A Visitor

"Mom?  Mom?"

I opened my eyes and there she was, sitting cross-legged at the end of my bed.  In my dream-state, hallucination, or visit between worlds, I couldn't move to touch her, so instead contented myself with going over her every feature with my eyes:  her hair beautifully mussed from a nice, long sleep, her eyes, so huge and full of life, her gentle smile, her long limbs whole and bent under her own control, and her little hands resting comfortably in her lap as she awaited my response.

"Cory?  Cory!"  I choked out at last.

She said nothing back, only smiled again and sat there magically, filling for a moment the gaping hole that I tote around daily.  She wanted nothing from me this time.  She needed nothing- not a snack, not my comfort, not my opinion, nor my companionship.  She was far more content than I could even imagine.  She was here for me.

On her face, without the need for words, was the knowledge of my struggle.  She knew all about the horror, the terrible images, the nightmares, the loss of control, the weariness, the despair, the hopelessness...she knew about the depression, the anxiety, the plaguing guilt.  She knew the things I've done when coping well and things I've done when coping poorly.  And she loved me anyway.  She knew that my heart knows no calendar and that every moment without her, I fear I might soon die, and many, many days wish I would so that the pain would end.  She knew that I am not the same happy, attentive Mommy that she and Jacob had known those years ago, but forgave me because she also knew I've been doing the best I can.

It was a sort of telepathy as I "told" her how angry it made me when other people weighed in on my progress- the well-meaning tough-lovers who insist I couldn't control the event, but I could control my reaction.

She sat there silently, calmly and relayed that they meant well and don't understand.  It is another world when a mother loses a child and someone who doesn't live there can't possibly give you directions to help you get around.  They can't know how long trips take if they have never made them.

True, I agreed, and added that a grieving mother can't control her reactions to the unexpected death of her child.   She's been plunged into brain stem to sink or swim for however long it takes her to learn to tread water.  When she bobs to the surface, it's only to catch her breath and react to the emotional part of her brain.  Finding that problem-solving part of her brain and staking a claim there, actually living there day to day could take years.  For the most part, you are in survival, floating to the top to feed your other child a meal or remember to pay a bill.  All you can do is try to fight another day.  And Cory, if I weren't trying, I wouldn't be here anymore.

"I know, Mommy.  Trust me, I know."