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Monday, May 25, 2015

Most Days

Every day goes like this:  I try to remember to shower, I try to remember to eat.  I try to remember to put Jake in the shower.  I try to remember to feed him.  Then I go to work where I try to do my job and pretend I'm ok when really I feel like screaming the majority of the day.  Then I come home and just try to survive until I can go to sleep.  When I sleep, I look for Cory.

Most of the time I feel hollow and there's an unbearable ache that never goes away.  Other times, when I remember certain things, my panic center goes off and I can't calm down no matter what I do.  Sometimes, I feel the rage overcoming me and in it I can see her face so clearly, her eyes, and her her hands, and the way she walked.  The anger begins to settle into my bones, into my person, into my walk, and my eyes change.  I'm walking around with all these little barbs, and if you get too close, I'll probably say something to hurt your feelings.

It could be anything from the fact that you have live children to prom pictures on facebook.  It could be that you told me not to be depressed which is basically like telling someone not to be sick.  It could be your expectations that 20 years of my life should be folded and put neatly away so I can be here for my new normal family, such as it is.  It could be that you told me you think suicide is selfish which means that you must think you're a better person than me.  And maybe you are.  I don't think it's selfish.  I think it's desperate.  I think it's a desperate end to an unfathomable amount of pain.

So my barbs are out.  Nothing feels like home.  And it's been too long since I've seen her face.


Sunday, May 24, 2015

Eighteen month to three years- there's your window. People stop asking how you're doing and you have to prompt your child's name into conversations or you might never hear it at all.  Somewhere, in the back of your mind, that really isn't so sound these days, you begin to wonder if this marvelous creature existed in the first pace.  You retreat to pills and to sleep to make that connection, meanwhile pissing off your husband who wants the pre-cory-death Nicole back for him and his boy;  "Exercise.  Stay busy."  he says.  I just want to scream my lungs out.  Nothing can fix this.  It's all ruined.  I'm broken.  Can't you see?

Trying to play normal at work or at home is exhausting me.  
The pictues don't go away.  The guilt lingers.  And to be fair, he knows nothing of what I see when I lay my head down at night.  Easy for you to say when she wasn't your heart.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Grief Attack

I've spent the last couple weeks fighting with my husband, and worrying about our marriage.  I've spent the last few days worried about a project at work that I wasn't sure how to do.  For the most part, Tim's mood passed and he is mostly back to normal.  The meeting at work that I dreaded for days is over, and didn't go as badly as my anxiety had led me to believe.

Pretty much the second I walked out of that meeting room, I felt a crushing wave of sadness come over me.  All this stress...all this worry...where was my Cory Girl?  It was as if she'd been pushed to the back while I dealt with these other things, and I began to fear that this meant she was fading away.  It's been nearly three years and there are days when I am the only one who says her name.  For most people who knew her, life has returned to normal.  It will never be normal to me.  And whatever it is, normal or not, I hate it.  I hate being here without her.

Halfway

Many marriages after the death of a child do not survive.  And most marriages in which one partner has bipolar fail.  Dr. Z said the two main factors to divorce in marriages involving bipolar are aggression and hypersexuality.  This would wholeheartedly explain my relationships with the fathers of my children and their admittedly rocky roads.

So then I wonder what the odds are for the marriage where one partner has bipolar AND there's been the loss of a child...talk about a challenge.

Somehow my depression and PTSD don't seem to qualify as real illnesses to anyone but my doctor.  And yet I'm supposed to bow down to the almighty Bi-Polar Disorder, and excuse any and all behaviors that accompany it.  It's hard work, and frankly I'm over it.  My anxiety, bad enough before Cory's death, has mushroomed into a monster I have difficulty wrangling.  I have my own issues now.  Meet me half way or don't meet me at all.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Three Years Come July

Sometimes the terrible knowledge that Cory is dead feels like an actual person that follows me around all day hurling smalls stones at my body.  No wonder I am so tired and achey all the time.  I just need to kiss her face.

Monday, May 4, 2015

The Moments Are These

The other day I caught myself wondering if they really painted her toenails when they prepared her.  I took in a brand new color of nailpolish for them to use, but I had to wonder since they nearly refused to take the shoes I brought in for her to wear, insisting that they wouldn't show anyway.  I can't tell you how much that comment bothered me at the time, somehow making her into a non-person for whom footwear was no longer a consideration.

I wondered further if they thought she had pretty feet because she certainly did, even if they looked exactly like her father's and nothing like mine at all.  I sat there for a good ten minutes just trying to remember the last time I saw her little piggies.

All I've Got

Every day is a struggle, and I don't think other people realize how hard it is to walk around with these pictures in your head and the terrible knowledge lodged down deep in your gut.  It's exhausting, and every step burns.  It's hard to feel joyful about anything when she's no longer here.  It's like missing a part of myself...never whole, never whole!

I was relieved today at Jake's counseling appointment to hear him say he doesn't think I talk about Cory too much.  He thinks how much I talk about her is just right.  He doesn't feel forgotten or neglected.  He feels loved and celebrated.  When those days come that I can't get out of bed, God love him, he understands.  He worries, but he knows I will come back to care for him and that these times of debilitating anguish are just part of the package...the same way he's withdrawn from most everyone around him.  It is what it is.  But we love each other.  We are doing the best we can, feeling our way through a daily nightmare.

Jake worries about what will happen to his relationship with Cory when he can talk to her anytime he wants, but she never answers back.  Bless his sweet heart.  He misses her so much- his daily companion.  I have days that literally nothing else in the world even matters- not work, not bills, nothing.  Just show me her face.  Please, I just need to kiss her face.

I asked Jacob if he thought I was still a good Mommy, and held my breath a little.  His answer came quickly, a vigorous nodding of the head and beautiful reassurance in his eyes.  I'm not the same mom I was before the accident, but at least he  thinks I'm still doing more right than wrong.

So here we are, embarking on another spring without her.  This is supposed to be the time when everything is new again.  I try to dredge up a little enthusiasm when the sun shows its face.  Still, it's a countdown to July.  The first real heat wave is always the worst, as it transplants me back in time.  Everyone is elated, and I'm simply horrified.

It still bothers me to see any type of rescue workers in uniform out in the community.  At coffee the other day, a police officer walked in, and my words trailed off forgotten.  I was silenced, and immediately back at the road.  Sirens do the same thing to me.

There are many triggers.  As much as I might like to, I can't just snap out of it.  Her death will haunt me all the days of my life.  The trauma makes living those days frightening and uncertain.

I'm doing the best I can.  This is all I've got.