Remembering a therapist like no other
I remember distinctly the first time I met Jean Fowler. I can’t say that about many people, but she (and her husband, Jerry) so stood out that I straightaway wanted to know them better.
Hosting a radio talk show, one always scrambles for good guests. In radio lingo, a “good guest” is fun, articulate, entertaining, enlightening and does NOT answer questions with one or two words. From the moment the light in the studio showed, “On Air,” I was hooked. My marriage was rocky, and their wisdom and understanding, as well as ability to offer easy-to-understand concepts, resonated with me. After one “on-air therapy session,” I felt better. I craved more.
Summed up, I wanted more of what they had.
As months passed and the tattered fabric of my marriage shredded, I convinced my wife to attend couples’ counseling with Jerry. Reluctantly conceding, she and I began what I hoped would be a healing path. Sadly, that was not to be the case. When I could no longer deny I had to make serious choices, Jerry recommended I join a group led by Jean.
From that moment, I was home.
Jean was soft-on-theoutside, crunchy-on-theinside. Although always supportive, she was no pushover, not even close. I’m pretty good with words and could finagle my way around most questions I wish to avoid answering — not so with Jean. When needed, she called me to task — but always, always, always with my best interests as her North Star. She offered advice only when I asked, and I never felt judged. Rather, her style of questioning held up a mirror to my choices, allowing me to unravel my own way along the rocky path I was traveling. Therapy can be frightening and when fear made itself known — as it did often — I gathered strength from the well of endless love, help and guidance that never ran dry.
In the group, we started each session by writing a message to ourselves about self-acceptance that she dictated. Each note was on a heart-shaped piece of paper. I — to this day — two decades hence, still keep them, read them and share them on social media.
After leaving the group a couple of years on, I continued meeting with Jean every few months for a “mental tune-up,” always with anticipation, sitting across from each other in her home office downstairs or on the couch overlooking the Pacific Ocean in the living room upstairs. No matter the environment, she listened with intention, and when she smiled, positivity and a non-judgmental spirituality enveloped the room.
There were no glaring emergencies, rarely were there urgent mental health crises. Truth be told, part of the reason I continued to see her as I just couldn’t imagine not having her in my life. I simply felt better when I left her office, each session concluding with the warmest arms-wrappedaround-each-other, allembracing hug.
The color red signifies vibrancy. When I reflect on Jean, I think of that color. Much of her clothing was red, as was the furniture. She drove a red sporty car emblazoned with a personalized license plate proclaiming “Smart and fun,” an accurate description, despite the tortured spelling necessary to make it fit in eight characters.
Even in her 80s, she remained effervescent, her white hair and wide-open, full-faced expansive smile are memories I will carry with me until I pass. Until her last couple of years, she stayed active, embracing her age, reminding me that getting older does not have to be feared. I recall her boasting of taking the number one position in her age group in a runwalk challenge.
If — when my time comes — I am able to have the good fortune to reflect on my life and those who most affected me for the better, Jean is in the Top Five. I owe so much of my attitude, health, happiness, spirituality and whatever level of success is mine to her caring, nurturing method of psychotherapy. She aided me in finding the tools and skills within to grow, love and prosper, even attending my wedding when I remarried. She came to the theater to see me in plays, telling me at the next session how much she enjoyed my role. In so many ways, she was my second mother, always supportive, wishing for me the best, guiding me when asked, and inspiring me without end. To this day, in my coaching practice, I am channeled by her wisdom, always asking myself, “Would Jean have done it this way?”
She left us this week. And although the world is a sadder place with her gone, I’m sure the hereafter is more sparkly, positive, upbeat — and painted with a brilliant shade of red.
Jean, you made the world — and especially my place in it — a better, warmer, happier place. There are no words to say how much you will be missed, but you will never be gone, not as long as I am alive.