New hairdo doesn't mean a damn thing. I'm not ok. Last night, I got ready to take a hot shower to try to relax. I got into the medicine cabinet looking for a ponytail holder to put my hair up. I ended up with my whole head in Cory's little basket of hair things, trying to fish one out. Suddenly, I caught the scent of her hair, of her scalp, and fell completely to pieces right on the spot.
She was so close I could almost touch her...but I couldn't. I breathed her in again, and connections began firing wildly all over my brain: Cory dancing with me in the kitchen, her hair bouncing; Cory screaming she was hideous in front of the hallway mirror and throwing her hairbrush aside in disgust, Cory in her "workout" gear beside me in front of the mirror in my bedroom dancing to club music, working up a sweat laughing herself silly. Cory perched on the roof of the garage, head in her hands, wailing.
She was so close I could almost touch her, but I couldn't. And I won't ever again.
I just stood there, naked on the bathmat, eyes wide, and fully considered this. It was more than I could bear. Sobbing with my hands over my face, I trotted fully nude into the living room, startling my unsuspecting husband, who was quietly and methodically folding laundry into neat little piles.
"Honey! What---?" was all he could get out before his voice was drowned out by my cries. All I could think was, I wanna die. I can't do this. I wanna die. I can't do this.
Remember when I told you Tim's not the guy who's gonna just gather you up in his arms and let you cry all over him? Turns out, he is. I hysterically cried and snotted all over his shirt until I finally began to shiver. Wordless, I turned away and retreated back to the shower that'd been running ever since the ill-fated hunt for a hair tie had begun.
Tim followed me, continuing to comfort, which was the nicest, and yet oddest feeling. I'd gotten quite used to him giving me three standard back pats and running fast in the opposite direction. I tried to explain what the trigger had been this time, but I couldn't talk clearly, and besides, I'm not sure I had the words at that particular time. There weren't words, but instead a myriad of images that were now ricocheting against the walls of my heart, their edges sharp, but their centers so much soft focus:
Cory standing in the bathroom doorway,watching me put on makeup; Cory straightening her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, complaining about the curse of wavy hair, Cory sitting as still as the tremors would let her while I applied her eyeliner. When she first started the Lithium, I had to shave her legs for her.
I could see every angle and curve of her face, the tilt of her head as she laughed, the stance she took when relaxed and listening to a good story.
Never again? Never?
When I could finally string a sentence together, I explained it to Tim. By this time, I'd ducked under the running shower, and just stood there, face to the spray, crying silently, helplessly.
Tim settled himself on the toilet seat, as Cory had done hundreds of times during her illness, and kept me company. "Honey, do you remember how mad you were when you went to the police station for Cory's hat and it didn't smell like her?"
Dully, I nodded.
"Now, you can smell her. Don't cry. That's a good thing." he pointed out.
Logic prevailed for a split second, and I saw his point. Then despair just oozed into every crevice of my soul, not an inch left uncovered.
"But I WAAAAANT her! Oh my God, I want her!" I cried.
"I know." he said quietly. "We all do."
This time Tim held me until I broke away, stumbling through the hallway and into bed, wet towel and all, where I proceeded to curl myself into the smallest ball I could make.
While Tim steeled himself in the other room for whatever might be waiting for him, I shot one bare arm out of the covers, and grabbed up my meds. I shook them out and started counting...counting and crying...counting and considering...measuring want against will.
Weary was the word that came to mind in that moment. I am so weary of this nightmare. It just never ends. You get through the holidays, and your other child's birthday is coming, while Cory remains nineteen forever. You get past Jake's birthday, and before you know it, it's Cory's birthday, and you are left to only imagine what she'd be like at that age. After her birthday, the countdown is on to her death day. Each time, you find yourself thinking, what fresh hell is this?
I could hear Tim turning out all the lights, and hurriedly crammed all the pills but one back into the bottle. I took it with a swig of water from the nightstand and waited to see what would happen. Tim came in, asking if I needed something to drink. I declined, and just laid there, shaking and thinking, I want out of this. I can't do it anymore. I want out of this.
Tim crawled in, and wrapped himself around me. My sobs were down to those little hitches so reminiscent of early childhood. "I think I'm losing my mind." I whispered in the dark.
"Honey, I know this has to be harder for you than anyone. I just don't know how you hold it together. I really don't."
"I'm not together." I said. "Maybe some people can cope with something like this and just go on living...working, but I'm just one of those people who end up completely fucked up."
"Honey...what can I do to help you? Is there anything you want?"
"I know what I want." I answered immediately.
Of course, he knew just what I meant. "Jake and I need you."
My thought? I am no good for anyone.
I spend half the time sick with jealousy that Tim still has his mini me, and the other half illogically angry with Jacob because he refuses to talk about his sister, and won't go to the cemetery.
When I asked Jake how his Christmas was, he said, "Fantastic!"
That's when I knew she must be fading in his mind already, and I resented him deeply for it.
I'm such a monster.
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