Veils

I thought today about how looking at holidays now feels like looking through a veil.  Everything is darker now, less focused, and seen through a filter of deep sadness.  How upset Cory would be to think that is the way I see the world now and that it is has anything to do with her?  She was the joy-bringer.  She was the magic and the sparkle.  The two of us together?  We set the world on fire, or at least the room we were in, in my not-so-humble opinion.

So then, the veil cannot be Cory.  That is not fair to someone who, despite her suffering, went out of her way to make other people smile and laugh.

So what the fuck is this veil?  Will I have to wear it always?  Is this what I'm meant to do?

Is the veil depression?  That would explain why it's so damn heavy.  Or how sometimes my arms themselves feel like they have bricks tied to them and I can't even reach up to push it aside for even a day.  When you can't brush your hair, who has the energy for fiddling with veils?

Is the veil trauma?  Some synonyms for veil as a verb hit home.  Hide.  Shield.  Surround.  
Don't get too close to anything that makes you feel that good again, Nicole.  If you do, someone or Someone, might take it away.  You'll be in the pit again with no way out, wishing for death.  Better to keep your distance from the moments that make your heart that vulnerable.

Maybe the veil is grief.  Envelop.  Surround.  Conceal.  Cloak.  Blanket. Shroud.
If it is, I will wear it to my grave.  We've become frienemies, you see.  I hate grief, but I cling to it, as well.  It is the measure of the love for my girl.  It is my last tie to her.  Even as the cords burn my skin, cut off my circulation, and sometimes threaten my well-being...I will not let go.  I cannot.  There is no moving on.  There is moving forward...and backward...and forward again.  There are detours and roadblocks...unexpected accidents.  I am often, unintentionally, one of those rubber neckers who has to slow down to see the carnage.  There is no other way, but through.  There is only room for one on the path.

I remember my dear, sweet father telling me that God had known Cory's death date since the day she was born.  He reminded me that the Bible says that God knows each hair on our heads.  With my crisis of faith, I am not so sure.  I know there are a ton of people who believe just that, and a ton of people who find those ideas illogical.

Here's what I know about this veil, whatever it may be.  It has been in progress since I was 18 years old, pregnant and scared.  It has grown in length every year that precious girl was in my presence.  Every belly laugh.  Every tear.  Every time she threw her hands up in the air in joy.  Every time she couldn't lift her head under the weight of her illness.

The question now is what would Cory want me to do with this veil?  What did she do with hers?