SPLINTERED PIECES

Seeing her father in the psych ward seemed all wrong—until her inner guidance helped her see it as exquisitely right.

- NANCY WILLBERN

When a tragedy hits, it’s normal to think that the actual event is what causes us pain. And of course, it does. Losing a child, or a spouse, or a home, or being diagnosed with a debilitating disease would all be life-altering events that would boggle our minds and break our hearts. The accompanying feelings of loss, grief, panic, rage, and resentment all need to be honored and held with compassion. But as a therapist and as a warrior who has experienced my own life-stopping events, I have come to realize that much of the depth of our suffering comes from how such events violate our assumptions about life and who we know ourselves to be.

This was brought home to me most poignantly the first day I went to visit my father in a geriatric psych unit. After being escorted past two security checkpoints, I heard the clicking-release of the lock. As I stepped through the door, I felt the world shift. I was familiar with a space of splintered glass. Daddy was sitting in a wheelchair next to a round table in the common area. Other patients were scattered around the room. I found a vacant chair and moved it next to Daddy. He looked up at me and smiled in recognition through his medically induced fog. As soon as he saw me, a friendly man sitting across the table offered an unexpected greeting.

“Hey, you!” he exclaimed, “Hey, you! Come over here! What kind of shoes you got, lady? I got better shoes than that,” he said, campaigning for my attention like a sideshow barker. I nodded and smiled in his direction and returned my attention to Daddy, noticing chocolate icing smeared on the front of his shirt. My stomach clenched. My heart ached. I kept reminding myself to remain calm and keep my focus on Daddy.