GRIEF PREFERRED TUESDAYS

Grief made sure his therapy session fell on a Tuesday.There was something poetic about Tuesdays. Nothing remarkable ever happened on a Tuesday. Wars preferred Mondays.Breakups adored Fridays.Funerals had no real preference.Death wasn’t much of a planner. But Grief?He loved Tuesdays. The receptionist looked up from her computer.“Grief?”He stood.“First time?”He smiled.“I usually meet people before this part.”She smiled politely.“Dr. P will see you now.” Dr. Perspective stood as Grief entered.“It’s nice to meet you.”Grief nodded.“I wish I could say the same.”The doctor gestured to the chair.“Please, make yourself comfortable.”Grief looked at the chair.“I don’t think Comfort likes me very much.” Dr. Perspective opened her notebook.“So… what brings you here today?” “Professional burnout.” “And what is it that you do?” Grief looked at her.“You’ve met my clients.” “Okay… so what made you, yourself, decide to seek therapy?” “Love.” “Love?” Grief sighed.“Have you met him?” “I haven’t.” “Lucky you.” Dr. Perspective waited. “Intolerable.” A pause. “He starts everything.”“I spend centuries cleaning it up.”Another pause.“He’s been Employee of the Month since the beginning of time.”“I’ve never even received a mug.” “So this is about the workload?” Grief laughed.Not because it was funny.Because if he didn’t laugh, he’d cry.“I processed three million breakups before breakfast this morning.”“My lunch break was cancelled by a goldfish.” Dr. Perspective looked up. “A goldfish?” “It died.” A pause. “It was very loved.” Dr. Perspective nodded. “Have you always felt this overwhelmed?” “No.” “When did it begin?” Grief thought for a moment.“When humans discovered potential.” “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Grief.” “They stopped grieving only what they had lost.They started grieving what could’ve been.The promotion they almost got.The child they never had.The text they never sent.The apology they never received.The imaginary life became another one of my clients.And I wasn’t trained for imagination.” “Have you ever asked for a leave?” “Once.” “What happened?” “There was a pandemic.” Dr. Perspective frowned. “Your leave request caused a pandemic?” “No.” “Then what happened?” “It was denied.” “Why?” “Apparently, the timing wasn’t ideal.” Dr. Perspective scribbled something in her notebook. “Coincidence?” Grief shrugged.“I certainly hope so.” “What does your support system look like?” Grief smiled.“You think we have one?” “I assumed.” “We have departments.” “So you’re colleagues?” “We’re consequences.” “And Hope?” “Hopeless.” “Joy?” “Works remotely.” “Anxiety?” “An overachiever.” “Anger?” “Gets promoted too often.” “Patience?” “Rarely available.” “Forgiveness?” “Takes forever.” “Nostalgia?” “Refuses to move on.” “And Love?” Grief sighed.“He’ll send flowers.”“They’ll die.”“I’ll get blamed.” “We’ve spoken a lot about work.” “Occupational hazard.” “I’d like to speak about you.” “There isn’t much.” “There has to be.” Grief looked around the room.“I like gardening.” Dr. Perspective smiled. “Really?” “I bury things.” “…Plants?” “No.” The doctor sighed. “…I should’ve seen that coming.” For the first time that morning,Grief laughed because it was actually funny. “What do you do when you’re not working?” “I wait.” “For what?” “For someone to love something.” Dr. Perspective stopped writing. The silence sat between them for a while. “Can I ask you something personal?” Dr. Perspective asked. “You’ve been asking me personal questions for the last thirty minutes.” “A different kind of personal.” Grief nodded. “Do you like your job?” He looked out the window.Somewhere, someone was falling in love.Somewhere else, someone was saying goodbye.Eventually, he answered. “I like what my job proves.” “And what does it prove?” “That something beautiful existed first.” Dr. Perspective didn’t interrupt. “They think I arrive because something terrible happened.” Grief smiled. “I only ever arrive because something wonderful happened first.” For the first time that session, Dr. Perspective didn’t write anything down. She wasn’t afraid she’d forget. Dr. Perspective closed her notebook. “Can I ask one more question?” Grief nodded. “Have you ever considered quitting?” Grief smiled. “Every century.” Dr. Perspective made a note. “I’ll write down ‘frequently.’” Grief chuckled. “What stopped you?” “Love.” “The same Love?” “The very one.” “I thought you said he was the reason you wanted to leave.” “He is.” “Then why stay?” Grief shrugged. “He keeps hiring me.” “What was your most difficult period?” “Let’s see…” Grief leaned back. “Rome was difficult.” “Poets nowadays are responsible for forty percent of my overtime.” “And your best?’ Definitely prehistoric times.” “Dinosaurs were wonderfully uncomplicated.” He smiled. “Extinction happened so quickly no one had time to overthink it.” Dr. Perspective rested her pen on the notebook. “What do you think would happen if you simply… stopped showing up?” Grief didn’t answer immediately. He thought about it. Longer than he’d answered any question all afternoon. Finally, he smiled. “It wouldn’t work” “Why?” “Because if, somehow, I disappeared…” He smiled. “…the world wouldn’t know how to live without grief.” Dr. Perspective frowned. “I thought that’s what everyone wanted.” “So did they.” A pause. “They don’t realize grief isn’t what keeps them from healing.” Another pause. “It’s how they get there.” Dr. Perspective stood. “I think that’s enough for today.” Grief stood too. He straightened his coat. “I’ll… see you next Tuesday?” Grief smiled. “I certainly hope not.”

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