Chances

I heard a song yesterday that chased away some of the burning jealousy.  I first heard this song on an episode of that ABC Family show, The Fosters.  Sometimes I think about how much Cory would've enjoyed that show, and other times I can't remember if she was around for Season 1 or not, and have to confer with Jake.  It's the same thing with movies.  Jake and I are always asking each other if we saw a movie just the two of us or with Cory.  Time after your child dies becomes two categories only:  before your child's death and after.  And if you're like me, kicking and screaming the whole way toward accepting your child's death, your mind plays some tricks on you.  Anything that I've even moderately enjoyed since July 2012 carries the strong feeling that Cory must've been there, too-- after all, how could I ever enjoy anything ever again without her by my side?

So this song was played for the first dance at the daughter's quinceanera.  I remember watching this young hispanic girl be spinned around the floor like a freaking princess, her face full of pride at who and what she was.  She knew she was loved; she had a steady two parent home; she did not appear to suffer from a major mental illness.  Wasn't that celebration enough?  Were the dress and the food and the merriment even needed?  Oh, I was so bitterly, bitterly jealous thinking of the hell my Cory went through and how much other people take for granted.

Tim thinks it is unkind and highly unhealthy for me to harbor such thoughts.  He is always shaming me for hating on the happy people, and I just cock my hip, angry and puzzled:  why isn't he angry and jealous, too?  Wouldn't any parent be?  I don't beat myself up for my anger or jealousy.  I think it's all part of the process, and it'll pass when it's meant to, if it ever does.

So check out the lyrics to this song, "Shooting Star" by Kari Kemmel and then we'll talk some more:

I'm feeling higher than the sunrise,
Feeling lovelier than midnight,
And I wouldn't change a thing
I'm standing taller now than ever,
Everything from here looks better,
No I wouldn't change a thing

You can try to bring me down,
To shake my soul and take my crown
I'll shine brighter,
I'll shine brighter, brighter, oh

I've learned I'm a shooting star
And no one can change who we are,
And no one can take that away
I know that I'm good enough
And I know that I'm beautiful,
And no one can take that away from me

I'm feeling prettier than velvet,
Soaring higher than the heavens,
And I wouldn't change a thing
Look up to the sky you'll see me,
Almost feels like I am dreaming,
Oh, I wouldn't change a thing

There's no shadow hanging over me,
I'm gonna live what I believe.
There's no taking away
What I'm feeling at this moment.
For the first time I know I'm free,
I'm feeling beautiful and I can dream
No one's stopping me

 

See?  She knows she's good enough.  She knows she's beautiful.  There's no shadow (or voices) hanging over her.

I thought about this for a long time.   Does the fanciest quinceanera guarantee the fifteen year old will live a long and healthy life?  Does a graduation open house secure career satisfaction or healthy self-esteem?  Does a beautiful, story-book wedding assure the marriage will last or that the bride will be loved and treated appropriately by her groom?

Cory did not have the chance to have an open house or a wedding, and I've mourned those stolen chances like you wouldn't believe.  It occurred to me while listening to this song that they were only that- chances.  Cory, without the milestone celebrations- or the milestones- has certainty.  She knows she is good enough.  She knows she is beautiful.  She knows she's not "crazy".  She suffers no more.

 

 Really, how could the best of parties even compare?

(Now please remind me of this the next time I'm in bed for four days after attending a wedding.)