Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, there was a bright young lady on the college track with a world of possibilities ahead of her.  At eight, she thought it might be fun to be a spice girl.  By fourteen, with a Carson Scholarship under her belt and a deep love for the written word, she had decided that writing was more her niche...journalism, to be exact.  Her teachers all agreed, she had a natural flair for writing.  She was a straight A student, with a mind as creative as it was sharp.  Reading was one of the things she loved best in the world.

Over the next year, as puberty finally showed its face to my late bloomer, subtle changes took place in her behaviors, and in her thinking.  Anxiety ushered in paranoia that finally gave way to psychotic thinking.  Grades and school work dropped off the map completely as we both struggled to keep her safe.  There were voices and delusions.  A person must feel safe in order to learn.  Cory no longer felt safe at school, at home, or in her own skin.

It took what seemed like forever to get her stabilized on meds enough to resume her schoolwork.  She began with some homebound courses, and slowly got back into learning at her own pace.  During the time that Cory was battling her demons, I was battling the Intermediate School District to get my girl the special education evaluation that she rightfully deserved.  That seemed to take much longer than it should have, as well.  But in the end, she was evaluated, and indeed qualified for the extra support that she so desperately needed to earn her high school diploma....the main part being extra time to finish her credits...the time her mental illness had stolen from her.

It was a difficult thing to watch my Carson scholar struggle over classes and assignments she'd have sailed through before her illness struck.  But how could she concentrate when she heard voices berating her or feared someone was lurking in the basement?  She would get discouraged, as I sometimes did, about the slow pace of her progress towards her credits.  During those times, I would remind her that every piece she finished put her further towards her goal.  She was an amazing girl, and I was struck by her determination to have something that so many other kids her age took for granted or claimed to despise.  What my girl wouldn't have given to be back in school feeling the way she felt in ninth grade...

Cory and I had so many conversations about how her illness had given and taken from her.  Most of what she got, she didn't want, but she was wise enough to realize that even the bad experiences had given her a completely different perspective and deep appreciation for simple pleasures and rights.  Her illness kept her from doing much of what girls her age were doing, but it also made her an old, old soul.  She knew more suffering at seventeen than most people would know if they lived to be eighty.  If you don't believe me, that's okay- it just means you never got a chance to look in her eyes.  What this meant is that Cory grew to be an incredibly kind and compassionate young lady.  She loved to help.  She would rush to offer her help whenever and wherever she could.  Thinking back, I think she offered it so easily because she knew firsthand how much it meant to have it offered to you when you needed it most, without your even having to ask.  It was just...a blessing.  And that's what she wanted to give to others.

Cory and I had many conversations about how hard things were for her, schoolwork wise, when they didn't used to be.  We talked about how hard it was to keep trying, when the episodes never seemed to let up for long.  We talked about how unfair it was that she was having so much difficulties when others seemed to just sail along.  We also talked about how strong she was becoming because she never gave up.

We had a wonderfully, crazy and delightful plan to celebrate when she finished her credits.  We would book a trip to Italy.  We would hop on a plane hand in hand, full of joy to let it all go and just search for simple pleasures.  We would eat ourselves silly on pasta.  We would try the world's best pizza.  We would people watch and eat gelato.  We would look at art, and toss coins in the famous fountains.  What would our wishes be?  I'll give you one guess.

That was our plan.  Not a lot to ask for the hell we'd both been through.  But somehow, someway, even that was denied to us.

I hadn't given our trip a lot of thought lately, but it came to mind when my friend, Anna, told me about a delicious pasta dinner she'd made.  On impulse, I shared with her our plans that would never be.  She told me I should still go to Italy someday...go there for Cory, with Cory in spirit...take something of hers to leave there, to complete our plan.

Overnight, it hit me.  Someday.  What is someday?  Cory never had a someday.  I knew July 5th was just around the corner, and could feel myself at a precipice.  I would either stay stuck in depression, or get over the hump, and keep going, even when I didn't feel like I could...just as Cory had always done.  Maybe instead of dreading July, I could find a way to find something to look forward to, something to celebrate. 

I would go to Italy.  For Cory.  With Cory.

This plan was still a pipedream in my mind...let's face it, finances are not the best at the moment.  As I tossed the idea about, I recalled a couple of conversations with a work friend.  This work friend is every bit as in love with her son as I ever have been and still am with my Cory Girl.  When I saw her face appear at my side at the visitation, I could only think to say the only phrase that made sense to me at the time.  "I know you know."  This meant that I knew that if anyone could know how horribly painful this was it was the only other person I'd ever met who seemed to have as deep of a connection with their child as I had with mine.  I remember her hugging me, and holding on forever.  I remember whispering in her ear like a frightened and wide-eyed child, "Is this hell?"  She took a deep breath, and looked at me.  "Yes."  she answered.  "Yes, it is."  See, she knew.

When I finally returned to work, I had breakdowns at the drop of a hat...a thought, an image, the shoes on my feet.  It was anything and everything.  One day I found myself in the office with this work friend, and stumbled into her cubicle sobbing over my shoes, which Cory had borrowed to wear on a date.  My friend comforted me, and listened as I babbled about many things...one of which was that I could not move her purse from the bench in our dining room, and her jeweled flip flops were still by the back door.  That was in September 2012.  It is now June 2013.  They are still there, folks.  I remember my friend telling me gently that someday, when the time was right, I would move those shoes...maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a year, but someday when it was time, I would move them, and I would know exactly where they should go.

She was so right.  When I go to Italy the week of July the 5th, I am tucking those jeweled flip flops in my suitcase.  I will find some steps where we would have sat side by side, talking about how we couldn't believe we were in Italy and how proud we were at how far we'd come, and how hard we'd worked to get there.  I will set her shoes there and take a picture.

 When I walk away, I will know that just as one journey has ended, another has begun.