Grief counselling, the two words I despised more than anything in the world. According to The Australian Oxford Mini Dictionary, that I had been forced to buy in my first year of uni, grief is described as intense sorrow while counselling or counsel was advice on personal problems. So basically put together it is advice on intense sorrow, right because everyone wants to be advised on intense sorrow. Ok maybe some people want some help dealing with grief but I didn’t, nor did I need it. So the reason I was sitting in a circle of people bawling their eyes out with my sister beside me was a total mystery.

I hadn’t been listening to the pathetic introductions; I had more important things on my mind. Like whether or not I’d have time to stop by work before picking my son up from child care, and worrying about if we needed to go shopping or if it could wait until tomorrow. And the thought that had been on my mind for the past two months, going to bed without the one I loved beside me, and whether my son will end up sound asleep beside me. I’m too busy thinking about when I pick my boy up whether his baby blue eyes will sparkle with excitement after a busy day or glisten with tears of disappointment than to worry about stupid introductions.

Though I may have not been listening to the happenings around me I could not miss the soft voice of my sister,

“Hi I’m Christy; I’m here with my baby brother, Jai. His wife passed away two months ago and he thinks that he is fine but I disagree…”

“Thank you Christy but I think your brother might be able to speak for himself. Jai is it?” The counsellor looked at me and I stared daggers at her, there was no way in hell that I was going to stand up and talk to this group of losers.

“Come on Jai you promised you’d give it a shot” My sister whispered, giving me her puppy dog eyes.

I hated Christy at times, yet at others loved her. She was the first one I called when the police were at my house late that night. The police had suggested I ring someone to be with me, when I had to identify the body. I couldn’t think of anyone else but my big sister, she’d been my comforter since I was just a little boy and my daddy left, she’d been my guardian since I was 10 and our mummy died. Despite the fact that she was already married and her and her husband were dealing with their own struggles.

Christy was 14 years older than me; and mum had been only 14 when she was born everyone said she was two young to raise a baby but she was determined and gave up everything to raise my sister. Mum met my dad when she was 25, and got married two weeks later. I look nothing like Christy; she’s got our mummy’s big brown eyes, pale skin and curly red hair, her daughter is a splitting image, her son is like his daddy. I guess I look like my dad, I just can’t remember him, but mum would always tell me that I looked exactly like him, with dark green eyes, tanned skin and jet black hair.

“Jai if you wont do it for me, do it for your son… please” Christy bought me back to the present, still looking at me with her puppy dog eyes that she knew I couldn’t refuse. Sighing I pulled myself to my feet,

“Hey, I’m Jai. And just as Christy said my wife passed away recently, actually, Hailey was killed… by a drunk driver. I have a 3 year old boy, Corey, he looks just like her, and every night since she left while eating dinner he looks up at me and asks when his mummy’s coming home or at least when can he go visit her.” I sat down and wiped away a stray tear, just because I’m a bit sentimental thinking of my son doesn’t mean I need grief counselling. It means I’m human and not one of those stiff freaks that have been taught not to cry. As I sit down I once again drown out the voices around me, allowing my thoughts to drift back to my son.

He’d been in tears this morning when he wanted to wear his favourite Bob the Builder shirt, which had been in his mum’s car during the accident and hadn’t survived. It broke my heart to see tears fall down his face, tears of anger and confusion. He’s just a little boy, how can he understand that his mummy’s not coming home? His beautiful blue eyes filled with hope that maybe he could visit mummy in her new home, his messy black hair falling across his eyes as his head dropped when I had to tell him it’s just not possible. It wasn’t meant to be this way, she’d only gone down the road to have a coffee and do the laundry. She was going to walk but we’d been away so the washing was heavier than usual… I should have gone instead.

“Christy, can we leave now please?” I whispered before standing up and heading to the door, not giving her a chance to say no. I heard her apologise before following me out of the room.

“Did you want me to stop by your work?” She asked softly, not asking but understanding,

“No, I just want to pick up Corey and go home.” She sighed, I knew I’d disappointed her but I also knew that she understood. I didn’t need grief counselling, I’d had enough grief to be able to counsel myself. We drove in silence, her behind the wheel and me in the passenger seat, glancing at the empty booster behind us. My son’s seat, it was his cousin’s once, until they grew too big for it. I can’t believe that Corey will ever grow that big, I just want him to be my baby boy forever.

Christy pulled into the car park of the child care centre and stopped the car,

“I think we’ll walk home from here Chris. Thanks for the lift”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow” She sighed pulling me close and hugging me before getting back in the car. It was possible for us to walk to and from the centre, we only lived down the road, yet since Hailey… left… died Christy had been driving us. I walked through the open doors to the centre and began the search for my son. I found him sitting in the sandpit by myself, head down and totally oblivious to the world around him, my beautiful little boy, so quiet, so introverted. I acknowledged the worker, I could never remember her name, that was always Hailey’s forte not mine, and wandered over to Corey.

“May I join you please?”

“DADDY!” Corey cried looking up at the sound of my voice and jumping up. I picked him up and held him close, feeling tears wet my shirt.

“Home time?” He asked not looking up,

“Yea home time” I replied struggling not to let my own tears fall. Not putting down my son I picked up his backpack and signed him out, before heading home.

“Where’s Aunty Chrissy?”

“She went to her home, I thought we would walk” I whispered in his ear. I received no reply just my son burying himself further into my arms. I just sighed and adjusted the way I was holding Corey before walking home, stopping only when I reached the gates of our security complex, I opened the pedestrian gate before heading to our place, ignoring the overflowing mailbox.

As we reached our 2 bedroom villa I put Corey on the ground so that I could unlock the door, inside I put everything down and make idle chatter with my son as I make him a snack. Five minutes later as I place the somewhat particularly unhealthy snack down in front of Corey he turns his attention from what he was doing and asks,

“Dadddy, if we can’t see mummy can we send her a letter?”