Lundyn Bridges Read Online Free PDF

toward the door. “Francine, I’m not here to play games with you. My job is to help, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. You already know that. We both know it’s easier for you if we talk about everything but your issues and getting better. Well, I don’t have time for games. I want to help people, and when I come back tomorrow you can let me know if you’re going to be one of the people I help.” This confrontation was empowering, and I smiled to myself as I walked out the door.
    Francine continued to be very guarded during our sessions that week. She indulged me with minor trivia from her life, but the pieces were fragmented. Questions about her children were dismissed with ‘they’re grown’ and a sigh. Francine offered no explanation as to where they were or why she did not have contact with them. For the moment, I was content she was talking. I discovered that she believed her mother didn’t like her and her older sister was embarrassed by her. Francine actually smiled when talking about her father. She knew for sure that he really loved her and she missed him. When I inquired about the last time she saw him, she shut down and refused to talk. When I inquired about her husband, she laughed. When I asked about her boyfriend, she shook her head and sighed.
    Francine didn’t report for breakfast or the morning meeting on Friday. On my way to her room, Debbie, the nurse, told me Francine didn’t feel well. Then she rolled her eyes up in her head indicating she really didn’t believe that.
    â€œFrancine’s anxiety about leaving the hospital tomorrow is the problem.” Debbie’s tone was matter-of-fact.
    I knocked on Francine’s door. It was not as awkward or intimidating as the first time I approached her. Although she had been unwilling to talk, her affect improved. When I had gone to her room on Thursday, she opened the blinds to let the sun shine in.
    â€œFrancine.” I spoke slightly above a whisper.
    Francine did not respond.
    I walked toward the bed and noticed Francine had the covers pulled up over her head. The room was dark and still. It was a dreary, rainy day, and there was no sunshine to sneak in through the blinds. There was a book on the nightstand. I picked it up, noticing the unique mud cloth print.
    â€œGo ahead, read it,” Francine said as if she could see through the blanket covering her face.
    â€œWhat’s in here?”
    â€œIt’s just some poems. It’s what I do all night because I can’t sleep. Read them. You want to know what’s in my head? It’s on the paper.”
    Dr. Solis switched Francine’s medication and insomnia was a major side effect of the new anti-depressant. Francine now hated Dr. Solis because she couldn’t sleep and sleeping had been her escape. For over a week Francine continued to let me know how she spent each night writing poems while listening to the city sounds, watching the city die and return to life in the morning.
    Flipping through the journal, I noticed how meticulously Francine had written each entry. The date, time, weather and her mood were indicated at the top of each page. There were at least twenty finished entries and twice as many partial entries. The mood for most of the finished entries was mad.
    â€œI don’t want to read these.” I placed the journal on the table.
    â€œWhy not?” Francine asked, still beneath the blanket.
    â€œBecause I want you to tell me what’s in there.”
    Francine hesitated. “You want to know what’s in my head so you can pray for me?”
    â€œI want to know what’s in your head so I can help you. And, I’d like to pray with you.”
    â€œWere you even born when I graduated from high school?” Francine pulled the blanket from her face and looked at me. “How are you going to help me? I just thought that was so damn funny when Doc had all you kids come in