A Normal Life

Isn't it funny how much we sometimes worry about what others will think of what we do or say?

I have always worried what would company think if they stop by the house unexpectedly and things are a little messy. 
This much I can say on that particular subject.  When the world ended for me on July 5th, I wasn't for one second wishing I had dusted better before people came by the house to offer their condolences.  I was wishing I had 5 more minutes to spend with her.  Just 5 minutes, which is long enough to do a sinkful of dishes or push the vacuum across the floor.  Or........
long enough to laugh at an inside joke, long enough to dance to a favorite song, long enough to retell a favorite story that makes you both double over in laughter.
5 minutes sitting on my bed, hanging out and talking...
 or even 2 minutes running out into the rain from the movie theatre or a store, holding hands and squealing like two teenage besties, as well as mother and daughter.
That's what I wished for.  The dusting and dishes could wait.  Time with your child is the most precious thing there is.  On things you believe strongly in, don't doubt yourself.

After the interview with the news, I started thinking of all the things I'd wish I'd said.  HOW could I forget to tell them she was my best friend?
They asked me what, if anything, brought me comfort.
In response, I told them I try to remind myself that she is no longer suffering.  There are no mean voices where she is.  Which is true.  But geez, so hard to swallow, when I know that baby would have walked through fire to stay here with her family.  She practically was, already, with what she had to endure.  I told her daily how much I admired her strength.  She was so very brave.  She had seen and heard and believed things that would have sent me running for the hills.  Cory stayed and fought.  Every day. 

But her doctor- dear, dear Dr. Z -made the statement that brought me the most comfort.  How could I have forgotten to share it?
He said, "Try to remember that Cory died doing a normal thing - living a normal life- and that is what everyone wanted for her.  That's what she wanted for herself."
It was so hard to see all the progress she had made when you were on the inside.  I knew her episodes were getting shorter and further apart, but things were not perfect.  The spikes had become waves, but things could still get bumpy on a moment's notice.
But distance...distance from her...that thing that is tearing apart my insides and making me wish for a quick end to unbearable pain has made me realize just how far she had come.
Cory left the house that day with a smile on her face and her footsteps were light.  She was rocking her new Hello Kitty Vans with pride.  She was wearing her grandpa's winter hat because it made her feel good and didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of her style selection that day.  Let them try to be like her for a change...cause she felt good in her own skin.  My trendsetter was back.

Do you see?  Do you see how different that girl was than the one who isolated herself from everyone?  The girl who was afraid to move from room to room in her own house and uncomfortable in practically every public situation because she thought people, and sometimes imaginary people with ill intentions, were watching her every move.
My Cory Girl left the house for chili powder.  Every subsequent container of chili powder that enters my home is stripped of its label because I cannot abide the sight of it.  Jake has to put it in the cart in the grocery store.  Chili powder changed my life forever. 
But then, let's think about this some more.  Cory was going a quick errand to the store for her mom.  That has made me feel horribly guilty and inarguably responsible.  I should have gone myself.  I could have easily gone. 
Here's the thing.  Bless my sweet girl, she offered to go.  She wanted to go.  Why?  Why would she offer to walk on a hot summer day when I could easily hop in the car and drive?
Because she wanted to help.  Because it was her way to contribute.  Because she wanted to do for her family, the way we'd all done for her. 
Walking down the street, she was thinking about which brand of chili powder to get.  I know this, because she called me about three minutes before the accident.  She was chipper and sweet, my little lovebird.
 She was not anxious.  She wasn't scared.  She wasn't cooped up in my bed, screaming that there were people in the house that were after her.  She wasn't in the hospital in Grand Rapids. 
She was walking down the street on a mission for her family.  We were going to have tacos, and later watch a movie.  That's where her head was.  No delusions.  Normal.  And safe.  She felt safe enough to leave the house on her own.  Look at my baby girl.
Cory died doing a normal thing, living a normal life.
Normal is all I ever wanted for her.
A normal life.