The Good, The Bad, and The Awful

It is closing in on June.  As the days march steadily towards July 5th, my anxiety has been popping unexpectedly and much more frequently, until I am now standing in its shadow all the time.

What is good right now?
Jacob.  Jacob is always a reason to stay in the game, to feel pride, to smile and laugh.  Last weekend, I took him to an empty parking lot and taught him the basics so he'll feel more comfortable when Driver's Ed starts this summer.  He was exactly as I had thought he would be:  quiet, calm, and in control.  I doubt I will ever fear driving with this boy.  To see him sitting in the driver's seat, not pretending this time, but actually moving a vehicle of his own will, even if only simple turns from one end to the other, was bittersweet.  He is growing up.  He will be a man soon.  I was happy, proud, and sad all at the same time (totally normal response). And immediately followed the feelings of despair that I never had those moments with his sister (a little extra emotion for the bereaved parent, hey don't forget your other child died before you could do this with her!")    I hung my head for a second in the seat and would you know that Jacob knew immediately what I was thinking about?  "I wish she was here, too, Mom."  He touched my hand ever so lightly and for a millisecond.  " I wish we were taking Driver's Ed together."  That boy is mature beyond his years and incredibly empathetic.

What else is good?
My grief group.  No, I'm not going to a community sponsored gathering.  I am getting together once a month with two of Cory's best friends since kindergarten.  It is a couple of hours every month where the focus is Cory.  Her name is said (the best type of therapy I've experienced yet).  We tell stories.  Sometimes we laugh until we are spitting out our beverages and afraid we may pee our pants, as we were the other night when one of them shared what Cory said about one of her crushes at school, "Mmmmhmmm, girl, break me off a piece of that!  One of these days, I'mma have his babies,   watch!"  Other times, one or more of us will begin sobbing out of nowhere.  Guess what?  It's totally okay either way.  There is no judgment in this safe circle.

We are able to talk about all the amazing things Cory said and did.  We are able to rage against the people who hurt her in any way.  Stupid boys.  Adults who failed her.  The driver.  Debate the existence of God.  We sit and ponder the fairness of it all.  We wonder if her biological father thinks of her still and has regrets or if he is too busy marveling over his second child, discovered after Cory's death, who will graduate this year, his whole life in front of him...Bob's self proclaimed "second chance" and the door God supposedly opened after shutting the door on his firstborn (his words and tasteless facebook post).

We have, through these frank discussions,bridged the gap between being "Cory's Mom" and "Cory's friends" to becoming friends ourselves.  It is an amazing thing.  I only wish we'd thought to start it years ago.  But honestly, I may have been too scary back then.

What is bad?  I have had dreams of her being alive the last couple of weeks.  The dreams where the whole accident was a mistake or a bad dream and she is just chilling in my living room or wandering around the house looking beautiful and whole and magically, unbelievably alive.  Why is this bad?  Because my joy is so great, my relief so immense, my soul  so completely restored, that waking up and realizing it was a dream is devastating.  You could chop off a limb and it would hurt no more.

If I could lucid dream, I would sleep the clock right around.  I would quit my job and no one would ever see me again.
That is how great the pain of losing your child really is.
I've often thought of people who become delusional due to their mental health problems and go about life having hallucinations of their loved one, ala Norman from Bates Motel.  Would I give up my standing in reality and every day life if I could comfortable secure myself in a make-believe world where Cory still lived,,,one in which I could see and talk to her every day? Umm, hell yes.  That may be the best way to describe the immense pain of losing my child.  I would give up reality, full participation in my current relationships, and even my freedom if it  meant Cory would not be dead anymore.  Please lock me up.  Give me substandard food and the same four walls, if I could just see her again.  And I would be cheeking my meds every step of the way, lest she start to disappear.  There's some perspective for the people who think that by now I should be trucking right along doing all the things I was doing before.  That's how bad this hurts, people who think that by now I should be doing more or better or what they would do in my shoes.

What is ugly?  It's ugly that when I woke up this morning and laid there in my bed with the warmth of my little dog snuggled up beside me, the image of Cory in her casket came to my mind and the way I asked so many people, "Doesn't she look beautiful?"  I was so desperate to have it be something else...that she looked beautiful or that she looked like herself...not that she looked like she was dead.
I wrenched away from image, making my puppy wake up and inch closer to me in his sleep, but that horrible image followed me.  The sensations invaded my mind...the way she felt, ice cold and hard as marble under my hands.  Please don't let this be true.  Please don't let this be true.  Notice, of course, the absence of God's name in those pleadings since he didn't do jack shit on the road side.

The flashbacks are back.  The images hit any time of day.  It makes me want to go to sleep until July 5th has past or longer.  If the shaking of my body from standing next to a uniformed police officer in line at Starbucks is any indication, PTSD does not have a specific cut off, any more than grief does.  I am doing the best I can, but it may be time to dust off my anxiety meds.

And the last part to share sort of fits all three categories:  Jake and I took flowers out to Cory's grave day before yesterday.  We threw away the old, cleaned the cut grass off Church's statue, and arranged the new offering.  We stood there, as we always do, beside each other, knowing it is never enough.  "Is there anything you want to tell your sister?"  I asked him.  He gathers himself and says, "Cory, Mom took me to drive in the old Toys R Us parking lot and I did really good....Umm, I had my fitness test in gym the other day, I'm 5' 6 1/2" and 110 pounds now.  I miss you so much, Cory.  I wish you were here."

Good.  Bad.  Awful.