I remember realizing Cory was stabilizing when we began to argue about the boys she wanted to date like any other Mom and teenage daughter. I also remember noticing that she spoke more and more about the future. She had begun to have some goal orientation again and it was a wonderful, amazing thing. She was not stuck in delusions, and if the voices were sometimes still there, they were more of a nuisance, and not an all-encompassing source of terror. Watching her pull herself out of that seemingly never ending fog was something I was privileged to witness. A fighter? Dude, you have no idea.
I still have only the smallest grasp on the mental anguish she faced during the worst of her episodes. Tack on the...tumultuous is the kindest word I can find for it...off and on again relationship with her biological father, and well, I know nothing of the pain she faced in her young life. I have Norman for Pete's sake...I have had only the best of experiences being fathered, so my frame of reference for that is nil.
She impressed me from the very beginning to the very end.
After all this time, and my own go rounds with trauma and depression, I yearn to compare some notes with her. Boy, I could empathize better than I ever did back then. One thing I've gotten like a critical puzzle piece clicking into place is the understanding of the pressure from other people to just be all right again and step on it, if you don't mind, please. This may be because they love you but may also be because it's uncomfortable for them to watch your symptoms. Maybe it's because watching someone struggle and circle back to places you thought were already well traversed can be frustrating. Maybe it's because people feel useless when they don't know how to help. Maybe it's because the rawness of your suffering scares the shit out of them. Could this happen to my child? To me? To my family?
But I digress.
One thing Cory and I have in common is we recorded our recovery in words, art, and a million little tangible ways in our hand. Being able to look back at the person you used to be and go, "Oh man, she was not well." and know that's not where you are anymore? It is one of the most impactful experiences a person can have.
It can be small things. But as we know, as I've learned through the eternity since I've kissed her cold face, the small things are really the big things. Always and forever.
I remember Dr. Z saying when a memory of her brings a smile before a tear, you're making progress. Okay, as I sit here listening to Big Poppa by the Notorious B.I.G. on my headphones in Starbucks grinning like a fool thinking of her, I can only think how wise our Dr. Z really was.
The other thing I did this past week was take down all my pictures on my bulletin board at work and put up new ones. I should mention the content had been the same from the six week mark when I returned to work, trembling and shell shocked: all pictures of Cory, all pictures of Cory and Jake at the ages they were right before the accident. This little makeshift shrine traveled with me from office to office over the last seven years. Preserving my life BEFORE was paramount. I could see nothing good for myself beyond the pain.
My new content? It's a combination of present tense, past, and future. Some goal orientation, if you will...
There are pcitures of Cory and her monument, but there are loads of pictures of the rest of my family in present day and things that make me smile and feel good about what I'm doing...right now. Not who I was then, but who I am now. She's a pretty cool chick, it turns out. And I can't wait to see what she's up to in the future.
CoryGirl, I'm coming out the other side. We can do anything together. We are strong, aren't we, you and your Madre? And we're still a team.
