Rituals

November 2012 and November 2013, I really wanted to set up Cory's spot or grave with things for Day of the Dead.  Cory was partially Hispanic, and since she was young, I'd taught her about that culture.  Her very first doll that she was old enough to remember was named Josephina, and oh, how she loved that thing.  It rests with her now.

Each year following the accident, my intentions were full of sugar skulls and an intricately created altar that screamed her name, but each year, I turned my head on the pillow, and let the date pass.

I almost let it happen again.  But at the last minute, I sprung up from my bed and urged Jake into his shoes.  We ran out and got just a couple of things, and rushed to her spot.  Jacob had learned about Day of the Dead at school, so he knew what we were up to.  Together, in the light that was quickly fading, with a chilly wind blowing, we set it up at her spot.  Jacob knows this is a place that is hard for me to be.  He was silent as he handed me things- scissors, candles, matches- as if we were in the midst of a complicated surgery.

Once the few things were laid out, small but lovely- we caught hands in the cold wind.  I could feel his hand, although still smaller than mine, growing decidedly out of its childhood shape and into something that would soon be adult.

What did we say?  What could we say, in that hellish spot as the traffic rushed back and forth behind us?  We knelt down close and told her we loved her over and over again.  We told her we missed her until there were tears running down both of faces.  It hit me momentarily that there was no father figure here to join in this ritual.

That's okay...Cory, Jake, and I had always done just fine on our own.