Regrets

My list of regrets when it comes to my girl who died unexpectedly is blessedly short.  I wish I'd rubbed her neck for more when it hurt from the meds she was on.  I wish I'd let her get the two designer handbags she had a canary over at Macy's one afternoon, instead of making her choose one, which ending up with her sobbing in the public bathroom.  And then there was the last time she spent the night at a friend's.  All was well the entire evening; the frantic call came at about 12:30 a.m..  She was hearing voices, badly, and she just wanted her mommy.

Let me break in here to say I never once imagined how I would survive if Cory died before me.  But I often worried about what would happen to Cory if I died before her- before she was stabilized, and had built up a strong support group around herself.  I often worried- would she be able to work, live alone, sustain a relationship?  Would she get married?  Would she have children?

Some of these things ran through the back of my mind, as I tiptoed into her little brother's darkened bedroom and gazed down at him sleeping soundly in his bed.  Was it fair to get him up and out?  And since when had fair become a factor in any of those mess...fair had taken a powder long ago.

I called her back and soothed her over the phone the best I could.  When asked, she told me the voices were saying such bad things she couldn't even repeat them and it was scaring her.  I asked her if she had talked to her friend or her aunt (she was at my sister's) at all, but she said, "No, I only want to talk to you."  I told her I was so glad she wanted to talk to me, but what if there was a time I wasn't around- mightn't it be a good idea to add a person or two to that list, so she always had someone available?

Cory paused.  "But Mom, she'll think I'm crazy"
"Cory, you listen to me, baby girl.  You are not crazy.  Your brain just happens to work a little different than other people's and so what!!!  Look at all the wonderful things it comes up with!  You are not your illness, and you never will be."

"Ok, ok, Mom.  I'll try.  I hope you're right."

"Cory-Girl, you are so brave.  If you don't feel better, at least a little, call me back and I WILL come get you."

"Mom, I'm so lucky to have you."

"No, baby girl, I'm the lucky one."

We hung up and I waited.  And waited.  And eventually, I dozed off with phone in my hand, and woke up with morning light streaming through my bedroom windows.

Some hours later, Cory called me and said her friend had been great.  They had talked, made a "happy place" collage, and then done their nails.  The voices subsided for awhile.

I smiled, outside and inside, because Cory had just added someone to her safe circle.   She had learned how to self-soothe without drugs or alcohol.  With or without me, she was going to be okay.

Now that she's gone, I sometimes wish, I'd have just put on my Momma cape and flew to her rescue.  But who would that have really been for- me or her?