Went into her room today. I never go there anymore. The last time I'd been was Mother's Day to retrieve the sketches of my parents that she'd done so they could have them. Psyching myself up to go there is usually a task weeks in the making.
As I climbed the narrow stairs, I found myself wondering if this couldn't be made into a job. Could I hire someone to go into her room occasionally and retrieve some treasure, keeping everything in tact just as it had been...breathing in the stale air, passing their eyes over her bed with the scatter of well-loved stuffed babies on top, observing, but not feeling sharp pains in their heart when they took notice of the blanket fort Jake has insisted stay as is- pillows all around the parameter, stuffed babies in the middle, space enough for a Cory Girl and her adored little brother to nestle while watching movies inside?
I always say to myself I will do the "Cory Zoom". I will get the object that has sent me on this sorrowful errand, and I will get the hell out, but that is never the way it goes. No matter how much my heart aches, I can feel her near when my hands pass over her things. I set the paintings needed for the art display next week aside, and moved to her bed. I ran a hand over the comforter, thinking to myself the fact that it was made, and the general tidiness of her room was testament to how much progress she was making with her illness. So if God is the one in charge of this whole deal- my question would be this...why now? You "rescue" her now when she is beginning to enjoy a normal life again? Yeah, that makes sense.
I was drawn to her nightstand, and knelt down to see what things she must have close to her when she was near sleep. Her Nook rested on top of a pile of books, and I moved it to see the titles underneath, among them, The American Girl's Guide to Feelings and The American Girl's Guide to Staying Home Alone. I closed my eyes tightly, and was back in Barnes & Noble on a Saturday just enjoying time with my kids. I snuck these books, really meant for much younger girls, into the pile of books I took to the register. In the parking lot, I surprised her with them, saying I thought they might help. I knew that the hardest time of day for her was often the hours between when Tim left for work, and Jake got home from school. My desk phone would ring off the hook, as she searched for the comfort of my voice. Seeing the books, Cory squealed with delight, as American Girl dolls were an obsession of hers, and she would read anything that came with the title.
A couple weeks later, I asked her if she'd read them. She told me they were even more helpful than she had thought, and how much she appreciated me getting them for her. There was a list inside the Home Alone book that gave her things to think about if she heard an unexpected noise. Granted, American Girl didn't cover auditory hallucinations, but a list of possible non-threatening real life causes calmed Cory and gave her hope. Above all else, that was what she always needed.
As I turned to go, my eyes happened upon the package her Worry Dolls came in. I had found these little cloth dolls in Barnes and Noble, also, while finishing up the Christmas shopping months before the accident. They were four or five of them, tiny enough to fit in the palm of your hand. There was a little booklet that accompanied them, explaining that they were meant to help ward off worries- you were supposed to tell each of your worries to them, and then tuck them under your pillow. I didn't so much believe they had any real power, as much as I believed that acknowledging your anxieties is the first step to overcoming them. So into her stocking that had gone, and she had been first intrigued, and then delighted, using them night after night in tandem with her prayer cloths.
I looked at the empty package, remembering how I'd brought them to the funeral home before visitation and misplaced them somewhere, causing everyone there to search as I became completely hysterical. It was funny how much your mind fixed on everything being "just right" and your loved having all that you imagined that they needed in order to say your goodbyes.
Indeed, I tucked those dolls under my baby girl's satin pillow, completely missing the fact that her worries had ceased to exist.
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