“Stop for a minute, Amelia. Take another deep breath. This is going to be difficult. Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes.”
“What do you see now?”
“It’s too quiet. I’m walking into the living room. I see the Christmas tree in its usual spot in front of the window, with the lights twinkling and piles of wrapped presents beneath it. There’s someone sitting on the couch. No! No! Mom! Shannon. They’re not moving.” I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly and cover my face. I can’t breathe, my heart is going crazy, and I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing in my head.
“Take a deep breath, Amelia, and stop for a moment. This is a memory, it’s in the past. You’re safe. You’re in my office.”
Her voice grounds me, and I go back to that day again. “No! Oh please God, no! My mother is on the sofa, her eyes open and staring like she’s surprised. There’s a round hole in her forehead, and her face is caked in blood. It’s run down her nose and cheeks and all over her white blouse. My sister is slumped facedown against my mother’s shoulder. There is a huge hole in the side of her head, and splintered bones and gristle and tendons are oozing out of it. I vomit on the rug and stumble backward, away from my mother and sister, and when I look down, I see my grandmother sprawled on the floor. Half of her face is gone, but her one remaining eye is open. She is still clutching a lamp in her hand. And blood. I can smell it, like wet copper, sickly sweet. It’s everywhere, on the wood floor, smeared on the furniture and walls, a bloody handprint on the mantel.”
“Amelia, I want you to come back slowly, count to ten, come back to this room, to me.”
I begin to count, listening to her voice.
“Open your eyes.”
Dr. Pearlson is looking at me with a somber expression. “You’re safe. I know that was extremely difficult.”
I wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. I’m shaking. I reach out for the blanket thrown over the side of the sofa and clutch it to my chest. “I remember it all now. So horrible. So horrible.”
“Do you remember what you did next?” she asks.
“I called 911.” I’m speaking fast now. “I was rushed out of the house as soon as they arrived. They found my father’s body in the bedroom. He slaughtered all of them, and then he killed himself.” I clench my fists, wanting to punch something. “My grandmother must have tried to stop him by hitting him with the lamp, but he shot her.” I’m sobbing uncontrollably by this point.
“Let it out, Amelia. Just let it all out. I will sit with you for as long as you need.”
I wail as I let all the images bombard me, and Dr. Pearlson just sits, a quiet and comforting presence across from me, the picture of compassion. I think about all the years of silence in my family about my father’s abuse. All the secrets we kept. He was a respected and intelligent airline pilot with a spotless reputation and an arsenal of guns. No one knew that behind closed doors he carried out a reign of terror. There were so many guns that he never missed the one I took and hid under my pillow for all those years. How many times had he pointed a gun at my mother’s head in front of us and threatened to kill her? And the beatings, always making sure the bruises were in places no one could see. And then afterward he would send my mother flowers. Roses. Dozens of them, filling the house with their nauseating smell.
I escaped his murderous Christmas Eve rampage, in a physical sense. But he took everything from me that day. My beloved mother, sister, and grandmother. I’ll never know what happened to set him off that day, I only know I should have been there. What if I had gone home sooner? Maybe I could have saved them. My sister’s words echoed in my ears, what she sobbed when I told her I was staying on in Boston after college and had gotten a job at the museum. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll die here without you.” Her words had been tragically prophetic.
After a long while, I can speak again.
“How can I ever forgive myself for not being there?”
Her eyes are filled with kindness. “You have nothing to forgive yourself for. I think you know deep down that there’s nothing you could have done. You survived, Amelia. You’re healing and building a life. Take this life and live it for yourself, and for your mother and your grandmother and your sister. This is how you will honor their memory and keep them alive in your heart.”
I look away, blinking back tears. “Healing seems a long way off.”
“You’re strong, Amelia. It won’t be easy, but you’ll find your way again. And I will be here to help you at every step.”