The Dead Mother

A brilliant young academic had been in analysis for a long time. Recently, it seemed that the analysis was coming to an end: he was able to speak about the termination. And yet, on returning from the Christmas holidays, without any explicit reason, he came to his session feeling somewhat depressed. “It's strange,” he said, “everything went very well, and I notice that I have discovered pleasure in living once again. What is happening is really quite pleasant. It was coming to see you that made me sad.” Initially, he let himself associate freely, reviving various situations of separation and mourning that he had spoken about on many occasions, before concluding: “No, it's funny, what I feel this time is less heavy and at the same time deeper. It's as if you were staying by my side to help me cope with a sudden disappearance. You are both the one who disappears and the one to whom I would like to complain about it. Moreover, it's not really a disappearance. It's something else. When you opened the door, you seemed elsewhere. Maybe I don't interest you anymore. That would be normal, in fact, because I'm doing fine. After all, after eight years of analysis, it may be the right moment to stop. We should talk about it. Unless, that is, you have some personal worries.”

The analyst waited a few moments, and then replied: “Being sad in order to have a good reason to continue the work with me and to distract me from my personal worries” After saying this, the analyst immediately felt that it was not right, déjà vu, déja entendue. The patient, moreover, did not fail to point this out: “Yes, I have thought about that. Moreover, we have often spoken about it, but this time, no, it's not that.” Was it a denial on his part?

At the following session, he lay down on the couch and took up the thread of what he had been saying as if the session had not been interrupted since the last meeting: “There's something that I did not tell you last time. At one point, as I was speaking to you, t