I’m still here.
I’m processing things privately these days. Doing a lot of living. Spending lots of time away from computer screens and iPhone apps. After Cora died, I spent a long time feeling the need to be immersed in my own thoughts, which I processed and shared with others through this blog.
The theme of the past few months has been “action.” Moving. Just doing. Normal things. New things.
As you’ve probably gathered from my five years blogging here, I am really into the seasons. The seasons of the year. The seasons of my grief. The seasons of life.
Spring is a great time for a season of action. It was a long winter of reflecting, and now is the time for moving. I’m forever grieving, but over the past year or so, my grief for Cora moved from becoming who I was to becoming a part of me.
I worked hard to make Cora part of me forever. I still worry that she will be forgotten. Few got to meet her. Only me, my husband and my mother really knew her. Knew her personality, habits and her soul. Yup, five days in and we all have those things.
It’s why I worked so hard the past few years, so she’d get to live on. I tried to sat a ball in motion that would mean she lived long past I died. I of course won’t stop completely. But in my mind, the ball has motion now and requires some pushing from time-to time.
The other day I was in the car with someone I wouldn’t call even an acquaintance. Someone just around once and awhile. She told me about a grave yard in her back yard at a former residence.
She repeated over and over, “They were all just babies,” and that the grave yard had been long forgotten. That she was the only one to tend to it all. She said “these babies parents are long gone and they were the only ones who ever knew them anyway.”
She was right. As hard as it was to hear.
I’m lucky. Society has transformed and through modern technology coupled with a shift in societal views (we still have a way to go with that), I can forever talk about my baby.
I don’t have to go visit her in some small cemetery, privately and fearing if people found out I visited her often, they’d gossip about how I wasn’t over it. I don’t have to die and have that little cemetery be forgotten. Cora isn’t even buried anywhere.
We’ve decided to slowly take her ashes and spread them as we go. She’s part of the world now. We gave her back. We didn’t want to, but we had to.
Meanwhile, I can’t get those graves of those little forgotten babies out of my mind. I picture a rolling graveyard in the hills hidden on the edge of a forest overgrown with weeds. Headstones cracking and hard to read.
They were real. They mattered.
I might not write about Cora daily. I don’t post about her daily on social media. I don’t spend my days yelling from the roof tops anymore, but she’s not sequestered to some tiny forgotten overgrown place in my mind.
I keep her part of me moving forward. I tend to her place in my heart and mind daily. The real estate she takes up in my mind, heart and thoughts isn’t someplace I let turn dark, untended and forgotten.
She was real. She matters.