July 23, 2002

Carol had not said a word since she had been told about the loss of Sophia. Daryl had made sure to tell her himself. She had appreciated that the bad news came from him instead of in clinical terms from somebody in a white jacket. She had grieved with him through tears, but not words. Daryl had not left her side since, acting as a sort of guard dog against those attempting to press her into speaking. He may have turned away from the life the Dixon legacy had promised him; but the staff here didn't know that. They just heard the name Dixon and didn't want to press their luck by enraging him.

She was sickened at the thought that he was in some ways playing his surname up for those in their small hometown. She understood he was doing it for her; to buy her more time to work through what she needed to, but it still turned her stomach. He was so much better than that.

They had been brought to a small homey office a few minutes ago, awaiting the arrival of the hospital's grief counselor. Even though she wasn't speaking, she was observant. She saw all the names of the books lining the bookshelves. She saw all the hardbacked ways that they were going to tell her she would be alright one day. She really didn't know if she could stand this, but she knew she needed to do it. So, she waited. She sat in her chair clinging to Daryl who sat as close to her as possible in the other chair. She clung to him as a last tie to their daughter. She clung to him in grief, sorrow, pain, and love. She knew she would never get through this without him, and Lord knew how he was getting through. She had been useless in comforting him.

She had begun thinking that she needed to say something here in this office, maybe do something that would help pave the way for them getting out of this place. The nurses had informed her that she would be released once both her physical and mental outlook were better. She really didn't want to sign herself out against medical advice but would if need be. She would be fine. Eventually. She had Daryl, and Daryl had her. It was always the two of them against the world, and this could be viewed as an extreme example of how their bond would overcome all obstacle and adversity.

She turned to Daryl, knowing he was incredibly worried about her and spoke her first words since yesterday's hellish events.

"This is going to be really hard, but I promise I will try to talk to the counselor."

He looked at her, knowing she was oversimplifying the words. He knew the meaning behind them though. So, he spoke them.

"Yeah. Gonna be really hard. Gonna take everything we got, but we're gonna get through this. Know why?"

"Tell me."

"We're gonna get through this because we are strong, we love each other, and there is nothing we can't do together."

It was a familiar anthem, one that they had spoken of often in their lives. It was also very true. Without each other, they would have been lost in life and love. So, they tightened their hold on each other, and straightened up when they heard approaching footsteps outside the office.

A fussy looking blond bespeckled man entered the room. He was not wearing a doctor's coat, but from what the nurse had told them, they knew this was their grief counselor. The man sat behind his desk and looked compassionately at the young couple before him.

"My name is Milton Mamet. Dr. Jenner has filled me in on the loss of your daughter Sophia."

The man's compassion was obviously genuine, and they both relaxed a bit. Nobody until him had used their daughter's name. It had all been clinically discussed until now. The use of the name seemed to break the dam within Carol all over again. Her tears began again in earnest. Daryl was silently crying alongside her, never letting his hand stray from hers.

"There is going to be a lot of work that will have to go into healing even a little bit from your loss. I just started at this facility, and I hope I can be an adequate source of assistance for you both."

Daryl was about to thank the man when surprisingly Carol was the one to speak.

"Thank you, Dr. Mamet. We hate being in this situation but will try hard to do what we need to do."

"Please, call me Milton. I am not a doctor. I have a master's in social work but have experience in this type of loss myself. My twin sister didn't survive, and my parents were at a loss for many years in how to deal with the situation. I have made it my business to learn everything I can about the subject and help those in this unique kind of pain."

Daryl's eyebrow rose at the man's matter-of-fact manner of relating to a common pain. Milton was very observant and spoke further on the matter.

"I know a sibling loss is different than a child loss. Let me clarify. I saw my parents grieve the rest of their lives. I wanted to do something for others in their position. Grief will always be there; it will never go away. But once you allow yourself to feel it, you can move on at least a tiny step through recovery. That's what I am here for. I will work with you now on what you can expect in the coming weeks and months. Long after you leave here you may decide you need further help at any point. My business card lists all my personal contact information. I will be available to you at any time to talk, at any time in the upcoming months and years. That is my promise to you. That is the type of help I want to set a precedent for in this institution."

Carol and Daryl managed to take in some calming breaths as the therapy session progressed. Carol surprised herself by being very willing to speak with Milton.

"I guess what's hard for me is that I was going to be a mother. And now I'm not one. Or am I? I don't even know what to call myself."

"Carol, you will always be a mother. You have had a child, whether you got to realize the plans of keeping the child in your life or not. I don't mean that in a harsh way. I think that it is important that parents of lost children are still recognized as parents. The trick though is to not think of yourself as only identifying as a parent. You are human too. Further along in the grief process, you may find yourself revisiting ideas, plans, or goals you had other than being a parent. If you could share one now, maybe you will see what I mean. Why don't you tell me what your plans were from either before or after your daughter's planned healthy birth? What other goals in life did you have that you can still attain?"

"I've always wanted to be a teacher."

"You still can Carol. In fact, part of the reason I was so excited to join this practice was because it's privately held by a group of philanthropic lawyers. They are always looking for ideas on ways to enrich their patient community. Once I am here longer, I believe I will have a better grasp on what that entails. I will of course let you know if any of your goals could be furthered by any programs they may sponsor."

The two men in suits listened in on the remaining time of the private grief counseling session through a speaker phone broadcasting from the listening device planted in the counselor's office. Neither the Dixon's nor Milton Mamet was aware of the fact they were being heard. What they learned through the discussions would hold the key to the price the Dixon's would unwittingly assign to the daughter lost to them. By the time the Dixon's left the hospital, the couple's actions would unknowingly ensure silence if they were ever found out. After all, everybody in this world had a price. It appears that the Dixon's price may be a college education.

"Get the adoptive parents on the phone Scott. Tell them their daughter is in the NICU. And for Christ's sake, don't scare them. Make sure they know that their baby girl is sure to make a full recovery."