Jacob's Holiday Hat

Okay, so this one's about Jake.

I was absolutely jubilant to score the two of us tickets to use The Used in Grand Rapids a month or so ago.  Bear in mind, they are my favorite band and probably Cory's second favorite.  Jake is not quite as big of a fan, but was curious to experience a concert in a smaller venue setting.  The only concert he's ever been to was Panic at the Disco in Detroit at the palace.  It was amazing, but definitely different than what an all ages general admission, standing only, would be.  I was hesitant as to whether or not Jacob would be able to handle the crowd.  His social anxiety is bad enough at Walmart,  sending him in the opposite direction if it's too congested.  "Look", I told him, "you have to know what you're getting into here.  There will be tons of people.  A lot of them will be drunk.  Some of them may be puking.  Lots of pushing and shoving.  Moshing is encouraged...do you still want to go?"

To my happy surprise, he was down.  He was, however, dubious of my promise that we would use our slim physiques and above average looks, to weasel our way to the front row.  "Sure, we will, Mom." he said, and patted my shoulder, condescendingly.

We arrived early to the club to find forty or so folks were also hoping to storm the barricade.  We stood in line, freezing, but hopeful.  Imagine my delight when a staffer with a clipboard walked the line offering Skip the Line upgrades.  We paid the extra fifteen bucks and went to the front to be scanned and patted down ahead of time.  Jake was looking at me with a bit more confidence.  "Do you think we can really get front row?" he asked.  "Hell, yeah!  When the doors open, run like it's Black Friday."

A few minutes later, we were released...us and about twelve other souls that had coughed up the extra cash for a chance to get on the barricade.  We ran as if our lives were in danger.  I looked behind my shoulder to see I'd left my child behind me by about a foot.  I reached for his hand and he grasped it and we closed the distance, finally placing our hands, front and center, on the barricade rail.

Forget the fact that I very badly needed to pee.  Forget the fact that we hadn't gotten any merchandise.  Forget the fact that we were both thirsty.  We had made it and we weren't budging.

I turned to Jake and he grinned back at me.  "I can't believe we made it."

He even put up with me taking a pic of our hands on the rail for my journal.

It was bare moments later that I discovered the victory of winning front row would be tempered with the unpleasant odor of my barricade neighbor directly to my right. This was like the Vatican all over again...why does this always happen to me?  This particular young lady had multiple hygiene issues going on, which was unfortunate, and I fought the urge to mother her into popping a mint or reconsidering her dreads hairstyle.  What made it even worse was that she was super young and terribly obnoxious.  Breathing through my mouth was my only option, but that did not solve the problem that she was throwing elbows and draping herself across the rail in my personal space about every two minutes.  I was annoyed beyond measure, but even this could not dim my excitement to be close enough to make eye contact with Bert McCracken. 

The opening band came out and some of the crowd went wild, while others, including Jake and I stared with polite interest, curious about the bizarre baggy diaper-like cargo shorts the lead singer was wearing and wondering what exactly he was on, as his stare was glassy-eyed and unpredictable.  Whatever, he lacked in fashion sense, he made up for in die hard enthusiasm as he screamed into the mike with wild abandon, vocal cords bulging and diaper-like cargo shorts waving in his wake.  We tried to be supportive audience members throughout the entire set, counting down the moments until intermission, which finally arrived and not a moment to soon.  Our ears were ringing and all communication between Jake and I was down to eye contact.  I asked with my eyes, "What do you think of this band?"  He shrugged his shoulders and raised an eyebrow, indicating, "They kinda suck". I nodded in agreement.  He watched on, sympathetic as the stinky girl beside me threw herself and her smelly dreads all into my personal space. I feared going home with lash marks on my face from her dread-whipping.  I so badly wanted to tell her to please, please, please  wash her pits, brush her teeth, floss, and put on some deodorant.  Instead, I silently endured the constant assault to my nostrils and dodged her flying dreads the best I could.

During the intermission, we watched most of the crowd rush to the bar for drinks, head to the bathroom, or go hunt for merch.  We stolidly maintained our positions.  I crossed my legs and reminded myself to be cautious when jumping...I am over forty, after all.    As the set was changed out and the lights began to dim, the crowd began to fill back up behind us.  It was amazing to watch all the open space pack up with hundreds and hundreds of bodies.  A couple of concert goers in the makeshift row behind us crowed loudly how glad they were not to be on the barricade...one of them caught our glance and said, "It's gonna be bad.  You might get really hurt.  The crowd is gonna start pushing forward and it makes it really hard to breathe.  I went home with bruises all over my body last year and someone broke a rib..."  She waited, expectantly, perhaps for me to offer to trade with her.  As if.
I turned to Jake and whispered, "Haters".   He giggled quietly, and agreed, asking, "Do they think we're stupid?  I'm not moving from this spot unless I hear gunshots."

Finally, many mouth breaths later, the lights went down...

From our vantage point, we could see the band members walking onstage and the crowd went absolutely berserk when the music started.  Jacob and I were screaming like loons, jumping and turning to see each other's faces lit by the stage lights.  In my mind's eye, I could see Cory beside us, jumping higher than us all, her little hands up the air, screaming herself hoarse.  That is the only thing that could've made the moment better:  having her there, preferably in Stinky Girl's spot, at my right side where she belongs, where she has always belonged.  Whatever good moments there are these days have that in common, they would be even better with her here.  Even in the crazy excitement of the moment when I made direct eye contact with Bert, I was remembering the fact that Cory is dead and mourning it in my heart.  It bleeds into every small win.

By the second song, the crushing wave of the crowd had intensified and we were being pushed from behind pretty hard.  I instinctively put an arm around Jake until the worst of it had subsided and scream-asked him if he wanted to move back.  "No way!!!!"  he scream-answered me.  I nodded, feeling pretty proud of my shy guy.  I tapped him on the arm and motioned down to my arms which were locked at the elbow as I'd told him during the intermission that we should do to help give us some breathing room.  He locked his own and we turned our attention back to the stage.  The Used was amazing.  I've seen them three times now and they never disappoint, but I'd never been front row.  Cory would've went absolutely crazy. Just absolutely nuts.  I see it in my mind's eye and I almost can't bear the combination of joy and longing.

The show ended all too soon.  We screamed ourselves hoarse for an encore, which the band obliged.  And then the lights were up and I could finally take my leave of Stinky Girl.  I was elated from the show, desperate to pee, melancholy for my girl, and proud that Jake had enjoyed the show...since I wasn't really sure if he would.  I happily allowed him to lead me to the merchandise booth, having already decided to spoil him rotten.  The law of child loss for me seems to be when you can't buy for your dead child, double up on the live one.

"Jake, I don't need anything, so you can get a shirt and a hoodie, stickers, wristbands, whatever you want..."

"Really?!" he asked, his eyes bright.  "Thanks, Mom!" 

We stood in line, a few feet back picking out which designs he wanted to get.  Cautiously, he begged, "Hey, Mom, could I get a hat, too?"

If Cory were here, I'd buy her the world.  

"Sure, Jake, go for it.  Which one do you want?"  I squinted up at the display where they had hung a basic snap back "Dad-hat" with the band's logo on it and a winter holiday hat that was red, green, and white, with the band's name emblazoned over a background of Christmas trees.  It also had a huge pom-pom on the top. 

I could hardly believe it when Jake said he wanted the holiday hat.  It was so out of character for my understated boy.  "Mom, when the music plays and I bob my head, the pom pom will move, it'll be awesome!"

My heart smiled to see him so free and playful.  "Sold!"  I answered.

Sure enough, he tugged it right over his head and we played The Used the whole way home to Battle Creek, his pom pom moving to the beat.  These times with Jacob are better than anything.  They make life worth living.  He never fails to make me smile.

We were still discussing the concert, song by song, as we let ourselves in the house at just past one in the morning.  Tim was waiting in the dining room to hear about our adventure.  He'd asked a couple of questions about the drive and waiting in line before stopping mid-sentence and giving Jake a deliberate once over.  I was busy putting the ticket stubs somewhere safe and Tim had to call my name twice before getting my attention.  Finally, hearing him, I turned in his direction.

"Did you guys have a good time?"  he asked.

"Oh yeah!"  we both said in unison.

"Hey, Nicole..."

"Yeah?"

"Did you really buy our teenage son a hat with marijuana leaves all over it?"

"What?"  I said, and turned to look at Jake's Holiday Hat, that while certainly festive in its color scheme, did not have Christmas trees on it, but instead proudly boasted marijuana leaves dancing around  the entire thing.  Happy holidays, indeed!

I cracked a smile, "Those aren't Christmas trees, are they?"

Jake grinned broadly.  When Tim pressed him to see if he knew what they were when he asked for it, he answered in his quiet, analytical way, "Yeah, I knew.  But Mom, didn't you say there are lots of pros to legalizing marijuana?"

Why yes, yes I did.

I could only giggle, telling him he couldn't wear it to school or grandma's,  wishing more than ever that Cory was here to witness these shenanigans.

  Cory, get a load of your boy.  Seriously, just get a load of him.

The Sixth Christmas

How is it even possible?

This will be the sixth Christmas since Cory died.  It's an impossible span of time.  Jake and I went Black Friday shopping together this year.  And on Cyber Monday, we huddled together on my bed and ordered most of his gifts.  He is not disappointed in the least to know what he is getting, in fact, he prefers it that way. "Surprises are overrated", he confided with a weary, older-than-his years tone.  The second my eyes met his, he looked away, blinking furiously.  Touche, son, touche.  Jake seldom says much about his loss, but once in awhile he drops a one liner than says far more than its face value would give away.  You have to know him, know how carefully he chooses his words and how seldom he offers his observations on life to fully grasp the meaning of these little conversational bombs.  You have to be well versed in his body language and understand that the more he looks away without meeting your eyes, the more he is opening up.  He does not take vulnerability lightly anymore. 

So the sixth Christmas without her, really?  Six?  I remember the first one and the last two, but the in between years are a shadowy no man's land of non-memory:  strictly survival.  The first year, I suppose I remember because at that point it hadn't even been six months yet and I was still shocked and puzzled how the world could go on without her at all.  Every breath I drew was like swallowing glass.

 Now I walk around the set of life a lot better, say my lines a lot more convincingly, and don't miss too many of my cues...at least not enough to sound any alarms.  But sometimes the feeling of watching myself  is uncanny and I remember how Cory used to describe this odd feeling of disassociation.  She would say it was like watching a play.  Or watching herself say or do things without really being in control...or able to care about the outcome until later, when she felt connected again.  I feel disassociated from others a lot, but sometimes, especially around difficult dates, yes, even from myself.  I go through the motions, mostly apathetic, but with enough muscle memory to nod and smile in social situations.  I can banter through the pain without missing a beat.  It looks social.  It looks appropriate.  But it's all about distance.  It's about giving someone what they expect from you so you can be done with that task and go off alone to fall apart without the weight of disappointing someone.  Because what you really feel like doing would not be nearly as pleasant to witness...the ugly crying, screaming, raging, or staring dully into space.

Twelve days till Christmas and I still need to put up my tree.  I need to decorate it with the carefully selected ornaments my best friend gifted me in an effort to help spark within me some small joy in the season.  "I want you to look at the tree and see your children." Have you ever heard anything so kind in all of your life?

Last year, Dr. Z asked me to put up one little ornament of Cory's from when she was little, just one.  I tried to appease this last request from him, only to discover Tim had accidentally thrown out every single one of our Christmas ornaments from the last twenty years.  My friend went straight to work to replace what she could.  That is love right there.   I have to get that tree up.  And I have to make it through my first Christmas since Cory died without talking to Dr Z, and I'm not quite sure how that's gonna go.  So far, it's going like crap.
 Last year, George Michael died.  This year, Dr. Z has retired. Face it, the holidays are just not my jam anymore.  I don't think they ever will be. 

So here I am just floating above, watching myself immobile, knowing I have a tree to put up and dear parents to treasure.  Jake and I have to take Cory a grave blanket and the giant nutcracker that stands guard.  Twelve days left.  Time to get moving.