She's twirling long locks of red hair around her left index finger. When she was little we thought she would be left handed, but in 13 years she had never used the left hand for anything else. Cass's mom and I agree that the hair twirl is a sure sign of her deepest distress.
At 13 I didn't know the word anxiety but Cass's friends seem to have more awareness of their anxiety than the weather. I grieve for the heaviness of her heart as she deals with drama years beyond what should define childhood.
Cass shows up in my shop on the heaviest of her days, as usual I am at a loss for how to help. Her world is as foreign to me as the box of antique tools I am trying to identify. The day I opened Cassidy's Creations she was five and convinced it was her very own play place. I am grateful we've built a connection, a place her world makes sense. .
“Why is this happening Grandma?” she sobbed.
An outburst from Cass was totally out of character. As I turned the door sign to closed and sat down beside her the dam broke.
“All the kids hate me and I won't ever go back to school again! My life is ruined!”
“Sweet Cass, that's a huge load of darkness you are carrying. Whatever happened has blinded you to all the light around you.”
“But there isn't any light Gran, the bad stuff always wins. Why can't you see that?”
“I understand you can't see through the muddle sweetheart but the light always beats the darkness.”
Cass curled up like an abandoned puppy. Even at 70 I could remember the roller coaster of teen pain. The calm and peace of old age is a gift I always appreciate, but there was no way to hand that to Cass today.
Cass loves my lacy hankies. She has used them for doll blankets and fancy dress up clothes, I grab two and replace the soggy tissues in her hand.
“Get up and come with me right now, Sassy Cass.”
“No Gran, I don't want to go anywhere!”
“I don't remember giving you a choice but I am giving you this antique ball peen hammer.”
“Grandma! I'm mad and sad but I can't hurt anyone, you know that!”
“Who said anything about hurting anyone? We are going to the garage and you will need the hammer.”
“If this is 'work it off' therapy, it won't work!”
“Just trust me on this girl. Come right over here, and help me with these rocks.”
“These are ugly rocks Gran, why in the world are we getting these?”
“Pick out your favorite, and bring it over here.”
“My favorite ugly, dirty rock? What in the world? Grandma are you getting dementia or something?”
She looks like I've lost my mind but that's the privilege of old age isn't it?
“Put your rock on the stump and grab that hammer. Let's see how tough you are. Oh you need this too.”
The look on her face when I pulled the chisel out of my apron pocket was worth a good laugh, but I assumed she would not take it well.
“Lay the chisel in this dip in the rock and then give it a good whack with the hammer. No tapping, whack it with all that darkness and hurt in you.”
“How can this help, you always said violence isn't the answer.”
“Just hit it Cass, give it all you got.”
She hits the rock halfheartedly and looks at me with utter confusion. I can see the moment her pain finds the feel of the hammer and gets into the release. Four hits in it happens. Cass falls to her knees, her tears turning to laughter.
“Grandma, what is this? How does a dirty old rock look like this inside? What are these?”.
Kneeling beside my sweet Cassidy I pull her into my arms and stroke that long red hair.
“That ugly old rock is a geode and all the beautiful glittery pieces are crystals. They say that sand inside the rocks erodes the surfaces and the crystals form. Aren't they lovely? Always break through the darkness, don't let it hide the light. Every single time Cassidy, there will be crystals.”.