My fingers sift through the sand. I remember so many days of sitting here, thinking about the trajectory of my life. Feeling sorry for myself. Feeling proud of myself. All the hopes, fears, worries, and accomplishments. All the unknowns. I should have invited Chris to sit right next to me. I should have held his hand and never let go.

I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.

Much too soon, a timer goes off, alerting me to my upcoming appointment. I stand, wipe the sand from my jeans, and call another Lyft. Back downtown, I gather my thoughts and clear my mind.

Entering and exiting new buildings is one of my least favorite activities, especially in the city. There are so many variables: ladders with workers. Construction sites. Throngs of people who won’t move out of the way for a cane.

Chris was always impressed by how I handled myself on the street once I got the hang of things. My photographic memory was my sharpest tool in the toolbox. It allowed me to see without seeing … a godsend, really.

I press the button for the handicap door and wait for it to open. Someone ushers me to the front desk.

“Take the elevator to the eleventh floor. Here, I’ll help you.” I thank the front desk man for his kindness and exit on the appropriate floor. I memorize the path to Dr. Gibbons’s office and check in. After only a few minutes, I’m called back. Her office smells like fresh pine.

“Come in, Rebecca. Make yourself comfortable.”

Dr. Gibbons—Jan—has a soothing voice, one of those voices that makes you want to fall asleep. I wait for her to show me to the couch.

“Oh, right. Forgive me. Let me just…” She takes my arm and points me toward the couch. “Can I get you water, tea?”

I situate myself and set my purse by my feet. “No, thank you.”

She sits across from me and takes a sip of something herself. “So you know Crystal.”

I nod. “I do. We met in our grief group.”

“I’m so glad you two have each other.” She flips a few pages of a notebook. “I’m sure she told you this is solutions-based therapy, so I’d love to just give you the quick spiel about how it all works. And how it might be different from other types of therapy you may have tried.”

“Well, I’ve tried exactly no therapy, so…”

She laughs. “Well then, this should be easy.” She clears her throat. “In these sessions, what we’re here to do is to figure out how to cope with your loss and then come up with a plan of action. You’re not going to think about what you’re going to do. You’re going to actually do it.”

“Basically the opposite of regular therapy then,” I joke.