With my hand on his warm cheek, the only fleshy part of him that
remains from his babyhood, I embrace his face, his lovely face, damp with tears that still remain in his long lashes. Though his head rests on his pillow, what I can see and feel of it while my thumb strokes that cheek, speaks so little of what goes on within.

Therapy: what is it, really? What exactly does it “treat,” when emotions themselves feel so intangible and cloudy, a morass of intense but nonspecific sensations that just keep changing anyway…..? How is it that “talking” is what does the treating? And what is it that “therapists” know or have training in that qualifies and authorizes them to actually make something of this emotion morass to then bring us…..what? What are we supposed to expect from therapy anyway?!