discovered? Within my own darkness, had I found the light?
* * *Emma helped me question how I was relating to my past. Agnes
helped me confront how I was relating to my present. And Jason
Fuller, the catatonic army captain who came to my office for the ĕrst
time one hot aernoon in 1980, who sat silent and frozen for long
minutes on the white couch, who obeyed the order I ĕnally gave him
to come to the park with me to take my dog for a walk, taught me how
to face a decision that would determine my future. What I learned
from him that day would affect the quality of my life in all of my
remaining years, and the quality of the legacy I have chosen to pass on
to my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
As we walked around the park, Jason’s gait loosened. So did his
face, every step bringing more color and soness. He looked younger
all of a sudden, less hollowed out. Still, he didn’t talk. I didn’t plan
ahead for what would happen when we returned to my office. I just
kept us moving, breathing, every minute that Jason stayed with me an
indication that if he felt safe enough, he might be reached.
Aer one slow loop around the park, I led us back to my office. I
poured us some water. Whatever lay ahead, I knew it couldn’t be
rushed. I had to provide a place of absolute trust, where Jason could
tell me anything, any feeling, where he knew he was safe, where he
knew he wouldn’t be judged. He sat on the couch again, facing me,
and I leaned forward. How could I keep him here with me? Not just
physically in my office. But ready for openness, for discovery?
Together, we had to ĕnd a way to move toward insight and healing, a
way for Jason to Ęow with whatever emotions and situations were
overwhelming him into catatonia. And if I was to guide him toward
wellness, I couldn’t force him to talk. I had to Ęow with his current
state of mind, his current choices and conditions, and stay open to