Gaits of Heaven

member with which every person was deeply involved. Now, we’ll separate into four subgroups. And what we’re going to do in these groups is try to come up with recommendations to share with everyone, guidelines for this family and its support system to use in planning what we can do to promote healthy, normal alliances where those are possible and to avoid some of the painful conflicts we’re seeing."
    “All one big, happy family,” Caprice said cynically.
    “Not at all. One source of difficulty here has to do with boundaries. It may be that the outcome you decide on will be to set strict limits about involvement with other members of the family, including severing some relationships entirely.”
    “Individuation,” said Ted. “But before we separate, I’d like to say a word about the role of trauma here. And a few words about Eumie, who is still with us in spirit. We need to acknowledge the part played by her trauma in our family life.”
    “Bullshit!” The speaker was Caprice. “Ted, if you’re talking about that undertaker story—”
    “Caprice, it’s no story. Your maternal grandfather was an undertaker, as you know, and you also know that when his wife, Eumie’s mother, died, he himself—”
    “He himself,” said Caprice, “was an electrician! Eumie’s father was not an undertaker. Therefore, he was hardly in a position to embalm his own wife.”
    “Denial,” said Ted, “is a normal phase, Caprice. We don’t want to believe that these terrible events really happened to ourselves or our loved ones, so we deny that they did.“
    “Genealogy sites on the Web,” said Caprice, “happen to include a lot of city directories. Old directories. They usually have information about occupations. Professions. Repeat! Mommy’s father was not an undertaker. He was an electrician. Electricians do not embalm people. Therefore, her father did not embalm her mother.”
    “Caprice, every family has its secrets. It’s normal. Johanna doesn’t tell people about her eye job. Ai-ai-ai! Johanna, I’ve let it out! Not that you ever needed cosmetic surgery.”
    Before Johanna could respond, Rita intervened. “We’re about to break into subgroups, and I want to say with regard to family secrets that this is a family with what appear to be a great many. On the one hand, this family has a lot of blurring going on, blurring of boundaries between parents and children, therapists and patients, even people and dogs. And complicating all that is this business of who knows what about whom, and those secrets create their own unhealthy kinds of boundaries and unhealthy alliances. So, in these meetings, the rule is going to be that everyone will refrain from telling secrets that can’t be shared with this entire group. Okay. Everyone who has prescribed medication for anyone in the family is going to meet with Dr. Youngman in the kitchen, please. The three parents, Monty, Ted, and Johanna, are going to meet here with me. Ms. Cohen and Lieutenant Dennehy, you’re going to meet with us, too. The children, Wyeth and Caprice, are going to be with their therapists, Dr. York and Dr. Zinn. Perhaps you could use the family room. And those of you concerned with Dolfo, maybe you could meet in the backyard. That’s you, Holly, and Dr. Lei-bowitz and Dr. McBane. And those of you who don’t fit into these subgroups, just stay here in the living room, please.” For once, I was frustrated to find myself in the dog group, which felt like the dog-show class known as American-Bred, which draws a small entry and is thus less competitive than the big Open class. Furthermore, it lacks the prestige of Bred-by-Exhibitor, which is, as its name suggests, limited to dogs handled by the people who bred them. American-Bred, I reminded myself, had its uses; for instance, a dog who might be overlooked among all the others in Open could win American-Bred and subsequently defeat the winners of the other classes to go Winners Dog, then maybe Best of Winners and even Best of Breed. Indeed, all the world is a dog show, and all the men and women... except that we weren’t actually here to compete, were we? Anyway, by the time Barbara, George, Dolfo, and I were in the backyard, I felt that I was where I belonged. Oona Sundquist, George’s lawyer, had remained in the living room; George hadn’t even tried to get her to accompany us. Barbara and I took seats on one bench, and George sat opposite us on another. Dolfo was sniffing the grass in the