Leaving the Cave

Posted on Thu 28th Nov, 2024 @ 2:32pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Lieutenant Damion Ildaran
Edited on on Sat 30th Nov, 2024 @ 5:44pm

1,044 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: The Phoenix Gamble
Location: Chief Counselor's Office

Damion Ildaran settled himself into one of the two guest chairs at Commander Graves' desk while Graves himself took the seat behind it. He had never understood why Counselors encouraged their patients to recline on sofas. The whole point of counseling was to work on yourself. If he was going to do work, he preferred to do it while sitting up and paying attention.

It astounded him, how impatient he was with the world in general, lately. He had never been this impatient or this irritated before--

Damion clamped down on that thought. Elizabeth is dead. Move on. A wave of sadness hit him, and he fought it back. He could almost go entire days now without being swallowed up in missing her.

He caught Graves eyeing him and signed inwardly. Here it comes.

"What's on your mind today, Lieutenant?" the Counselor asked. It was the quality that Damion most liked and disliked about him; Graves never gave subtle hints or beat about the bush. If he wanted to ask you something, he came right out with it, even when you didn't want to discuss it--especially when you didn't want to discuss it.

Not, "How are you feeling?" Damion thought, because Graves already knew how he was feeling. Graves didn't know what he was thinking. Damion let out a breath. "When does it stop? How do I make it stop? I've tried taking on extra duties at work, but it doesn't really help. I feel like I just want to hide in a cave somewhere."

"Make what stop?" Graves asked, almost gently.

Damion folded his arms across his chest and clutched his elbows. He didn't look back at the Counselor. "I'm sick and tired of feeling sorry for myself!" he finally burst out. "It contaminates the love, ruins the joy that I'd rather remember. I feel so bloody selfish all the time. I'm beginning to wonder if I ever truly loved Elizabeth, or did I just love the friendship she gave me? I hate myself when I feel like this. I feel contemptible."

Graves paused a moment before replying. This was the first time Ildaran had actually mentioned the woman's name. Always before, he'd called her 'a friend of mine.' "What I hear you saying is that you feel your grief is selfish, and it makes you wonder if your love was selfish, too. Am I understanding you correctly?"

"Ye-es, I think so," Damion replied. "I don't know what to do. I feel like a piece of filth. I don't feel worthy of having had her friendship. I feel like she deserved someone better than a man who feels sorry for himself that she's gone."

The Counselor leaned his head to one side. "It is...logical for you to feel selfish, Damion, because grief is selfish. The dead don't need our grief; they are joyful at their reunion with the Source of all that is. When we grieve, we are mourning the loss of those who were important in our lives. We are acknowledging their absence and recognizing how important they were to us. We feel lost and empty because we haven't yet filled in the huge hole in our lives the person's death has left. This selfishness you feel is normal. Everyone goes through it. You aren't unworthy of Elizabeth's friendship or of her high regard for you." He looked directly at Damion. "This is Elizabeth Anderson we're talking about, correct? She was difficult for me to read, but it was very clear to me from knowing her that she cared deeply for you. She always looked forward to seeing you in the evenings after work. I could tell that it was the high point of her day."

"She--she did?" Damion's voice shook. "It was the high point of my days, too. And yes, it was Elizabeth Anderson."

"Yes, she did," Graves said in a tone that allowed no argument. "And you should not feel unworthy of her--friendship. That was hers to give freely. She clearly felt you were worthy of it, or she wouldn't have befriended you. It's not for you to decide that you're unworthy of what she freely chose to give you."

Damion stared at him. "I--I never thought of it that way." Some of the tension seemed to leave him--a little bit, anyway.

Graves leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Damion, what do you do for fun?"

"For fun?" Damion blinked at the question. "That came out of nowhere," he said. "Uh, I crochet things. I take care of my produce garden, hang out in Brown--sorry, the Garden District. I read books. I invest."

"What do you do for fun with other people?" Graves probed. "Do you do any team sports, belong to clubs, teach skills, anything like that?"

Damion shook his head. "Of course not. I'm an infiltration specialist. I can be assigned off-station for extended periods of time with no warning. I can't commit to being part of a sports team or a club--not really. It's best if I'm not widely known, so my absences won't be noticed as much." He grimaced. "I probably shouldn't spend as much time in the Garden District as I do, but I got to know the people down there when Elizabeth had her clinic open, and I like them."

"You're a human being," Graves said. "You should absolutely maintain your friendships in the Garden District and elsewhere, even if you sometimes have to travel off-station. People need friends. Maybe a sports team or hobbyist club isn't possible for you right now, but being friends with others is vital, even for someone in your line of work. How else do you learn to effectively infiltrate except by learning how to form and maintain friendships?"

"That's a good point," Damion agreed.

"I think you should spend more time with your friends while you're in this grieving process," Graves told him. "You need to fill in the hole that Dr. Anderson's death left in your life. That will help you to feel less sorry for yourself. Burying yourself in work won't help you much." Graves smiled at him. "It's time to get out of that cave, Lieutenant."

 

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