Of course it was Jacob who went down to the basement with me, hand in hand, to retrieve one of Cory's Christmas ornaments, per Dr. Z's homework assignment. How appropriate that it would be Jake to help me through this horrid errand, as we have suffered through the loss of the biggest person in our worlds together...me with a million words to say about it and him wanting to say none at all...yet, somehow, we have held each other up.
So, I already knew which one I wanted to put on our little tree that was looking less Charlie Brownish once Jake and I had given ourselves permission to give it a little love and care. I wanted the little circle ornament that Cory had made for me at my Mom's daycare when she was about two. It featured a candid photo of a tiny Coy Girl with her signature Pebbles ponytail off to one side, wearing little denim jeans with ruffles and a pink flower printed sweatshirt. To top off this adorable ensemble, she had ventured into the dress up box and came out with a football helmet that she pulled jauntily over her head with a look of infinite pride because nothing toughens up an overly sweet girly look like a piece of athletic equipment. Duly noted, Cory.
I had already decided not to look at or for any thing else, but instead use my grief-stricken tunnel vision for that one ornament and get out before I had a complete mental breakdown beside my fourteen year old in my dusty basement.
Isn't it funny how we plan every move so painstakingly just to watch shit blow up in our faces?
My heart started hammering a little too fast when the ornament box wasn't with the other Christmas decorations. It began beating faster once I discovered the tubs of Christmas decorations were in various places in the basement instead of all together the way they are supposed to be. Jake and I, having watched many episodes of Law & Order SVU began a grid search. We covered every inch and came up with nothing. All the ornaments had been stored together in a Rubbermaid ornament storage box- the clear kind with the lock-down side handles. It couldn't have just walked away. The sinking feeling began before I even texted Tim to ask him where he had put them. Why were all the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up? Why was I so certain the ornaments were gone?
/Which, in the end, they were-
over twenty five years of ornaments. The Precious Moments expectant mommy ornament my first bosses had gotten me when I found out I was pregnant with Cory- the one that Bob broke in a rage and I glued carefully back together...because that girl? She was a survivor. Gone.
The Baby's First Christmas engraved ornament from Things Remembered that was a gift from Bill. Gone.
All the ornaments Cory made for me through the years at daycare, Sunday school, and grade school: school pics glued to foam snowflakes, the popsicle stick Rudoph, the lop-sided, glitter laden little kid creations. Gone.
All the ones that Jacob made, too- foam stockings with his name spelled out in glitter at the top, 3-D snowflake foam sculptures, school pics glued to predictable Christmas shapes- his shy smile making them glow. Gone.
The picture ornaments Cory, Jake, and I had picked out together at Target during much happier, healthier days. I remember the exact day and errand. I remember their hands, smaller, when they took them down off the racks. "Can we get this one, Mom?" Gone.
A few of the plain bulbs that had to be twenty five years old now, tireless soldiers, first hung on a tree at Elm Street in the apartment I shared with Bob, but pulled out every year to put on every subsequent Christmas tree. Gone.
The pet ornaments carefully chosen to represent family members no longer with us. Church. Sassy. Oliver. Romeo. Boo-Kitty. Gone.
A special ornament given to me from my Mom, if I remember correctly, a year or so after I left home under not the best terms. Gone.
The handful of ornaments Bob's mom had sent to Cory when she was little and the two newer ones she'd sent to Cory and Jake when Bob came back into our lives. Those ornaments meant something to me. Even they were short-lived, there were moments of glorious happiness for my little family. I wanted to hold those moments in my hands always.
Twenty five years of my life. So many changes. My family. My families, actually. My dead child's life- her straggling letters and her toothless grin.
Can you understand the enormity of my despair? My rage at such a careless mistake has passed...finally... and now I am just sick to my stomach.
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