No matter what type of monotonous reading it may provide, I intend to give an accurate account of this experience. I sometimes fear that instead of reaching my goal of 100 readers as I continue to post, I will instead drive away some or all of my treasured 49 simply because I tend to repeat myself. But if I'm telling the truth about this thing I'm going through, if I'm trying to put you in my shoes for fifteen minutes a day- and encouraging you to take them off when you're finished and go kiss your child- then I have to include the intense weariness, the way you sometimes get swallowed up in the fog for days at a time, and the fear each time it happens that you won't be able to find your way out...because that's what it's really like. It's like being thrown in a dark pit with a flashlight and a package of batteries. Figure it out.
It's not a lot different, I imagine, that having a serious physical ailment- everyday things that used to be taken for granted become difficult. Yesterday -after putting it off as long as I possibly could- I went school clothes shopping for Jake with my mom. Ten steps inside Kohl's, I was pretty much done. What did it, you ask?
Maybe it was turning my head to left to see a half dozen little dresses Cory would've rocked like nobody's business. Maybe it was walking past the lingerie department, remembering how Cory insisted that sometime I buy myself a Barely There bra to experience how bra-wearing should really feel. I never got around to that until after her death, but that girl was a genius. If you are a woman, go buy a Barely There bra or three, and try them out. You won't disagree.
Cory and I always picked out Jake's clothes together- right down to the rainy Saturday afternoon that we suddenly decided Jake needed a suit. We took Jake into a dressing room and transformed him from a video game addict wearing track pants and a slightly wrinkled Angry Birds t-shirt to a slick GQ-looking gentleman who probably didn't mow in his own lawn in about three minutes. Cory provided the hair product and I chose the color palette. We sent pictures to Tim at his work, who cracked up and texted back, "God, he's handsome."
Mom waded through the complicated labyrinth of slim-straight, baggy-straight, and cargos pants on her own; I leaned against a rack of clothes and fought the ghosts that were happily cavorting through the aisles. Sometimes Jake would enlist Cory's help in talking me into buying them each a stuffed animal. They would disappear around a rack of clothes, all whispers and giggles, as I sorted through my final purchases. Cory had decided the best way to emotionally hijack me into impulse purchases was to name the stuffed animals before we hit the register...that way we'd already have a relationship established. "I know how hard it is for you to leave people." she'd say with a sideways grin. I would swat at her and we would scan those puppies, and head to the car before we were late for our movie.
That's where I wanted to be- not here buying fall clothes for one child, instead of two. I cut the trip short, and drove Mom home, keeping it together until I pulled into her driveway, at which point, I burst into exhausted tears. Alarmed, she tried to get me to let her or Dad drive me home; she said I shouldn't be driving in my condition. Dubiously, I looked up at her, "Mom, I drive like this all the time.
This morning I brought Cory into conversation with the boys. If I want to hear her name in my house, I have to be the one to say it. Jake and I had woken up this morning to the screams of Oliver, our orange tabby cat. I ran into the dining room, my eyes still half crusted over to find a panicked Tim bent over Oliver, a fishing pole leaning against the wall, and a tangle of fishing line. Tim had been getting his fishing pole ready, and somehow Oliver had gotten some line wrapped around his foot and leg. As Tim and I tried to help him, he tried his best to bite and scratch us. Using my best everything-is-under-control soothing Mommy voice, I held Oliver's head down as Tim ran for some manicure scissors, and worked him loose. Boy, do I have a new respect for veterinarian assistants.
As we explained to Jake what had happened, I said it was a good thing I was home at the time. Tim waved a hand at me and said, "Jake would've stepped up." I chuckled at the thought. That boy would have ran in the other direction. He would've helped, all right- he'd have called the vet to give them fair warning. I said as much to Tim, and then a memory of Cory popped up in my mind.
It was this:
After Tim and I had separated, I threw myself into organizing the house. If things in my personal life were a little muddy at the moment, that could not be helped, but dammit, I would have order in my immediate environment. The four years Tim and I were separated were the cleanest my house has ever been. When I say this, Tim cringes and demands to be told he is not a slob. I usually back off a little...after all, he does mow my lawn.
Room by room, I went through and made things the way I had always wanted them. Those years of being mostly on my own were a strange and interesting mixture. It was probably the point in my life that I had the most freedom, and yet the most responsibility.
One particular Saturday, I decided the extra tv needed to find its way to the storage room in the basement. Cory cocked her hip and looked at me, "Mom, we can't move that."
Doth my ears deceive me? "Cory, we are two strong, beautiful, independent young women; we could do anything we set our minds to."
I was on a feminist power-mad trip, you understand. The only thing missing was my cheeky t-shirt reading, "I am woman- here me roar." That blasted, dreadfully heavy outdated tv represented to me all the responsibilities I now had, and all the bad feelings from my marriage that I wanted set to the side, for good. If I couldn't move this, how would we get by?
"I don't have a good feeling about this." she said, and reluctantly picked up her side. She hollered out that she needed to set it down after about three seconds.
Undeterred, I announced cheerily, "We'll take breaks."
"Mom, what about the stairs?"
"I'll go down first, and take the weight of it. You just follow behind." I instructed. Huffing and puffing, stopping to set it down every twenty seconds or so, we laboriously made our way through the house to the basement staircase.
We'd made it perhaps a third of the way down when Cory simply let go and walked away. In utter shock, I stood there, a bulky humungous television set teetering precariously in my skinny arms. With primal grunts and furious curses, I jerkily maneuvered it the rest of the way down the steps. Veins stood out on my neck, I'm sure, and my face had flushed a deep red, purple with my efforts. Looking back, I realize I could have seriously hurt myself. I have to wonder why I thought the preservation of an outdated television set was more important than the preservation of my spinal column. I could've just let that sucker fly. But I didn't.
When I'd finally made my way back upstairs, I found Cory and asked her between ragged breaths, my hands on my thighs as I stood bent over in a hopefully temporary stupor, "Cory, you left me! I could've died!! What happened?"
"I'm sorry, Mom. I just couldn't do it anymore. It was too heavy. I was gonna hurt myself." she answered reasonably.
Between breaths, I giggled helplessly. "And what about me?"
She giggled back, meeting my eyes, "Hey, I love you, Mom, but it was every man for themselves."
At that point, we dissolved into giggles, holding on to each other, and falling into a sweaty pile on the living room floor, just inches away from the couch.
"And mom?" she added.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"I had no idea you were such an expert in swearing. Were you a truck driver in a previous life?"
"Hells yeah!"
As I relayed this story to the boys, neither of which were present for that little scenario, it rang a little hollow, a little empty. This story had been told a few times before, but always Cory would walk in the room mid-way through or poke her head around the corner just in time to laugh along and add her own commentary.
Sometimes, that's the worst part of remembering. I have spent the majority of my adult life with Cory. All my stories are with her, and in her. If there is a detail I'm not sure of, there is now no one left to ask.
So why share this story today? Well, on my way to the coffee shop to write, I wondered why that memory was triggered today. Well, it's really just like the Barely There bras. I don't think people realized how wise Cory was for her age. Her life experiences had made her an old, old soul. She is still advising me from the grave. As I sit here typing in my Barely There bra (feeling strangely topless in public, I might add), I realize that at nineteen Cory knew a great many of life's truths. One of them was this:
Sometimes you will find yourself letting go of things simply because they are too heavy.
I hear you, Cory Girl. I'm working on it. I love you, baby girl. Always. Always. One hundred baker dollars.
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