On the Prowl

Another first, this year:  I marginally participated in Black Friday shopping.  It happened purely by default, but it still happened.  Here we go:

My sisters, Mom, and I have always gone Black Friday shopping as a sort of bonding experience.  I remember many Black Fridays mornings spent outside the Toys R Us waiting for it to open so I could nab Cory the "must have"  Barbie contraption of the season.  We would usually break after a few hours, and eat breakfast together somewhere, before heading back out.  One memorable year, we actually had to drive home, and unload the vehicle to fit in anymore.  We would always buy each other's children's gifts, and gradually begin to develop the slap stick humor that comes from sleep deprivation.  It was a grand time.

The last Black Friday that Cory was alive, she came with us.  My niece, Alisha, and nephew's girlfriend, Cayla, came too.  We all split up at one point so we wouldn't see each other's purchases.  Cory had a fabulous time.  She had her own money to get gifts for loved ones, and I suspect she felt super grown up to be shopping in the middle of the night.

Cory, modeling herself after me, went entirely overboard shopping for me.  That sweet girl spent the bulk of her budget on her Madre, and was so excited to see me open the gifts.  One thing was a cream bouncy knit scarf, with sparkles in the thread; do you know the kind?  I had been wanting one for awhile, and she went to Maurice's and enlisted shopping help from our friend who has known us since Cory was little.  My friend later told me how joyful and proud Cory was picking it out.

Here's what Cayla told me, much later, "She really wanted that scarf for herself.  She even said so, but she wanted you to have it because she thought it would be beautiful on you."

Deep breath.  Tears.  Carry on.

That's the baby girl I raised.  Is it any wonder I can barely function without her?

So, then, this year:

Mom and I were supposed to go to a movie, but unfortunately everything was either highly inappropriate, animated, or sci-fi.  What were we to do?  I asked Mom if she'd like to run out to Target and Michael's with me, and maybe have coffee while we were out, and she assented.

What was on my list, you ask?  A set of flannel sheets and Christmas washi tape.  I am so bereft of holiday spirit, I have decided to try to infuse myself by adding Christmas symbols into my planner and journal, almost like sublimal advertising for my brain.

Running errands with Mom is very reminiscent of running errands with Cory... minus the blasting our favorite songs in the car, dancing in our seats, and singing along.  We find ourselves so lost in chatter, we often forget where we parked.  We startle each other with a shouted out piece of information we'd forgotten to share the last twelve times we've talked to each other.  We people-watch.

On this particular occasion, I found myself grabbing for Mom's hand, holding hands with her around the store, and checking every so often to make sure she hadn't strayed too far away.  Mom is a tenacious shopper, and will not give up till she has uncovered every rock looking for a certain item.  We were having a horrible time finding any holiday washi tape, and had worked our way around the entire store, before discovering them hidden on an endcap at the edge of nowhere.

Now keep in mind, this woman does not even use washi tape.  Nonetheless, her unbridled glee was equal to mine, and we were soon lining up the eight or so different varieties to narrow down to a couple of choices.  What I love about Mom is this:  she couldn't pick either.  We ended up carrying them around to see which ones we'd made an emotional bond with before checking out.  I have been trained by the best, my friends.  Mom, take a curtsy.

As we wandered around the stores and hit the Starbuck's drive thru, we talked about all manner of things, and as always, Mom was sharp as a whip, sensitive, kind, and funny.  I was whiny and emotional throughout the entire trip, every few minutes spotting something I'd like to get Cory for Christmas, which would trigger another declaration of "I miss Cory", tears, or both.  I must've said it no less than 23 times.  Mom simply patted my arm, and agreed, never tiring of my complaints.

Without doubt, Mom has been and continues to be my strongest comfort and support in this ghastly new existence.  I don't know if you can tell, but I just adore her.