My mother could not have loved my daughter more. She and my father were a huge support during Cory's illness. I could not have taken such good care of her without them. While my mother's heart was filled to the brim with love and compassion for Cory, she wasn't completely convinced that a well loved, slightly ragged winter hat was the finishing touch to a girl's Sunday best dressy ensemble.
Cory had taken to wearing a slouchy winter had whenever she was feeling low-indoors, outdoors, awake, sleeping, in private, and in public. Cory told me it made her feel better. I was all over anything that made her feel better. Seeing my beautiful daughter dissolved into a weeping puddle on the floor made my heart ache. Cory battled her illness everyday. And that's just what it was- a fight. Cory was so much stronger than she ever gave herself credit for. I saw it every time she got out of bed when she could have stayed in. I saw it when she tried something she wasn't really comfortable doing. She told me once the voices in her head were like being in Cracker Barrel on the busiest Sunday morning you can imagine- all the tables full, everyone talking at once, silverware and plates clacking to beat the band. Now, she said, imagine not being able to leave the room, no matter how badly you want to. And on the really bad days, those voices berated, cursed, and screamed. Still, my girl smiled; she laughed; she loved. This was one 5'4'' powerhouse, and the voices better know it.
Cory said she felt like the meds were strong hands helping her hold back a growling, gibbering monster locked behind a door. She said she could never let her guard down. And even when she and the meds were spot on, that wretched thing sometimes came busting through anyway. Then she'd have to work twice at hard to get it back behind that door where it belonged.
So, the hat...
I explained to my mom that the hat was a comfort object. After all, the baby had carried her crib blanket through most of elementary school. Of all the ways she could find comfort- alcohol, drugs, indiscriminate sex- this was a healthy and graceful choice. And the fact that it was given to her by her beloved Papa was a testament to his well known ability to sooth children and adults alike. I never asked her, but I've often wondered if she heard his gentle shushing sounds when she settled it onto her head.
My mother and I haven't always seen eye to eye on fashion. The more I tried to convince her to accept this hat wearing as a coping skill, the more she tried to convince me that Cory would feel better leaving the hat at home, and spending some quality time with her curling iron. We were at an impasse.
I appealed to a third party by explaining the situation to our pastor's wife. Word spread. By the time Cory returned to evening service that Sunday, a touching surprise had been planned. When she walked into the sanctuary, every head of the congregation was wearing a hat...including my mother.
The pastor's wife stood up and announced that the hats were being worn to support Cory in her mental health. Everyone loved her dearly, and they wanted to show it in a way that made her feel comfortable and accepted. Can you think of a better way?
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