Mr. B continues to prattle about his wife, how her eyes know him. Without her, he says, he's doomed. She fed him food, water, oxygen. This softie manages accounts for Morgan Stanley? Abe, looking uncomfortable with such lovey-dovey chit-chat, brings things back to the immediate, and tells Mr. B that he can give him the time he needs to relearn the will to love, if only Mr. B will accept it. Shaking violently, he does, and we move to a title card: Healing.
Group meeting. Patients talking about healing, taking things one day at a time, working smooth and steady. Bernard wants balance, to "break out his side effects," to smell the flowers. To a rising drum and bugle, Mr. LaPinta offers that he is feeling "a pretty strong sense of Merry Christmas. Like I feel love." Drum and bugle becomes "The Little Drummer Boy," getting into the holiday spirit. Montage begins: shooting victims. "It's so hard to get in and touch that love, where you really feel like it's a regular part of who you are." Mr. B sleeping. "That's what I want. That's what I want to work on." Bobby sitting on a bed, watching his sons sleep. "Being with my love. Living with my love." Neil kissing Lyla's stomach. "I need help with that." Abe, looking lonely, surveying his wrecked apartment. "I was wondering if you could help me with that." And stay tuned for scenes from next week. Huh. Intense, yes, but I somehow expected better -- there's plenty of the "trying way too hard for drama and grit" curse, the themes are predictable (birth, death, caretaking, responsibility, judgment, yawn) and the ham-handed symbolism really needs to be turned down a few.
NEXT WEEK: Lyla gets in hot water for letting mad, mad Wendell back out on the streets.