You mad?

Yeah, I'm still mad.  But it takes over less often.

I used to be so angry all the time that I felt sick.  Now I do okay most of the time, except when triggered.

I took Jake to freshman orientation at the high school a few days ago, and that was really difficult.  I expected to feel sad and see her around corners- what I didn't expect was to get so angry I could barely see to drive home.  I started thinking about how she started there in ninth grade, just an average girl, braces and skinny, tiny and beautiful, and how the mental illness descended on her, wreaking so much havoc.  I looked around at all those bright, shiny faces just starting out on their high school careers and felt enraged that Cory didn't get to have her time.  She wanted to be at school with her friends.  She wanted to be learning.  She deserved the best years of her life.  She didn't ask for voices or hallucinations, crippling depression, anxiety, or delusions.  Why did such a sweet girl get such a raw deal?  Why my girl?

And the kicker, of course, being that she finally stabilized and was doing remarkably well, only to be hit by a lady who wasn't watching where she was going on her drive home from work.

I went home that night from Central, tears burning, and sort of folded in on myself, having went to a viewing that day that was not only at the same funeral home but also in the same room Cory's casket had once stood.  I loved being strong enough to be there for my friend the way she was there for me, but it was not easy to do.  That being said, I'm so glad I did it.  We help each other as best we can.  That's what we are here for.

The anger that night at Cory's missed youth, stolen by mental illness, burned hot and quick.  The next day, it had dissipated, and I was as okay as I ever am these days.

I can smile at babies now.  I don't hate parents who have live children, although I do sometimes envy them to a covetous degree.  I watch mothers and daughters together now with a desperate ache, but no real hatred.

Then the other day, I had to do CPR and First Aide training at my work place.  You wanna talk triggers?  Oh buddy.  The lingo alone, "non-responsive, no heart beat, not breathing, bleeding that will not stop" completely undid me.   Then there were the videos that outline all the steps to helping save someone's life.  They are so clean cut and so logical...nothing like what I saw on the side of the road.  Not even close.

The whole time all I could think about was being on the scene...what she looked like, my confusion at why nothing was done to help her.  Images of her body popped up as certain words were said "depressed skull"..."bluish tinge"...others.   I kept seeing them cutting her shirt open over and over and over again.  I could feel that same mad fluttering of hope and rush of relief as I realized that meant they were getting the paddles.  She would be ok.  But of course, they didn't get the paddles and she would never be ok again.  It was obvious to everyone but me that she was dead.

So I cried silently.  I stayed through the training.  And afterwards, I found a  friend that I could vent to for a few minutes.  All I really needed was get the poison out to another mother who would understand what crap it was that my girl never even got a shot.  Just what kinda crap was that?  Logically, I can understand now.  I get it.  Nothing could be done.  But in my heart, where my girl lives and breathes forever, there will never be understanding. Never.

 I will always question why nothing was done.  I will always question why she couldn't be spared while others are... if you buy into the whole higher power thing.   Some days I will seethe with the injustice of it all, but at least not every day.  Not anymore.

Progess, not perfection.