not, why would you try so desperately hard to convince others? If others said yes, it’d confirm your conviction isn’t it? You are not at peace either with yourself, so stop showing me your 300-euro certificate every time I come. 

“I am taking a break from all this next week. So we will see each other in 2 weeks. OK?” I stood up, as the session came to an end. 

It hasn’t stopped snowing for almost a week now. Grandma would have loved the snow. She told me that I had been born in the coldest winter of the century. It was the first time she had to go downstairs, filled buckets with snow, than melted it near fire to get water, for the pipes were completely frozen. She said that children survived the hardest winter were to be the strong ones; she said that she was never afraid of winter because she always knew where her heart would be.