I reached out to my friend. She was with me when I had pulled the papers out and ached. She was at work, but she texted and offered comfort and solutions. Maybe connect them with his Family Search information?
I stop breathing.
One more place to write down that he is dead...a place that feels more final to me than any other place I've written it thus far. My tightrope between my lungs almost snaps this time, it's pulling so tight.
I open Family Search.
I can hear Cory's voice reminding me to breathe, as he had so many times in my life when I was doing something that was particularly hard for me. I would always seem to hold my breath. But this is different. I'm not holding it, I simply cannot breathe. My tightrope-heart between my lungs is so tight it feels like it will pull my lungs right out of their places or it will rip in two if I try to make my lungs take in air.
I go to our family tree.
Our family tree.
I see my name and Cory's name written together. To the left are the names of our seven still-born and miscarried children, with "deceased" written under each name. To the right is the name of my mother with "deceased" written under it. I ache as I read each name and remember each experience. My heart-rope gets tighter.
They are all deceased. But there is Cory's name with "living" written under it.
I click on Cory's name. Then I click on "edit" next to the "living" designation.
I look at it forever. How do I click that space? How do I do this?
My tightrope snaps. Deeply. Achingly. All of me is torn in two forever.
I will never breathe again. How can I? It hurts. I am sitting here, crying, with no noise coming out and no air coming in, tears streaming down my face with my mouth open wide - a gaping hole that would expel my heart out of my body if it could. It hurts so much. Eternity passes as I become light-headed and faint.
I breathe again. Shallow. But I breathe.
Then I click "deceased."
And that is that.