Mel
Waldman, Ph. D.
Dr. Mel Waldman is a psychologist, poet, and writer. He
is a past winner of the literary GRADIVA AWARD in Psychoanalysis and was
nominated for a PUSHCART PRIZE in literature. He is the author of 11
books.
BACK IN OGUNQUIT
I
imagine I’m back in Ogunquit with my wife in the late summer of 2011. We often
returned to the Beautiful Place by the
Sea in July or August and stayed at the Seafarer’s Motel, across from the
Ogunquit Playhouse, on the other side of Main Street.
I
imagine. Look! There we are.
After feasting on an exotic omelet or luscious blueberry
pancakes for breakfast at Bessie’s, in the center of town, we taste a sensuous
sun as we stroll along the sweet-smelling sultry avenue.
We
turn onto Bourne
Lane, pass Jonathan’s, and saunter off to Perkins
Cove where we drift in and out of quaint art galleries and gift shops.
Time
melts beneath the sprawling sun, a canopy of illusory joy. Time disappears and
we exist in the mind-altering moment, a magical interlude, until we meander to
Jackie’s Too for lunch.
We
sit on the terrace a few feet from the rocks and seagulls and the Atlantic Ocean. The waves are quiet now. I gaze adoringly
at my sensuous wife with soulful dark brown eyes that beckon and welcome me into
her private universe.
She
is the pulchritudinous queen of my being. I should tell her how much I love her.
But I don’t. (A premonition of loss overwhelms me.)
I
remove our disposable Kodak camera from my Barnes & Noble bag and take
pictures of my photogenic wife with the sea and seagulls and rocks in the
background. She smiles with overflowing joy and then snaps a few pictures of me.
(When I look at her, my preternatural eyes see my lovely wife trapped in a future
circle of death. I am afraid. But silently, my soul whispers words of love and
prayer and healing.)
After lunch, strangers click the camera and capture us
together on film, two lovers frozen in time.
We
hold hands and disappear in the moment that dies again and again.
Before we leave, the azure sky turns black, the calm
waves rush furiously to shore, and the seagulls sail away, fleeing from the
rocks.
The
tempest is coming,
We
may never return to Ogunquit. In a few months, my wife will undergo surgery,
develop sepsis, and come close to death. We will pass through the storm that
suddenly threatens our life together and our dreams and even time, but not our
love.
Time
dissolves. Three years disappear with the blink of an eye. It is the summer of
2014.
Tomorrow, I will tell her how much I love her. I will
never stop caressing her with words from my soul.
MY SISTER,
DO YOU REMEMBER?
My
sister, do you remember the lost years of our youth, a vast labyrinth of light
and darkness, as paradoxical as the sadness of love and the redemptive surrender
to loss, before Mother’s premature death?
Of
course, any other time for her demise, even the distant winter of old age, with
a pristine landscape and the deep snow rising toward a dying red sun of glory,
outside her home, and a celestial living room window with a soothing view of
quiet surroundings, would have been too soon, her life too short.
The
little woman, our mother, passed into the motionless silence of the endless
sleep, so long ago, only half-a-century old.
My
sister, do you remember?
And
after Mother’s death, how many deaths have we suffered, how many loved ones have
we mourned, my beloved sister, stoic widow and woman of strength?
Now,
as the future shrinks and the past expands, we gaze at our lost panorama, mourn
for the dead, and feast on the power of love.
THE DARK SIDE OF HEALING
I am
a healer.
I
hear trauma stories. Without receiving these unspeakable revelations, I would be
someone else. I can’t imagine any other life; wouldn’t choose another
way.
I am
a healer by design and destiny.
A
magnet since childhood, I attracted sufferers. Folks flocked to me for fixing
and just by being in my presence, some seemed to heal. That’s the way it’s
always been.
I’ve
got a secret.
The
dark side of healing exists. It looms over me. It is a giant shadow and the
monster I fear.
This
is the chilling truth.
To
empower my patients, I’ve got to hold their pain and become a quiet container of
their seething hell.
It
is an act of courage.
To
be a catalyst of change, I must risk going mad. Yet if I’m mad enough to risk
going mad, I can survive any temporary insanity in the therapy session and heal.
Trust and letting go are the two sides of the therapy
key.
I am
a healer. I hear trauma stories. It is an act of courage, for the dark side of
healing exists and threatens me. It may shatter my soul. But I trust it won’t. I
will return from this dangerous journey in one piece, alive and well, safe and
sane.
I am
a healer. I trust.
~Dr. Mel Waldman
