A Day in Her Shoes

Lately, I've been wearing her shoes.

It started as a good luck thing for a public speaking thing, but I've kept wearing them right along the last couple of weeks or so.

And as I do, I think about what it was like to walk in her shoes.  I think about her forgiving nature, about her bravery with her mental illness, and I try to be more like her.  She was admirable.

She rounds my corners.  I'll admit it; I like nothing more than a good nattering of gossip.  Cory would go along for quite at awhile, but the older she got, the less she was okay with talking behind someone's back or just being blatantly mean.

So, that said, she tempers my anger.  And I have quite a lot.  Most days, I feel robbed of what other parents take for granted:  the culmination of a childhood, the transition to adulthood, the passing of the torch to the next family- your child's features on a baby's face and your prize winning holiday recipe intact.

I know every parent that loses a child goes through some testing of their faith or question of faith, at the least.  And, buddy, I have questions.  He (if there is a He) couldn't salvage this meek girl who struggled but still turned away from gossip because it wasn't kind?  He could spare so many others who blatantly bent his rules? Restart their hearts?  Make them walk again?

 I know this tragedy has my mother asking questions.  My dad asks none.  He has that sort of firm, blind faith that says God knows better than man, and he must have had good reason, Amen.

Mom wants to know, "Why my grandbaby?  Why couldn't she be spared?"  And I respect them both in different ways.  I respect my father for having the sort of blind faith that can survive such a heart wrenching disaster.  At the same time, I equally respect my mother for continuing to follow her faith, but expecting answers when this whole sad mess is over.  There will be a conversation.

And me?  I may never believe.  Part of me wants to believe Cory is in heaven, while another part sees her such as she was, spread out on the road for any passerby-er to see...and what sort of God would allow that to happen to a girl that hurt no one, and struggled everyday for a normal life and any sort of peace?

Beats the hell out of me.