JUST BONES

Therapy days are my favorite. I get to spend a whole hour talking about myself to a captive listening ear. I have been feeling particularly down lately, unsettled and guilty, and my sessions always seem to lift my mood. I do my stretches, leave Margot with the babysitter, and start my walk to Willa’s office. It’s a wonderful stroll, the moon is full and the stars are bright. The neighbors are out and about in their gardens or off to their various activities. I say cordial hello’s. As lovely as it is, I am glad to arrive at therapy, my bones seem to grind together when my soul feels heavy. 

The therapy office is nondescript, just a simple dark purple and black. Tasteful spiderweb detailing covers the window. I head inside and take a seat until Willa comes to get me. 

“How was your week, Gwen?”

I sigh and settle my aching bones on the couch. “Long.”

“Tell me about it.”

As usual, I don’t know exactly where to start. I have a good death, if such a thing is possible. The weather is great, it’s a beautiful night. Margot is the most wonderful kid I could have asked for, it just feels different than it used to. Something is missing.

“You can acknowledge the good feelings and the bad, that is perfectly normal.”

I cross my legs, my femurs clanking together. “Being a mother is not what it used to be, and it’s not like you can just take it back. I wanted this so badly…”

“I remember. We doubled our sessions last year while you were deciding if you should Transition your family. It’s a big deal, as you know.”

“Yes of course. And I don’t regret it, but” I shift uncomfortably. “Margot does not look or act quite like she used to. Something feels different.”

Willa scratches a rib and waits for me to continue. I knew this before the Transition, it was my signature on all the paperwork. I transitioned Margot because I couldn’t be without her, not even in death. That had been an easy decision because a child should be with their mother. No matter what. I just wish there could have been some exception; she did not come over with her flowing dark hair and her twinkling eyes. She came over the same as everyone else, just bones.

“In death, most people have some personality changes along with the obvious physical ones,” Willa says. “Children change the most in the sense that they stay that way. As you know, your living Margot was constantly growing and learning. Here she is stagnant.”

“Is that bad? Was it wrong of me?”

“No, not bad. Just changed.” Willa leans forward. “I do not understand, Gwen. Did you not fully comprehend this when you requested the Transition? This should have been fully explained. Death, as you know, is permanent.”

“No, no. I heard it all.” We were quiet for a moment. 

Willa nods. “You know, most of us struggle to decide if the Transition is right, individually. I did myself. Eventually, I decided to transition everyone in my family, including grandchildren I had never met.”

“Did you go personally?”

“Yes of course! I understand those who prefer others take care of it, but I did not want death to come to my loved ones by a stranger’s hand.”

“And?”

“And it is wonderful. We are as happy in death as we were in life. Just differently happy, that’s all. And Gwen, I am no longer alone and neither are you. That is the beauty in a Transition.”

The clock ticked on the wall, announcing my hour slipping away. As I always do, I tried to soak in Willa’s words. I feel some of my guilt slide off. My choice was the logical one, the expected one. Most everyone here has done the same. Finally, Willa spoke again, her voice gentle. “Gwen, why did you not transition your husband when you transitioned your daughter? Most of us choose to bring death to everyone we love in one go. That may be what is causing such distress.”

I thought of Thomas, my loving Thomas who brought me flowers on our first date, who proposed quickly and married me with tears in his eyes. Margot had taken after her daddy in so many ways. He was spontaneous. How many nights had he asked if I wanted to go on a late night stroll or wake up early for a morning hike? How often had I turned him down? Even when I had my cancer diagnosis, he never faltered, always believing I could beat it. He was there by my side until my life was completed, closed like a well-read book.

I tell Willa I don’t know why I didn’t transition Thomas. But the truth is, he is just so full of life, I couldn't bring myself to take it out of him for fear there would be nothing left.

“You know, Gwen. We are just about out of time, but I want to leave you with one more parting thought; it’s never too late to Transition. Maybe things would feel better if you have Thomas by your side again. Now.” She checks the clock. “I will see you next week, same time?”

During my walk to Transition Approval, I feel lighter. That’s what therapy and a choice will do to you. Willa has convinced me. This is an okay choice, noble really. What was I thinking trying to be a single parent to a young daughter? Of course I am hurting. She needs her daddy and I need my husband, and surely there will be enough of him left. 

There are others in my session, of course. I sit, already confident in my choice amongst a group of sad, deliberating souls. I thought grief would end in death, but it does not. It pulls on your very bones, drags you to the decision. Where else is there to turn? When the consultation ends, I sign away his life.

I head straight to the land of the living. Margot will be fine with the babysitter for a little bit longer. Then all will be forgiven because we will be together again. I see Thomas still has our family photos on the wall. He wants death, he must. He misses us terribly. This is a mercy. 

He is asleep when I enter. I make his Transition as comfortable as possible, but he still wakes in time to scream. That’s simply because he doesn’t recognize me. It takes so long for him to die.

I shush him, stroking his hair with my bony hand. I tell him it will all be okay, that this must happen, that he must come to us. I watch life leave his eyes.