Better Now

Since the first foggy precription-med induced days following the fifth of July, I've been making a concentrated effort to "get better".  And I mean CONCENTRATED!  It's no easy task to focus on the tasks at hand and sort of coax the horrors to a deserted corner of your mind.  I've been cooking like mad and can report indulging in takeout only once in the last month.  I've been staying in the zone at work and getting things done.  Which, by the way, I have not called in or left early (pat self on back there).

So a friend asked me today what "getting better" or "doing better" or even "feeling better" means to the bereaved mother.  I don't think it means to me what it means to the people who wish it for me.  Family and friends want me to be happy and have a normal life.  I firmly, vehemently, not without some reluctance, tell you...that will never happen.  Happiness will never be for me what it was when Cory was alive.  I'll never reach those heights again.  A normal life?  No.  The nightmares, the flashbacks, the sorrow- they are going nowhere, friends.  I'm a lifer.

So what does "getting better" mean to me?  I need to have a clean house again.  Or even care if my house is dirty.  I need to be able to organize and groom.  I need to be able to say no to Jacob without feeling like he may drop dead at any moment and I'll regret having denied him his heart's desire on that particular day.  I need to regain control of my finances.

To me, these have everything to do with regaining skills I had before the accident and nothing to do with feelings.  It's a hard thing to say I wish I felt better because I'm not sure that's what I want.  Do I want to miss her less?  Do I want to be less disturbed by her absence?  I want my love for her and my longing to be a live thing, a light never extinguished, a torch burning to the top of the highest skyscraper.  It is scary to think of letting go of the pain.  If we are but a vapor in our time here on earth, what are we to the living once we're gone?  I must hold TIGHT.

These last few weeks, I've kept my mind busy with recipes and meals, trainings and numbers.  When thoughts of the accident crept in, I pushed them back.  If the sadness came calling, I put it on hold.  I put dinner on the table some 29 nights, but I've felt distant from my girl.

I wonder if we tell people we want them to feel better because we know that's what they want or if we tell them that because it's so hard to watch someone suffer.  It could be that we are extremely uncomfortable being close up, front and center, with someone who is living our worst nightmare.  It could be that if they appear to be happier and living a normal life, we will fear going through that ourselves less and continue to pretend that we are safe- our kids are safe, our family is safe, this sort of thing only happens to other people.  I know that's what I used to think and it was a damn sight easier to live there.