The Perfect Piece

“I hoped that moving out would help me move forward.”

“And has it?” Dr. Carter asks.

Carol sinks into herself, allowing the plush grey fabric of the wool throw to devour her as she carefully weighs the question.

A few months after her father died, Carol and her husband moved into her childhood home to help take care of her mum, and she inherited the house after her mum’s heart attack years later. Although Pat and Carol were finally financially secure enough to afford a house elsewhere, there was such a depressing element to leaving. Finding lost family relics and aged scrapbooks was exciting, but Carol wished that her family was still alive to laugh at old pictures together and reminisce about the summers they spent sailing along the coast of Brazil.

“Carol?” Dr. Carter prods. “What’s on your mind?”

She tries to remember what they talked about during their last meeting and how best to catch him up. She’s missed quite a few sessions lately as she and Pat busy themselves with putting their home on the market. Dr. Carter understands, though. Carol has been seeing him for almost four years now. An old college friend recommended him, and, after failed attempts at progress with various other grief therapists, Dr. Ezekiel Carter was the one she felt the most connected to. Whether it was his undeniable likeness to her late younger brother, Arthur, or simply his undying patience with her where others had given up, Carol has grown to see Dr. Carter as less of a therapist and more of a friend.

“We sold the house,” Carol begins. “Mum would have been sad to see it go, but Pat and I found a place only a few miles away from uni so he can finish his Master’s without spending so much time and money commuting. It’ll be good for us.”

Carol pushes her auburn hair away from her face, catching a few stray greys between her fingers and lazily tucking them behind her ear. She mindlessly begins rocking forward, a nervous habit she picked up when she can’t distinguish from all the thoughts racing through her head. She lets out an uneasy chuckle, and her voice shakes when she whispers, “I saw her today.”

Dr. Carter’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. “You saw your mum?”

“Oh, no, not at the cemetery. In the house. She spoke to me.”

“You saw your mum?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“And she- spoke to you?” Dr. Carter’s eyes narrow, the bright streaks of blue in his green irises dancing with questions- the same way Arthur’s did when he suspected Carol of telling a far-fetched story.

With a heavy sigh, Carol continues, extraordinarily aware of how mad she’s about to sound.

“Pat and I were doing a last inspection of the house, just making sure we packed everything and didn’t forget any boxes and whatnot. He checked the basement, and I was upstairs in the kitchen. That’s when I saw her.”

Dr. Carter frowns. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Your deceased mother?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Do continue.”

“She was standing across the island, in front of the microwave, with a slice of cake in her hands.”

“A cake?”

“When I was a little girl, my favorite treat was chocolate cake, so Mum made a point to bake me a chocolate cake every year for my birthday. It became a sort of tradition.” Carol closes her eyes and remembers the last birthday she spent with her mum- the big 46 number candle on the cake buried in blue sprinkles, the red rose and holly bouquet from her coworkers in an intricately designed vase beside her, the ringing laughter in the room that followed Pat’s off-key, goofy rendition of Happy Birthday…

“That sounds lovely.” Dr. Carter smiles, his dark skin and laugh lines accentuating his paper teeth, yet another reminder of Arthur.

“She reached forward, offering me a slice of chocolate cake. There was a candle on top, a 50. She smiled and whispered ‘Happy Birthday,’ even though mine isn’t until a few more weeks.” Carol pulls her quilted shawl tighter around her chest, shivering despite the warmth of the room.

“Mum looked the same, except maybe younger. Her hair was pulled back, and she was wearing a long blue sundress- her favorite dress, she wore it even in the middle of winter,” Carol laughs. “She told me she’s proud of me, and that it’s okay to move on.”

Dr. Carter stares at her, mouth agape, brows furrowing quizzically. “She- spoke to you?” he asks again.

“Yes.”

“Well, what happened next?”

Carol shrugs. “I blew out the candle, and Mum was gone.”

The following moments are thick with silence. Carol resists the urge to hum her favorite Christmas tune and instead focuses on the snowflakes hitting the window. It seems her hometown is welcoming winter early. The past few weeks buried the town with record-breaking cold temperatures, severe blizzard warnings, and widespread power outages. It definitely wasn’t the best time of the year to be moving, but she and Pat agreed to be finished packing up by the new year, a goal they’ve reached a bit earlier than planned.

A quick glance at the clock tells Carol there are only about ten minutes until the end of their session.

Finally, Dr. Carter speaks. “How do you feel about that… encounter?”

Carol pauses for a moment and clicks her heels together, counting the flowers on her rain boots.

One, two, three, four…

“I think,” she says, after contemplating the best answer, “I’m ready to move on. I know I’m ready.”

More silence.

Carol remembers her first session with Dr. Carter. It was the first time in months she dragged herself out of bed. Her hair was unkempt and ruly, her eyes puffy and glazed, her shoes small and mismatched (a brown boot on one foot and a red running shoe on the other)- she looked like she had spent her life on a street corner. When Dr. Carter asked about her family history and her relationship with her parents and younger brother, Carol couldn’t mention her mum without the words catching in her throat, her lungs filling with a strange liquid, suffocating her. It took months before she could openly discuss her mum’s death, and then, when she eventually began to make peace with it, Arthur died in an automobile accident, and Carol’s newfound despair threw her back to square one.

The progress she’s made with Dr. Carter since then was phenomenal. Carol finally feels comfortable talking about her mum without feeling shattered by grief that always seemed to be embarrassingly raw. Although she’ll always miss her mum, she no longer feels like she’s drowning in heartache or living a life devoid of warmth and comfort.

For the first time in four years, Carol felt at peace with her mum’s passing.

“Well, I’m not sure what to say,” Dr. Carter mutters. “It sounds like you’ve had a truly remarkable experience, Carol, and I’d love to hear more during our next session. We can continue this, let’s say, next Wednesday, same time?” He reaches for his laptop, but Carol holds up her hands to stop him.

“You’ve been a wonderful help, Dr. Carter, honestly, but I want to move forward on my own,” she declares confidently.

Dr. Carter pauses for a long moment, considering. Then, slowly, his lips turn upward as he returns Carol’s smile, and, for the first time in four years, Carol is eager to start the next chapter of her life.

Maybe she’ll even pick up a chocolate cake on her way home.