Bedroom Half Empty or Half Full?

Okay, folks, I'm quite certain you never would've guessed this about me, but I am indeed a pessimist.  Shocker, right?  My pessimism is steadily fed by my constant low-grade anxiety, and has been reinforced for years by situations that turned out to be just horrible as they wanted to be.

Today, I was an optimist for nearly 5 minutes.  I know, I know.  What caused this out of character behavior?  None other than my Cory Girl.

Here's what happened:

I had asked Tim to bring some of Cory's paintings down from her room this weekend so I could take them to my new little digs at work, that boasts one lovely burgundy wall.  (Or if you are super into fashion, you might say ox-blood, right, Miss Angie?)

 I have been in her room a handful of times, always to recover some treasure, and end up laid out for the better part of the day.  Once I realized this, I began to avoid her room like the plague, and tried to delegate this torturous errand to anyone else who would take it.  Ditto with the dusting, vacuuming, and clearing of the spider webs that began to multiply once they realized they were the sole remaining occupants of the place.

When I asked Tim for help, and he merely rolled over in his bed, sleep mask still on, muttering thickly about "not feeling real good", I had a surge of bravery.  I kicked off the high heel ankle boots I'd just put on to leave the house, and went for it.  I needed to be sure I could do anything that needed being done by myself, since I was practically by myself as it was.

I hear footsteps all the time from overhead.  Have I told you that?

I shook my head back and forth, as if to clear it, and began trudging up the steep steps.  The air still smells like her.  It's a little stale, yes, but her scent lingers.  I ducked my head under the slanted ceiling, and walked the narrow landing.  The first thing I saw was the blanket and pillow fort the kids had made for their slumber parties.  Jacob, then 9, and Cory, then 19, had been having movie nights on summer break.

They had called me up just a few days before the accident to see their stuffed animals lined up in careful rows, evoking a movie theater feel.  I grinned a little shamefaced to see they were watching a movie on Netflix pulled up on Cory's IPad.  It was propped up against a pile of DVDs, and was certainly the smallest movie screen I had ever seen.

The next morning, they were squealing with delight to see a tv and dvd player being carried into Cory's room. 

So today, I glanced down at the fort that Jake had insisted remain just as it was, cleaning to happen if it had to, but those stuffed animals and pillows to be placed back just so.  Normally, one look at that scene and I am done.  It is then a huge rush to get what I needed and get the hell out before I have some sort of breakdown.

Today, I lingered.  I couldn't help myself.  I could smell her.  I could feel her presence.  I began to look at things a little differently.  Instead of seeing how Cory and Jake would never have another movie or giggle together, I saw how their pillows had been placed head to head.  That's how close they were.  I saw that Jacob not wanting anything moved meant he treasured those last memories with her, and had made a solid decision to keep them fresh, whatever it took.   

I started going through her paintings, setting the ones I meant to take on her bed, which I wandered over to and sat on, touching her stuffed animal fox with one hand, my heart full.  Her bed was made.  After all the times, she had not been able to keep her environment orderly, she had died with her bed made, and her stuffed sleeping companions in a tidy row.  I drifted over to her dresser.  More lines.  All her little trinkets and treasures placed just so.  She even had a little needlepoint Kleenex box cover with a full box of Kleenex in it.

All these lines showed how she was creating order where once there had been miserable chaos.  She was thinking and planning ahead, even down to the Kleenex.  Clothes were put away in their drawers.  Presentation mattered.

I saw her self image had grown healthier, her Little League trophy and Carson Scholar medallion on prominent display.  She had turned one low but super long wall into a mini art gallery with her favorite pieces.  She was proud of her work, and they brought her joy.  She had learned the skill of surrounding herself with positive things, something lots of us never quite master.  She was such a smart girl, so precocious.

While I was still feeling good and full of love, I grabbed up what I had came for, and started down the steps.  This is all a feel good story right up until the point I lost the top two paintings off the top of the pile in my arms and proceeded to trip over my own feet, falling the rest of the way down the stairs.  I think I combined Tim's name with some pretty colorful language, and made the three trips out to the car, resentfully,  without his assistance.  Not even hearing the crash or perhaps deciding nothing was worth getting out of bed for, he slept on.

Without a look back, I took my daughter to work.  She is still my constant.  Love you, Cory-Girl, always, always, always.  There really isn't anything we can't do together.