The Chow Wagon and Other Things That Make Me Sob

My husband, Tim texted me the other day to tell me he was thinking of Cory, and remembering how when she was a little girl, she'd decided to start her own small business.  She bought dog treats, repackaged them with fancy names and stickers and resold them to family and friends out of her plastic Little Tikes knock off, aptly named The Chow Wagon.  "Remember how mad she was when we went to the mall in Kalamazoo and saw The Barkery?  Someone had totally ripped off her business plan!"  Yes, indeed, she was furious.

I see that little girl, so full of life and ideas, and wonder what it would have been like to know back then that she had only ten or eleven years left...to see it all, do it all, say it all?   Would I have raised her any differently?  Treated her differently? What would it have been like to have known the clock was ticking to an early death?

 I can see her on the first day of school, each year, standing for her required photo in the dining room, new back pack hiked up on her narrow shoulders and it's almost too much to bear. Back to school time holds so many triggers.  No more new beginnings for my girl. Eff you and your tears of the time passing and your child being in such and such grade.  Be happy your child is standing before you passing the time at all.  You are lucky, so, so lucky.  I hope you never know how lucky.

Tim somehow only talks about the good times, and smiles when he says her name. I have no idea how he does it unless it's because he never knew the new baby smell of the top of her head or watched her take her first steps.   I try to remember her with joy and purpose, but I usually end up tearing up, sobbing in mid-story, and at times of high stress, become completely consumed by my memories of the road.  They invade my workday, my drive home, and my sleep.  I don't want to remember her that way, but I cannot seem to escape it.

And when I remember the good times?  It's not the gentle comfort thing Dr. Z always promises.  Instead, it pushes that panic button in the center of my chest that screams, "You will never see her again!!!!  You will never see her again!!!  CORY!!!  I'm talking about CORY!!!"  Terror.  Sheer terror envelops me, a thick, black fog, and first I think I will die from the pain, and then slowly it dawns on me that I won't.  Somehow that's the worst thing of all.