We are delighted to share a poignant story from Joy Club member Mary Gorman. Drawing from her early career as a practicing therapist, Mary brings to life an experience that has remained deeply personal to her. Although she has altered certain details to maintain the confidentiality of her former client, the essence of this true story endures, offering us a profound glimpse into the human spirit and the unexpected connections that can profoundly impact our lives.
Driving down the country lane, the vibrant red sunset peeking through the fluttering leaves as if beckoning me to the remote cottage ahead, my heart danced to the rhythm of Mother Earth, and I thought how lucky I was to be working as a therapist visiting my clients in their homes, especially on an evening so beautiful, with the serene beauty of the countryside surrounding me.
Sophia had contacted me sometime after her only brother was murdered in an unprovoked attack, and whilst she had initially got help with it, she was struggling with being the only member of the family living as her parents were both dead. We had agreed on six sessions on Monday evenings, and tonight’s session would be the last one.
Sophia, with her courage, engaged with the therapy and came to understand that she felt guilty for still being the only member of her family alive. She recognised that the guilt was preventing her from embracing her life to the adjustment of such a tragic situation. Reassuring her that this was very understandable and difficult, we explored some new experiences that could help develop coping strategies to deal with these feelings.
Sitting down in the conservatory, heated by an oil-filled radiator, the twinkling lights shimmered as the moon shone through the French doors, creating a peaceful atmosphere that drew us together in a silent, quiet embrace. Sophia was particularly excited to share that she would run a marathon in her brother’s memory after joining the local running club. Opening up about this decision and how the running club had helped her so much, her words of joy laced with enthusiasm appeared to float around the room like a contestant on Strictly Come Dancing.
Sensing the presence of someone entering the room behind me and not wanting to interrupt Sophia in her sharing of the new awakening in her life, I glanced over my shoulder but saw nothing,
‘I am sorry, Sophia. I thought I heard someone entering. Forgive me for being distracted.’
‘Oh, that is OK, Angela, it is only my dad. He comes most evenings.’
‘Sorry, Sophia, I thought your dad had passed away.’
‘Yes, he has, but he still comes to see me most evenings’.
Taking a moment to catch my breath and compose myself, I asked her how she felt about the visits.
‘Wonderful’ and the huge smile that filled her face with a twinkle in her eye assured me that she did not need therapy for this.
As I brought the session to a close, reassuring her that she could contact me at any time should she want to chat again, I felt I was leaving a happy, contented lady who had found her own healing. Driving up the country lane as the moon illuminated the way and the trees swayed to the tune of the twinkling stars, my mother’s voice arose from within. When I was young, she would return from the fields in the evening after tending to her animals and would say:
‘I saw old Jimmie Mc Loughan tonight.’
‘Who is Jimmie McLoughan Mammie? I do not know him.’
‘No, he died a few years ago.’
‘Mammie, don’t say those things; it frightens me.’
‘Darling, the dead will never harm you; it is the living you must look out for.’
Having been raised in Ireland on ghost stories, especially the banshee, the famous female spirit in Gaelic folklore whose appearance of wailing warns the village folk of three forthcoming deaths, a part of me understood where my client was coming from. These stories were a significant part of my cultural upbringing and influenced my understanding of death and the afterlife.