I was angry at my wife. Why had she not told me that Dr. Stone was absolutely gorgeous?
With a wedding band and a large ruby on the third finger of her left hand.
And fully aware of the impact of her tall, blond, Scandinavian beauty on me.
Shrinks weren’t supposed to be beautiful, not that beautiful. On the other hand, maybe she understood from the inside what it was like to be a woman desired by most men and envied by most women.
I must buy Rosemarie a big jewel. Why had I not thought of that before?
“As I’m sure you understand, Mr. O’Malley, I cannot discuss the nature or progress of a patient’s therapy with anyone, not even a spouse.”
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“I cannot provide you with any prognosis, other than the unnecessary observation that she is an intelligent and determined woman.”
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“I cannot tell you that the effect of the traumas she has experienced will ever be eliminated from her life.”
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“I cannot offer you any advice on whether you should consider ending your relationship with her.” Dr. Stone raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting a reaction to that observation.
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“I cannot promise you that your children will be unaffected either by her past experiences or by her present struggles in treatment.”
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“In short, Mr. O’Malley”—she frowned, bemused by the little redhead who had found himself such a beautiful wife—“while I am happy to meet you with Mrs. O’Malley’s permission, I’m afraid that as in most other such interviews, I cannot say much that would reassure you.”
“I quite understand, Doctor.”
“If you understand all of these factors, Mr. O’Malley”—she considered the ends of her fingers, trying to remain patient—“then why have you come to see me?”
“I had a different question.”
“And that is?” Both eyebrows went up this time.
“Why has she survived?”
“I beg pardon?”
“Given what she’s been through, I am astonished that she is as healthy and as normal a woman as she is. Sure, she has some serious problems, and, sure, they’ll be with her for the rest of her life in one way or another. But why is she still alive?”
“That is a very interesting question.” Dr. Stone relaxed. “Intellectually and personally too, I would imagine.”
“Baffles you too?” I turned on all my Irish charm.
She actually smiled. “At first, very much so. You always want to distinguish between your patient’s real strengths and her neurotic mechanisms. Actually, there is no great mystery about Rosemarie’s survival.”
“Indeed?”
“The literature on the subject leads us to look for a number of factors, all of which seem to be present in her history—genetically determined strength; a powerful person with whom to identify in early years, in this case her grandmother; deep insights—Rosemarie, as I’m certain you know, has certain mystical traits and experiences.”
So that’s what they were.
“I see.”
“And, perhaps most important, as a result of these other factors, a propensity to seek out and ally with those who can most effectively help one maintain some sort of basic personal integration.”
“In Rosemarie’s case, who would that be?”
She now smiled broadly. “Surely that is evident?”
“’Fraid not.”
“To use her term”—the smile became a grin—“the crazy O’Malleys.”
“Us?”
“At a very young age, Rosemarie intuited where her salvation could be found and clung to it with remarkable tenacity.”
I remember the overheard conversation between Mom and Dad in the apartment on Menard in 1940. They knew even then what was happening.
“I’ll be damned.”
“I rather doubt it, Mr. O’Malley.”
“But she’s saved all of us!” I exploded from my chair and began to pace around the doctor’s office. “All of us!”
“Oh. How interesting. Why don’t you explain what you mean.”
“I wouldn’t be a photographer if she had not edged me into it. Both my sisters’ marriages would have fallen apart if she hadn’t intervened, rather dramatically in fact. My brother wouldn’t be a priest, much less the effective priest he is if Rosemarie had not installed herself as his confidante. My parents would not be as happy as they are today if Rosemarie hadn’t mandated that they be happy. God only knows how much she has helped our nieces and nephews and our friends.”
“Really?” It was hard to tell whether she was actually surprised or only professionally surprised. “And you have told her this often?”
“No … hardly ever.”
“May I ask why not?”
“You know why not.”
“You’d be an interesting patient, Mr. O’Malley. You’d drive me back to my training analyst almost every day. Yes, I know why not, but I want you to say it.”
“Because she doesn’t want to hear it. She’d be furious.”
“You’re afraid of her fury?”
“Sure.”
“With good reason?”
“No. She’s a pushover when I tell her to cut it out.”
“And why doesn’t she want to hear that it’s been a two-way street, that in fact the balance of payments, if we may use a term from one of your professions, is rather more on her side than on the opposite side?
“That won’t be necessary. I repeat, why would your wife not want to hear that she’s been a blessing to all the crazy O’Malleys?”
“‘Grace’ is the word Mom uses.”
“An excellent word. Now, why doesn’t she want to hear it?
“Because that would make her more lovable than she wants to admit she is.”
“Marvelous.” Dr. Stone rose from her desk. “Now let me say this to you, Mr. O’Malley: It is of the utmost importance that your wife hear this truth as often and with as much variety and persistence, as possible. She will react negatively at first. You must not permit that to deter you.”
She shook hands with me.
“I thought you had a rule against giving direct advice to family.”
Her grin was almost like Rosemarie’s imp grin.
“I just broke that rule, Mr. O’Malley.”