Still a Team

                                                                                  

                                                                        

July 10-11, 2012

I stayed up until the sun came up the night before I buried my daughter.  No matter how physically and emotionally exhausted I may have been, I couldn’t close my eyes on the few remaining hours that she remained above ground.  If they had let me sleep at the funeral home, I would’ve been overjoyed.  I would have taken my pillow and a throw, and camped out on the floor right beside her, just to be near her...just to see her face.   I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask, although I’m pretty certain they would have kindly, but firmly, said that was just not possible.

Looking back, I know I was in shock.  I stayed up, sitting in my bed, unable to believe this was really happening.  I began making a list of everything I still needed to tell her, because somehow I thought she’d hear me better if we were face to face…our last mother/daughter talk.  That night went on forever, but ended all too soon.  The service was planned to the tinest detail.  The only thing I hadn’t planned for was how to put my heart in the ground, and walk away.

When it was time to put on the black dress with the bright, whimsical flowers, my hands were shaking so bad, and my heart beating so fast, I had to sit down a couple times and put my head between my knees.  This was the dress I had told Cory I wished to be buried in.  It was my favorite; it made me feel beautiful; and I had some wonderful memories of wearing it.  I never once asked her what she’d like to wear to be buried in.  I guess I never thought that was a question you needed to ask a teenager. 

All night long, my anxiety had built to a fever pitch as the hours passed.  I didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about getting through the funeral service of my firstborn.  To this day, I can’t even say the word “funeral”, I just say “service”.  I grimaced as I typed it just now.

Yes, I wanted everyone to honor her by being there.  Yes, I wanted people to see her art and hear the music that she loved.  But oh, how my heart denied that this was really taking place.  I felt sick.  I was stripped of strength.  I didn’t know if my legs would carry me through the day.  Most of all, if there could be a “worst” part of something so horrendous, I dreaded the last good-bye.  To never see my baby girl’s face again?  To shut a lid on her forever?  What had she done to deserve this?  What had I not done well enough that my child be taken so cruelly from this world?  Especially when she fought so hard for everyday things that others take for granted.

I had the idea in the middle of the night to wear tons of bracelets up both arms, as a statement.  See Cory, I want to be like you. You were amazing.  My sister took me out to buy them by the handful.  I was going to suit up.  I was going to try to be strong, for her.  She deserved it.  Look at all she had soldiered through.  These bracelets would be like armor, holding me up, when I felt like crumpling to the floor.  No matter what hard things I thought I had been through in my life, they were nothing compared to this horror.  Nothing.

It was when I began trying to fix my hair in the mirror in my tiny bathroom, while my friend Nicole watched me from the doorway (so reminiscent of all the times Cory had done the same), that I felt myself really beginning to freak out.  I can’t do this.  I can’t do this.  Oh my God.  Please don’t make me do this.

 Nicole, bless her heart, had her hands full.  She got me taking deep breaths, even as she scurried around me fastening bracelets to my wrists because my hands were shaking too much to do it myself.  “You can do this.” she kept repeating.  I don’t know if she believed it, but I know I didn’t.

In the next room, I could hear Tim trying to fix his tie for about the tenth time, as he practiced part of his speech in front of the mirror.  He begged me to eat something so I wouldn’t pass out.  I ate a single bite of oatmeal that nearly choked me going down.  When I saw Tim’s face, his eyes alone confirmed that yes, this really was happening.  He looked terrified.  His eyes were so large, almost bugged out in panic, as he paced around the house, asking me over and over again what year was it when we got married, and how old was Cory then? 

Jacob was silent…his little face white, his eyes shell-shocked.  Tim had dressed him, and done his hair.  He was wearing the same tie he wore on Easter, the one that matched Cory’s dress.  It hardly even occurred to me to look him over and make sure he was presentable.  If you want me to be completely honest, I don’t even think I had seen him in days, whether he was right under my nose or not.  I was checked out.  Thank God for the kindness of family and close friends who had seen to it that he was spared the extremity of those first few days, and that he was fed, talked to, and looked after. 

Tim and I began running desperately around the house, gathering all the things that were needed:  her favorite doll, Josephina, that she’d had since she was eight, her favorite stuffed animal, Duck, who had been through surgeries and ECT with her, a well-loved book, my dragonfly pendant, and her LadyBug nightlight (Cory had always been afraid of the dark).   Jacob was taking their book necklaces with him to trade out:  she would wear his, and he would wear hers.  They had gotten them at the last Art Walk at a cool little booth from a lady who made jewelry.

One of the last things I grabbed was a 2 inch x 3 inch canvas painting that I’d discovered when going through her work to bring pieces to the funeral home.  It was lovely…a sage green background with a red heart in the lower corner.  When I inspected closer, I discovered her fingerprints were embedded in the paint at the top.  Instantly, I knew this was to be my touchstone.

We got to the funeral home a little early.  I went straight to her to spend as many minutes with her as I could before the service started.  I took the journal I’d been working in right up, and began reading it to her earnestly.  People began filing in, and finding seats towards the back, but I didn’t pay them any mind.  These things needed to be said, and it didn’t matter who might hear them, even if I did end up sobbing over her chest as I said them.

This is what I told her:

Cory, I am so so sorry.  Out of all the hard decisions I made when I was taking care of you, letting you go to the store wasn’t one of them.  I never thought this would happen.  Mommy is so sorry she let you get hurt.

Baby girl, I promise you I will never make spicy chicken tacos again as long as I live…and I hope that doesn’t offend you cause I know how proud you are to be a Lantina J

Sweet girl, I want to explain why I didn’t buy you everything you wanted as you were growing up. I was trying to teach you some very important things.  Like Dad told you, things worth having are worth waiting for.  I also wanted you to have patience, which is something a lot of people don’t have, and it is so important.  But just so you know, I had a really hard time holding myself back from spoiling you completely rotten cause I love you so very much.  When I did “surprise” you, you were always so appreciative.

I wanted to tell you I’ve been having some really scary nightmares, but I’ve been telling myself exactly what I used to tell you:  they are scary, but they are not real, and they are not true.

Cory, I held Church and told him what happened.  He is so sad and misses you so much every day.  I will take good care of him.

I am wearing your lipstick so we could be Twinkies one last time.

Baby girl, you have to know that you made me a better person.  You made me grown up sooner.  You made me responsible.  You pushed me to do things that were hard.  You were the love of my life- not Tim, not your father, not any man.

If I had one word to describe our time together, it would be joy.

 

---to be continued