A day to dream.
I’m writing this six months to the day Cora died.
Part of me thought time would make the pain lessen. It’s so natural to think that. With almost everything in life, time cures all. Bad break-ups, broken bones, fights with friends or family, almost always time makes them better, or at the least, less hurtful.
Not the case with Cora. Each month brings a new kind of pain. Each day, each hour, each second bring me further from the day I held her last. I hate that. I don’t want evil time to bring me further from my daughter.
I want time to stop. Of course, I want time to stop sometime between November 30 and December 5, 2009, but at the least, I wish time wouldn’t be so cruel to tug at me and force me further and further from Cora’s touch.
I hear this a lot, “the anniversaries are tough.” Every month as one creeps up, I think this month won’t be as bad, it’s just a day after all. But, each month, the anniversary of her death crushes me worse than the previous month.
Today, I slept until 3 p.m. and unwillingly forced myself out of bed like I do every day, so sad to wake up without her. I made some forced attempts at unpacking, but soon gave into the pain. The pain of the day, and the pain of a shoulder, a battle wound from a fall while moving.
I took the dog outside and sunshine and perfect temperatures greeted me. I told Ben we should do something to enjoy the day. In Indiana, days like this must be treasured. Indiana is usually either freezing or burning. We planned a picnic, but I soon backed out. My pain the shoulder – and my Cora pain – held me back. Instead, I’ve spent the afternoon in our new living room, staring out the window. We’re in a house in a neighborhood near downtown. Our front window overlooks a school.
Ben and I counted the school as a good sign. The neighborhood is poor, we live here, well, because we’re poor. Many times poor means crime. Before moving, we scoured the crime reports and drove through the neighborhood before determining it safe. In Indiana, penalties for drug and violent crimes committed near a school are stricter, meaning living next to a school is considered safer.
I’ve stared at the school all day. Doesn’t make me sadder really, but brought my daydreams to a front.
I imagined Cora here. The good weather means we surely would have taken her to a park. If Cora were here, we’d probably not have chosen this neighborhood. It is safe, but I wouldn’t have taken any risks with Cora in our home.
We planned on moving all along, so I’m not sure where we’d be. I like to picture us in Bloomington, the home of my college alma mater, Indiana University. It’s a college town, but also great for having children. I like to think of packing the diaper bag, the stroller, a blanket, snacks, Reggie, and Ben and Cora in the car and driving to the beautiful IU campus. I would show Cora my favorite campus spots, the buildings I loved, telling her about the classes I hated, and the teachers that changed the way I thought for the better. She wouldn’t be able to talk back yet, but would look interested, so I imagine six months to be a wonderful age.
I take breaks in writing this to stare off and out the window. A big tree grows almost as tall as the school. The breeze must be wonderful because the tree dances.
I can feel Cora and I in that breeze, stretched on a blanket, me telling her silly stories, calling her silly nicknames, and the breeze washing over us.
For some reason, the thought comes to mind that this might be my most sad post ever, but also the happiest. The vision of Cora is so happy. I hope I can make you feel that happiness, too. I hope you aren’t only sad when reading, but also happy. Sad happy.
I can't believe it's been six months. At least I have dreams. I always have my daydreams.
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