Duck Duck Goose

 I saw a little girl at Pizza Hut tonight that reminded me so much of Cory at that age, it completely unnerved me.  She didn't really look like her, you understand; she behaved like her.  I smile a little now to report the two or three year old with the whispy Pebbles ponytail that I saw was quick on the move, listening to none of her parents' scoldings as she made for the kitchen with a certain determined flair.  Her mother pulled her back as she marched her way past the register, and I could see her wide eyed expression as she was toted back to the table (with a modest swat on her plump little fanny):  not fazed in the least.  She waited a couple of minutes- perhaps for her parents to catch their breaths- before giving it another go.  

Have I mentioned that Cory quite knew her own mind from a young age?

The first date I went on with my husband was dinner at the local Chinese restaurant.  Cory went with us, and spent the majority of the meal under the table quacking like a duck.  This bothered me very little, as I found her very entertaining, but I fully expected to never hear from Tim again.  He already didn't strike me as a kid kinda guy, and Cory was not the seen-and-not-heard type of child.  

So I stalker-watched this little girl at Pizza Hut and restrained myself from going over to the family's table to tell them that although this little lady might be a wee bit challenging at times, she was also full of life in a way a merely quiet, fully-compliant-at-all-times child would never be.  I wanted to tell them to take it easy on her because it wouldn't matter in ten years that she needed to sit under the table instead of at it, because she would eventually learn to do it, and while she did, she would probably make them shriek with laughter until their sides hurt.  In short, she would be their delight, as Cory was mine.  

How do you measure grief?  Can it be measured?  Sure it can.  How much of your heart did she occupy when she was here?  That's how empty it will be when she's gone.  How many of the dark corners of your soul did she set alight with her eyes, her voice, her laugh?  If there were many...if it was all of them...well, my friend, you are screwed.  I've always been an all or nothing sort of girl, so yeah, there's that.

I spent the rest of dinner thinking about this one certain toy Cory had when she was a toddler.  It was a washer and dryer combo from KayBee toy store at the mall, which was kind of a big deal as most of her toys came from the Dollar Store except for what Santa brought once a year.  I remember worrying she didn't have enough doll clothes to do a proper load, and how I raided the kitchen drawers for dishrags to fill the gap.  But in the end, she wanted to wash her baby dolls.  Maybe some of her pretend kitchen food...a chicken leg here, an ear of corn there.  She was content as could be.  I can see her now, all chubby cheeks and stubby pony tail, laboriously stuffing that washing machine with babies until the door would barely shut, opening it up now and again to stuff in an errant limb.  

She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and how to do it.  

She always did.