Journey of a Grief Counselor

Seems like I've mixed my meds wrong again.

Plato: "Love is a serious mental disease."

= = = =

A new client was waiting outside my office as I got off of the elevator. He wasn't exactly GQ material but certainly not unkempt. Another period dressed fanatic. I see so many young women dressed like Monroe and she died over sixty years ago. This guy looked like something from the roaring twenties. Whatever, I get paid the same.

"I'm Rosco Smalldone," as I extended my hand.

"Alexander Newcastle," as he gave me a solid handshake.

"Come on in and grab a chair" as I found the chair behind my desk.

After Alexander was seated "Do you prefer Alexander or Mr. Newcastle?"

"Alexander is fine."

"Well let's get started Alexander. You have me at a disadvantage as I can't seem to find your folder. Tell me why you're here."

"Okay, it's my job. I'm a grief counselor specializing in people stuck in denial mode."

"I imagine that keeps you busy. Tell me more."

"Well, I hate it. I'm so damn good at it that people crumble in a blubbering mass when I break down their desire to ignore the facts. You can't build a wall high enough to prevent the pain that they're feeling from affecting you. I used to be cold-hearted but this job has changed me."

"Does it affect your family? Wait, getting ahead of myself. Do you have a family?"

"Not any longer. I drove the wife away a long time ago. Kids are gone now too. How about you? How's your family?"

I'm usually on the questioning end so this was different. I'll play along and see where this leads.

"Well I've got both a wife and kids, so we have something in common."

"Yes we have a lot in common. You listen to people's problems and I move people from one stage of grief to the next."

"True enough. So you said you hate your job. Why continue?"

"Contractual obligation, so to speak. But I'm about to fulfill my commitment today. Problem is that my last case is nothing like I've never encountered before."

"What's the difference this time?"

"Not only do I have to share his grief, but also I have to saddle him with an unenviable choice."

This guy is talking in circles.

"So how long have you been doing this grief counselling?"

"One hundred years to the day. That's why I don't have a family. They died of natural causes years ago. My blood line still exists but I've never met them."

Great! And he seemed so normal. Time to humor him.

"That's a very long time. Yet, you said this was your last day. How'd you ever agree to a one hundred year contract?"

"I was presented with a choice. An eternity in hell or spend one hundred years showing compassion to the grief stricken in exchange for another chance."

"Another chance?"

"That's what I was told. I don't know if I'll come back as a butterfly or a blade of grass, but I'll get another chance to live my life and try to avoid an eternity in hell."

Wow, did I ever misjudge this dude. A total whack-job.

"So how did you find yourself in that predicament?"

"I was a ladies man. Destroyed countless marriages and then one day I ended up on the wrong end of a gun."

Well we have more in common than I thought. I'm fond of tapping married pussy myself. That brought a little smirk to my face.

"And then you ended up where? Some place like purgatory?"

"Seemed like I was in my office but there was this guy dressed like Davy Crockett telling me about my destiny. The choice was easy, or so I thought at the time. Now I share the grief of others countless times a day and each one cuts me to the core. One hundred years of torture, almost a million cases."

"Countless times a day? Who schedules you?"

"I don't know. It's tough to keep track of time. In a blink of an eye I'm working with someone new and the strange thing is that I know all about them. I spend some time with them and then find myself talking to another. This job can't end soon enough!"

"But you said it ends today."

"It does. You're my replacement."

The hair on my arms and neck stood up "Excuse me?"

"Yes. Have you noticed, that for the last ten weeks, all you ever do is leave that elevator and sit at your desk? Probably not"

"I do more than that! You're crazy!"

"Really? Still in denial are we. Does the name Barbara Dill mean anything to you?"

What the fuck? How would he know about her? I've only tapped her sweet married pussy twice. What a rack on that one. Slipping my hands under her blouse and pushing her bra up and over those firm tits. Feeling her slide her slacks down and running my fingers into her juicy pussy and then pounding away. Yeah I bet I came hard three times that afternoon. Guess I'm daydreaming.

"Rings a bell."

"Well, ten weeks ago Mr. Dill met you coming out of that elevator and put a bullet through your chest. You died instantly. You've been in denial ever since."

"That can't be. You're lying! I think it's time for you to leave."

He smirked "Am I lying? Try picking up that file folder on your desk.. What's the last thing you ate?"

My mind was racing. All of a sudden I couldn't remember shit. What did I eat today? Yesterday? This is unreal. He has me hypnotized or something. I can't lift the folder.

"So Mr. Smalldone, are you ready to move on?"

"I'm really dead?"

"For ten weeks. Your soul refuses to believe it."

"And now what?"

"The powers that be thought that since you never cared a lick about the devastation you've been responsible for, that I should offer you the same choice given to me one hundred years ago. Mr. Smalldone, it's your choice. An eternity in hell or one hundred years sharing the grief of those in need in exchange for another chance. What's it going to be?"

"I don't want an eternity in hell. Can we make a deal?"

"Good to see you've moved out of the denial stage and have moved into bargaining. Enjoy the next one-hundred years Rosco."

Gone! As if he was never there. I was no longer in my office, but it was an office. A young man walked in. He hasn't even sat down and I know all about him."

"Welcome Mr. Jenson, have a seat. What brings us together today?" as I extended my hand.

"My daughter died and it can't possibly be true. This is all a cruel joke. You have to help me."

By the time he left, I'd moved him out of denial. My heart ached for him. Normally I don't give a shit about the feelings of others but his story tore me up.

One down, about a million to go.

No sooner had he left when I found myself with another person in a different office. I knew all about her.

Just shoot me again.