Do You Believe?

30 Days of Cory- #6


Last week, I crept into the room where Tim was napping to get Jake's pajamas for the night.  I didn't want to turn the light on, so there I stood in semi-darkness, pawing through the top drawer by feel.  As I stirred all his clothing into a giant mess (something I most certainly got after Cory about each time she did it in my drawers looking for a sweater to borrow), I came upon a certain pajama top that he'd really outgrown.  It should be packed up and donated somewhere by now, but my housekeeping has gotten more than slipshod since Cory's death. 


Right there, in the dark, I recognized by touch the red flannel Transformers pajama top with the button up style that Jake always complained about because he said the spaces between the buttons were drafty.  It had last fit him well two years ago, and as I held it, I went back in time to the nights when I had two children to get around for bed.  I could see them in my mind's eye, fresh from the shower, in their warm jammies, cuddled with me on the couch, waiting for American Idol or the like to come back from commercial break.  If it were indeed American Idol, Cory was in charge of calling grandma during the commercial breaks so we could compare notes.  It was an interactive and extended family experience.


There, in the gloom, the outgrown pajama top in hand, I slumped over the open drawer, and wept.  Head down, I was lost in the time BEFORE.  I suspect for all parents who have lost a child there will always be BEFORE their child's death and AFTER- all of their life sliced cleanly into two parts:  one full of color, and the other greyscale, at best.


As I stood there crying silently, I felt a hand press firmly against my left shoulder blade.  I jumped, and whirled around, seeing nothing but shadows.  Tim snored on, and from the living room, I could hear the sounds of Jacob talking to a friend on his headset.


Frantic, I patted all over the place I'd felt the hand.  Nothing was there.  But someone had been. 


Was it Cory, or was I having the type of hallucinations that people grieving occasionally experience, and are considered completely normal?  No one can really say for sure.  That call is  left entirely up to your belief system.


I connected with Cory that night by believing that it was her little hand at work- that seeing her Madre so discouraged was more than she could take, without impulsively reaching out for a second to let me know she's still here, and she knows her Madre is strong.  You see, Cory loves to help.