So Jake and I decided to brave the polar vortex state of emergency weather/roads to see Panic at the Disco. The hour and twenty minute drive took two hours. We packed up the car with blankets, water, food, flashlights, phone chargers, and our own brute determination to see Brenden Urie on stage, weather be damned.
I was advised by at least three people who love and care about me not to go.
I responded we could go ten miles an hour if we had to. We could pull off the road. We could spend the night somewhere if we needed to. And we went, white knuckled and strangely exhilarated.
Normally, we would have been blasting Jake's carefully made on-the-road-pre-concert playlist, usually synched to the set list we would be hearing at the show. This time, in order to cut out distractions, there was only our quiet conversation. Jake declared I was driving with the best navigator in the state of Michigan. I heartily agreed and waited for him to reciprocate about my driving skills, which were definitely growing in their scope on this particular trip. Jake with his quiet and quick wit allowed, "I'll tell you this, Mom. If Dad were driving, the trip would've been over twenty minutes in."
Imagining that scenario, we both gave a little shudder and then resumed chatting.
Part of what we talked about was our decision to get out and brave the roads. Was it foolhardy?
It's funny how we both had the same sort of response. "Well...I mean, if you can die crossing the road on a hot summer day in broad daylight...".
I guess you could take the accident two ways. You could look at how fragile life is and only leave the house when you absolutely had to.
Or you could look at how precious each day is and live each moment to the fullest. You don't get to pick your time. It's gonna happen regardless of anyone's love for you or protection (or lack thereof) from a higher being, if such a Person even exists. No one knows when it will happen. Maybe you shouldn't put yourself in harm's way, but maybe you shouldn't stop taking risks, either.
Maybe it was both- a little foolish to get out, but maybe also a little brave. If there's one thing I don't want to do to Jake, it's project my anxiety onto him. He has enough on his own. So we talked about how it's a good thing to try things that scare you- that's where the growth happens. Comfort zones are necessary sometimes while you're healing, but real progress means you are able to step outside them at some point.
So of course, the questions about Cory's final errand came up in my mind. A dear friend and family member said to me recently, "You could 'what if' all night. What good does it do?"
And, I agree. None, at all. But I haven't quite figured out the trick yet to stop myself from doing it. My brain just goes, "Yeah, he's right. Now let's get back to that unhealthy thinking pattern. Pay attention. I have questions."
So I started wondering a couple of things.
I wondered if crossing West Michigan scared Cory.
Then I wondered if her doing something that scared her was good or bad for her mental health.
I'm gonna have to be neutral here and say I think it scared her as much as it does anyone else. It's a busy street with four lanes of traffic. But lots of people still cross that street.
I'm gonna say that when Cory was highly symptomatic, she sought the protection of her safe haven. That was me. That's why during the worst of her illness, she followed me around the house- shower, toilet, didn't matter. I looked up and there she was, just like when she was little.
So for her to volunteer to go, alone? I don't think she was overly frightened.
But was it in her comfort zone? Probably not, but it was starting to be. Such a simple task was something she couldn't have done two years before. Every step she took in those Hello Kitty Vans, correctly medicated, regularly counseled...she was taking control of her illness and she was getting back to a place she felt good about herself.
Maybe I'm a wee bit biased since she is one of my two favorite humans on the planet, but I think she was rather brave.
So one last thing, it was automatic for me to look down the row alongside me and see Cory standing there, singing her lungs out, and shaking her little fist in the air. It as clear to me as some of the hallucinations she used to describe.
I wondered what she'd think of Panic's lyric, "Hallucinations only mean that your brain is on fire." I wish I could ask her.
For now, Jake and I have some really interesting conversations while we guess what she'd say.
