I stopped in to pay on my account at my local community mental health center today- counseling for me, and counseling for Jake adds up quickly. When I approached the counter, I saw the receptionist who's been there ever since I set foot in the door with a much younger, very unhealthy Cory Girl. This lady who I'll call Pam is like a school secretary. She sees it all. Nothing gets past her. She is the heart and soul of that place, whether she realizes it or not.
I guess that's why it meant so much to me to hear her stop in mid-sentence of the standard greeting she gives clients all day long and say emphatically, "Nicole! You look great, honey! How are you? You look so good!"
I thanked her, and told her I felt good, something I'd never have admitted to anyone a year ago, even if I'd been having a really good day. I pulled out my phone and showed her a picture of Jacob, and she noted how his face is beginning to mature. We joked about the Knucklecase I carry my phone in, and how a small girl needs protection...this is Battle Creek, after all. When she gave me my receipts, she also gave me the warmest smile, and I joked that I hoped to see her soon...but not too soon, and we laughed like old friends.
It was completely okay to feel good and be okay in front of this woman because there wasn't a second that I thought she might think I was missing Cory less or that I had forgotten one moment of our life together. We never spoke of Cory in our five minute exchange, but we didn't have to. She knows how much I miss Cory and I know she sincerely misses seeing Cory come in for her appointments, and being able to witness all the hard won progress she made.
As I walked out to the car, I played it all through my mind: Cory, a tiny fairy-like creature overwhelmed with her feelings and cut marks up and down her arms,Cory, a little older, her mood swings sending her spiraling out of control, Cory, older yet, feeling safe enough to share with others that she was hearing voices and seeing things other people didn't see, Cory, afraid and confused, suspicious of others, always looking over her shoulder, Cory, finally on the right medication, making strides and looking great- more smiles than tears.
Cory and I sat in those chairs waiting to be called back a hundred times or more. Jacob was almost always with us. He grew up in their waiting room. He eventually joined Cory's therapy appointments because her mental illness affected every person in our household. We all needed support. We all needed to be heard. We all needed to learn how to cope.
Pam smiled at my girl every time she walked through that door. She smiled at me, too. She noted, I'm sure, the tears when Cory was overcome with her illness and the dark circles under my eyes when I couldn't fix it for her.
The morning after the accident, I drove myself to Summit Pointe the moment they opened and ran inside their lobby, hysterical and desperate for someone to tell me Cory couldn't possibly be dead. I had to go somewhere that they knew Cory and loved Cory enough to realize what a nightmare I was in. I went to the right place.
Pam ran around her desk to get to me, ushered me gently to a back room before I fell down, and ran to get Dr. Z. She was crying herself as she did it.
You may be out of your mind during a time like that but you never forget the people who helped you.
Thank you, Pam, for all you do.
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