You know how a song can come on the radio and within seconds you are transported to another time and place? Today, I was on my way home from the therapist, and a song from Cory's visitation came one. I don't even know how I stayed on the road. I was in that funeral home, watching those pictures of her life flutter across the screen. They never lasted long enough. I was kissing the little scrape on her hand over and over again, wanting so badly to pick it up and put it palm to palm with mine like we always used to do, but unable to...the feel of her flesh was so unfamiliar. I was terrified I would break her. But I could kiss her. And I did. I kissed her hair and her cheek and her lips, over and over again. That Mayday Parade song played on my car radio and my heart just screamed. I drove down the road, wailing like someone who's been attacked.
And even still, while imagining her little hands that were just a tad smaller than mine with insanely small thumbs, I could recall the beauty of sharing her with everyone who came to see her. I remember the foreign mixture of piercing pain and the same solid pride I'd always felt to call her mine. Everything was planned so carefully- her music, her art. It was the most beautiful event I've been to, even though I recognize now I wasn't entirely with it, but mostly in shock. I wanted so badly for every word spoken and every note played to reflect who she was as a person and what she brought to the world. I wanted everyone to know just how much she was treasured.
The grief comes fresh whenever it wants to. It can catch you off guard or build steadily day after day until you're sure you can't take one more moment.
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