Looking Glass

Lately I've had trouble when I put on my eyeliner in the mirror.  I swipe it on with confidence, the same old way I always have, but lately it takes on a life of its own and heads in the other direction.  I've stubbornly denied this unfortunate phenomenon the best I could for several days.  But it kept happening and anger soon ensued.  Still I balked.  Maybe if I just tried another brand (bargaining).  When that didn't work, I became depressed, wearing my hair in cleaning lady buns and not bothering with makeup at all.  Finally, I accepted the fact that it was not the eyeliner at all.  I am getting old.  The skin around my eyes is not the firm writing surface it used to be.  And once I took a good- albeit horrifying- look, I realized those lines that pop up across my forehead when I curl my eyelashes are now present even when I'm not curling my eyelashes.  Gasp.  Can everyone see these?  ALL the time?  Oh my God!

Once I'd made it through the five stages of grieving in relation to my aging face, I started thinking about all the implications of aging.  I wondered how me and Cory's relationship would have evolved over the years.  See, it took me decades to realize just how brilliant my mother is- how amazing, how strong, and how absolutely precious.  Would Cory have felt that way about me, too, as the years have gone and continue to go by?  As Cory stabilized and didn't need my constant care, would she still have called me to tell me the highs and lows of her day?  Would I still be her person?  What would she think of my new puffy eye liner-resistant eyelids and permanent forehead wrinkles?  Would I still be one of the most beautiful women in the world to her, the way my mom is to me?  Would she still see her madre as strong and capable of anything?

I wonder sometimes how Jacob sees me.  My depression and anxiety have been so prevalent since Cory's death.  He gets it, I know, but sometimes as I describe something I'm worrying about, he just shakes his head with a quiet smile, puzzled in spite of himself, and says, "Mom, you're ridiculous.  Why would you think that?"
I miss the mostly happy, silly woman I used to be before the accident.  I fear sometimes that my grief has swallowed up my personality.  I don't want to be seen as a sad, troubled woman and have that be all that I am.  I remember my best friend saying once to not let my loss define me and I had thought, how could I not?  Maybe I understand what she was saying a little better now.  My loss absolutely defines me, but I hope it doesn't completely define me.  I hope when I am gone and Jake describes me to his kids or grandkids, he says more than "she was never the same after my sister died" or "she was sad all the time".  Granted, I have never been the same and I am sad all of the time.  But I hope he also tells them of my silliness and humor.  I hope he tells them that we talked about politics and movies and books.  I hope he tells them that yes, I wasn't the same, and yes, I was sad a lot, but it was because I loved so deeply.  I hope he tells them that I made him feel safe and he could always count on me.  Maybe he'll tell them I had swagger until the eyeliner went bad.  That would be okay, too.

It is the oddest thing to watch Jake growing older as Cory stays frozen in time, nineteen forever.  Sometimes, as I've mentioned before, I  manufacture false memories to include her in his growth.  I have to imagine how she would react in certain situations.  Other times, those pseudo memories pop up in my mind without even trying.  The other day, I was trying to get some intel from Jake about a girl he's been texting with and he wasn't giving up squat.  Suddenly, it was like Cory and Jake were together in the next room, just like the old days.  I could hear Cory teasing him one second, but trying to give him hair and fashion tips for the first day of school the next.  I could hear her saying, "Jake, heard from your lady friend, today?  Yeah?  What'd she say?  Well, what'd you say?  No, don't say that!  Say _______.  Here, just give me your phone.  I'll do it!"

I could see this conversation taking place as Cory sprawled on the couch, a cat beside her and Jake standing above her, smiling sheepishly as he forked over his phone with complete trust.  They have always helped each other.

These scenes warm my heart and break it at the same time.  I grieve for all that has not been and will never be. 

Sometimes I see a meme pop up on social media with some platitude about letting go of the past or how the best is yet to come and I snort.

Cory will never be in my past.  We're talking about my child.  My child.  My Cory Girl.  I will bring her forward into every day.  Always.