I stretched out on the sofa and sighed deeply. The psychiatrist, a middle-aged pretty redhead, smiled at me and asked. "How are you feeling this afternoon, Dan?"
I looked up at the ceiling. "I'm fine, Ginny. I'm more than fine and I told you so two weeks ago but it seems you don't believe me." I shrugged. "I don't know what else to say."
"Of course, I believe you. It's a standard protocol that we watch and confirm what you have said and from all indications, you are ready to go back home. Do you want to?"
I turned my gaze at her. "Want to what?"
I understood what Ginny said but I needed her to spell it out clearly.
It was Christmas and I'd been incarcerated (that's the way I see it) in this recovery centre for exactly a year following the death of my little sister, Joy, in a thunderstorm.
It was December 23rd and we were broke. Father did not handle that situation well. He was happy when there was enough money to throw around and bitter when we survived from hand to mouth.
My parents had a big fight in the morning, calling each other terrible names. Father stormed out while mother drowned her sorrow with some liquor.
Joy came into my room and I almost sent her out in anger but her tearstained face revealed she was suffering as much as I was from the hostility in our home. I held her instead and she curled into my arms.
Evening came and mother banged on my door ordering us to come downstairs for dinner. It was earlier than the usual dinner time which was surprising.
Joy and I went downstairs. The dining table was beautifully set. Father and mother sat down and so did uncle Matt, father's youngest brother, who enjoyed bullying me.
Father declared we were celebrating Festivus. I'd never heard that before but it turned out to be a memorable dinner.
Joy cried through it all as father and mother aired their grievances against each other, a Festivus tradition. I sneered at them. It was awkward for uncle Matt who tried to offer an excuse so he could escape but instead got his share of tongue lashing from my parents. I laughed out loud in my head and watched the show. It was way better than TV.
Things took a dangerous turn when father couldn't take Joy's blubbering and raised his voice at her. As a sixteen-year-old, I was almost as tall as my father. I rose and ordered him to shut up. He was shocked for a few seconds before he pounced on me.
We rolled on the floor and wrestled each other. He got in a few good punches to my jaw. Mother tried to stop father while Uncle Matt pulled me away to save me from a broken nose.
Father went to the bar that night and mother went to her friend's. It started to rain followed by a scary thunderstorm. Joy was in my room when thunder crashed over the house and somehow Joy was electrocuted as the electricity in the house shut down.
My parents and I had a hard time dealing with Joy's passing. I blamed my father and he blamed me. It led to my stint at Brightside Center For Mental Recovery.
Mother visited every two weeks and brought letters of apology from father because I wouldn't see him.
"Dan? Are you with me?" Ginny asked, looking at me strangely. I gave her a smile for the first time since I started attending her sessions.
"Sure. I'm ready to go home," I said.
She looked a bit worried. I stretched my smile into a grin.
The following morning, I stood outside and watched as uncle Matt manoeuvred his car into the premises. He hugged me and patted my back. "Good to see you, Dan. You've grown taller."
"And you are shorter?" I replied. He laughed and ruffled my hair like I was a child.
When we arrived at the house, I heard some noise coming from inside. I quietly walked in and was struck dumb by the scene before my eyes. Father, mother and some family members I'd not seen in a long while held each other in a group hug.
I expected some raucous, name-calling and fighting as was the norm. Instead, I saw everyone happy, laughing and cheerful. Maybe this was a Festivus miracle?
Mother welcomed me heartily while father and I nodded at each other. She whispered that father's business was doing so well. That made sense.
One of my cousins gave me a glass of sparkling grape wine. Everyone picked up their drinks and my father made a toast.
"I'm happy my family is back together again. We were careless last year and it cost us my Joy. We miss her so much. Here's to new beginnings."