Encounters

Will we ever know the whole story of our lives, as God does?  Probably not, at least not until we face death.  I wonder what that story will look like, how it will read?  Where did a simple encounter impart great wisdom or preparation ...or faith in our lives, my life?  We never really know, do we?  I'm pondering things like this as I step forward with my girl in tow, snuggled tightly against my heart, heading to Bethlehem.  I'm not the only one on my way.  No one wears a sign telling us the direction they're headed.  But I know for sure there are others making the month's long journey through tough terrain.  For sure there are plenty who will spend the month as a festival of sorts, shopping, entertaining, those things so embedded in our culture.  Its not their time, I think.  Not there time to gaze yet upon the bright star leading them to the source of their life.  I hope it will come for everyone, soon.  Sometimes I wish I didn't have this gift of faith as I do ...why can't I just play all the time, ignore the divine, play dumb to the mark of a life in Him.  But I don't really wish that, because there is no real foundation in that, no real joy.
Back to my journey to Bethlehem.   I've wondered who I will meet along the way, if anyone.  I know up ahead is a young expectant mother.  I know her, trust her.  She's the lady who first laid hands on Phoebe when she died.  I know she held her quickly.  I've known this woman for a long time now, Blessed Mother.  Christ's first tabernacle.  She's the one I've asked over and over to step in for me, when my mothering is weak.  Please, please be the mother to my child(ren) I cannot be right now.  And she has always stepped in, all I need do is ask.  I begged her that dreadful day.  I know she wept with me and for me as she held my beautiful girl, my Phoebe, gently in her arms.  So I follow her silhouette up ahead.  She is careful, but certain in her steps, as she cradles the greatest treasure known to man ...Christ within her.  I follow her.
But who else might I meet along the way.  Only God knows, and only God orchestrates the encounters that bring peace, healing, wholeness.  So let me tell you a story about someone I met last night on my journey to
Bethlehem.
It was early evening over eighteen years ago, August 12, 1992.  A beautiful summer night, an August night, early on.  I remember that the day was a magnificent summer day, warm, bright, low humidity.  A day when clothes didn't stick to you, the air was dry and comfortable.  It had been a perfect beach day and we had spent our time there, my husband, two year old son, myself.  It was a night out of a storybook ...for us, but not for everyone ...and as we know now, not for us either. Around 4:30 my firefighter husband headed off to work.  He had the overnight shift ...tomorrow promised another perfect beach day. 
I had put Stephen, our little boy, to bed, listened to the sounds of a ball game across the street, probably watered my flowers.  The phone rang ...no caller ID, no cell phones back then, just the ring, ring.  I answered and it was my husband.   He usually called to check in, say goodnight, but there was something in his voice.  I don't remember his exact words, but I remember his voice and his sorrowful heart.  As I listened  he told me what had happened.  Shortly after arriving to work, milling about the station, a call came in for Engine 3.  It was shift change, there was radio testing to do, trucks to be checked ...all the routine stuff of passing from one crew to the next.  Your whole crew doesn't arrive at exactly the same time, nor are they all relieved at the same time.  So you might have half of the day crew with half the night crew, until everyone has been relieved.  So was the case this summer night ...a calico crew.  The call came in for a child down.  Could be anything, broken arm, bike accident, kids head stuck through a fence.  They hopped on the truck, and as my husband recalls they were there literally in seconds.  Arriving on scene, the wails of a mother, screams of a father told them where to go.  The chain link fence around the property was locked.  Stephen jumped the fence and landed right beside the father as he gave mouth to mouth to his daughter.  He looked up at my husband "am I doing it right?"  "You're perfect, let me help you" and my husband picked up the task for this heartbroken, frightened dad.  Mouth to mouth was no longer the protocol, you needed special equipment to provide air to the victim.  The risk of disease transmission on the rise makes this important, the responder should not risk disease, so they have equipment that provides a barrier, while allowing air into the victim.  But a child?  I know my husband, wasting no time, he breathed life into this girl ... at least tried.  This beautiful, nine year old girl had been electrocuted and the shock had gone right through her heart, killing her instantly.
The girl and her siblings had climbed a tree in their yard.  Her mother came out.  "What are you doing up there, come down, you know we don't want you kids climbing that tree."  "Mommy, look how high up I am."
Twenty five feet in the air, the girl reach for another branch.  Bending, it hit a live wire.  The voltage traveled through the branch, burning her hands, racing through her heart and exiting her foot.  She fell through the tree 25 feet, landing without breaking a bone.  She was dead.  The girl, alive and vibrant just moments ago lay dead beneath the tree she had conquered, the tree that brought her up high enough to touch the sky, making her smile in delight.  She was dead.
I could hear Stephen's voice tremble as he told me, recalling all he had done, they had done.  But mostly, and I remember this still, I heard the mother's screams in my head ...and heart.  Oh, how could she go on, how would she live?  My own boy, just two, lay safely in bed upstairs.  I would never, could never lose him.
There are lots of stories that firefighters, police officers share ...they step into the most intimate, poignant, life changing moments of people's lives.  This was one, and there are two others that remain with me that he's shared with me.  Many others tug at me at the time, but just three I own, became part of me.  But this one, the nine year old girl I've held the closest ...and longest.  Now I know why.
Just a couple of weeks ago we sat in a room with other parents who share their stories of losing a child.  There are no words for this kind of loss.  Some people say it is just one type of cross.  No, it is, by far, the worst.  I know this, I live this ...it's also well documented.  Nothing approaches the pain of this kind of loss. Nothing.  Everyone quickly introduces themselves, names their child, date of loss, and how they were lost.  None of them are easy.  A face I hadn't seen before stood on the outskirts of the room.  She said her daughter died eighteen years ago by electrocution.  Something flickered in my brain, and I thought back to that summer day so long ago.  Other people there had lost a child the same way, but they were older.  I looked at my husband, he didn't flinch.  Could it be?  The group separated into two, being large that night.  Off she went.  Out of my head.  But again, last night, our introductions, this time from behind I couldn't see, the same voice lost a child, 9, eighteen years ago, electrocution.  Again, the group is large, so we separate, her off to the different room.  Out of my head.  At the end of the night, she approached me.  "I'm so sorry about your daughter."  "Thank you, I say."  "I lost my daughter eighteen years ago, it still hurts, but you will get through it."  She asks me my girl's name.  I tell her.  I ask her where she is from.  She tells me.  I ask her the neighborhood. She tells me.  "By Engine 3."  "Yes, right around the corner from me."  I don't want to pry, but something pushes me on.  "Was your daughter climbing a tree?"  Eyebrows furrow.  "Yes, she was."  Was it summertime?"  "August 12, yes, it was the most beautiful summer day."  I hesitate;  I know her story.  I've carried in my heart for eighteen years.  "I think my husband responded to that call."  She looks around the room.  I tilt my head toward my big, tall Irishman.  Hand goes to her cover her mouth.  "I never met anyone who came to her."   I call his name.  He looks up to her, there eyes meet as I watch.  "You were there, with my daughter."  He looks to me, confused.  "The nine year old in the summer, remember."  I watch his face, stricken as he opens his arms and he embraces her.  They rest, these two intimate strangers in each other's arms.  "I knew you looked familiar" he says.  And they relive the story, together, one following the other, sharing the details, reliving the nightmare as if it were just then ...together.  "I remember you jumped the fence."  "Yes, I gave her mouth to mouth."  Detail after detail spills out.  "I don't want to upset you with these details" he says.  "No, tell me everything you remember."  "The kids were at the corner, waiting for us."  "Yes, that was ..."  "It was around 5:00, I had just arrived to work."  "It was 5:20."  They go on and on.  Stopping to hold each other.  She turns to me to hold me, "I'm sorry she said, I don't mean to ignore you, I don't mean to not talk about your daughter."  How could she know what was happening inside me, recognizing how God had prepared us ...for this loss, our own, so recent and fresh.  So many years ago, he began to ready us as our hearts ached for this mother and father we didn't know, but whose loss wedged its way into our hearts as a story we would never forget.  And here we were eighteen years later, embracing each other.  I pulled out Phoebe's picture.  "Phoebe? ...she is beautiful."  She stares at that picture and whispers to herself  "Phoebe is with Joy.  Phoebe is with Joy!"  For the first time I heard her daughter's name ...Joy!  Phoebe is with Joy!
This mother says to us that she has not come for a while now, but something made her come.  She knew a woman who recently lost a son to cancer and encouraged her to find support in this group.  But that wasn't the reason ...something had pulled her back, called her back.  She didn't know what ...but now she did.  She came to know the man who tried to save her daughter, who heard her wails like no other ...the wailing of a mother over her lifeless child.  She came to us ...this couple, this mother and father, that she had prepared so long ago for their own loss ...of their own girl.  She came to tell us that Phoebe is with Joy ...that Phoebe is with joy.  She came to tell us.
Quickly, I figure when Phoebe was born in relation to Joy's death.  Pregnancy is nine months and one week.  Phoebe was born nine months and five days after Joy died.  From the beginning of her life, the moment of her conception, God has been preparing us to lose her ...or, preparing us to offer her back ...with Joy, with joy!
Have I not asked that I might deliver my girl, my Phoebe, to the manger with a great love and joyful heart.  And He has heard my plea, my prayer, my begging ...and he has lit my path.  Phoebe is going to the manger, to Bethlehem with Joy.  I've begged in prayer for God to give me that joy in my heart ...and He has given more than I've asked for ...He's given me Joy ...this nine year old girl, my husband tried to save, and her mother, with the gold crucifix around her neck, who whispers, for Him, Phoebe is with Joy!
And so, already, just into my journey, with my girl swaddled in my heart, to be delivered ...look at the gift I have received.  God's generosity can never, will never be outdone. Look at who I've met on my way to Bethlehem.
This is a story only God could write ...and it has been written ...for me.  Thank you dear Lord.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Promise

My head is low as I move ever so slowly.  I trust and believe there is grace in Bethlehem.  I feel as though God, all the saints and angels have taken a step back from me.  "Feeling" it doesn't mean its true though.  He is there, they are all there.  I just believe.  People have asked me where I get my faith.  I've responded at times ...if I followed my feelings, allowed them to lead, I would have no faith.  My feelings about things would have me on a bus to wherever, angry, confused, fleeing this life.  Faith is a gift, an infusion of understanding, acceptance that I beg for every day.  I ask over and over for the gift of faith.  Years of practice have formed the habit of greeting God before my feet hit the floor, before my day heads off into the unknown travels of a busy household.  I beg God to put people, books, whatever can lead me, so that I might hold on for dear life ...to Him, my Creator. And I try my best to use the sacraments He's given us ...Mass, confession, marriage, the graces of baptism, all those immeasurable gifts that nourish and nurture.   Each step is not in perfect obedience, I don't dance all that well most days.  I have a mind and a will of my own.  Sometimes even, I believe through and through that I know better than Him.  Like now for instance, I'm pretty confident it would have been MUCH better for Him to leave Phoebe be, just let her be ...here with me.  Let her be here with her sisters ...hurting so much, missing her hard.
I'm bringing Phoebe to Bethlehem, not out of desire,  not out of feeling like making this arduous journey.
I'm bringing Phoebe to Bethlehem ...because a young woman, a girl really, said YES.  Mary said YES, knowing the worldly cost.  Because of her yes, Christ came, Our savior was born of her.  Because He was born of her, he lived among us and taught us His way, His Truth.  He didn't "adjust" to fit the culture.  He taught us how to live above and beyond the culture.  He taught us how to live for Heaven.  Because He taught us to live above and beyond the culture, heading for Heaven ...He was nailed to a cross.  Even Christ begged His Father that this cup should pass.  Even Christ.  Christ gave us every ounce of blood that ran through His human veins, every breath, including His last, was given up for us.  Because He did all this, we have the promise of forgiveness, the promise of mercy, justice ...the promise of Heaven.  If we believe this, if we live this, if we strive to be part of this story until it hurts, those promises are ours, for us.  But if we look at it like a quaint story, something we take down, read and say at times, "Oh, He didn't really mean that."  If we think we can use the culture as our compass, instead of Him, we simply collect dust on the story, and we forgo being part of the story.
I want eternal happiness in Heaven for my whole family ...for everyone.  That doesn't just happen.  We have to make the trip, follow His way.  I'm going.  I'll give it my all on this trip to Bethlehem, but I am going.  So my will, my desires of this world, my desire to be admired and respected by this world, must be cast off.  Hard?  Yes, especially for someone with my temperament!  If loving Christ, following Christ means being marginalized, pushed to the side as a bit "odd"  then please, let me be marginalized.  If loving Christ means sneers and rejection, then let it come.  If loving Christ means that I must, with great love, offer my daughter back to Him ...who gave her to me in the first place ...then please grant me the grace to loosen my hold, to let go of my will, let go of her, so that I might freely, radically give her back to God.  I'm heading to Bethlehem;  I'm heading towards the promise.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Hesitant

Today begins my journey to Bethlehem. First day of Advent. First day of the new liturgical year ...the Church's New Year. I don't feel much like starting a new year. I don't feel much like making this journey. The end of it calls me to place Phoebe in the manger with the infant Savior, Christ, my King, our King. I packed and am ready ...but, oh so hesitant. It will be a hard journey for sure, a lonely one. I'll probably want to turn back, maybe try to get lost along the way. I'll wrestle with lots of frustration, confusion, but mostly pain and sorrow. Why should I have to bring my daughter, so young, so loved and leave her there, in the manger? There is no justice in this journey, no joy. So, why I am I so determined to make this difficult trek, carrying my daughter in my heart and leaving her there. I can't really explain. It just seems right. More than that, I am convicted, certain it is right.
This morning, my youngest, told another that "Phoebe needs to get out of Mom's heart. She is pounding really, really hard because she needs to get out." Shared as a cute story, it struck me. I've thought about this, her need to be set free, the need for me to set her free. I've had fleeting images of Phoebe, she is never smiling at me. She is weighted, concerned. Her expression is the same as when she knew I didn't fully understand something ...when she was patient with me. There is no impatience in her face for me now ...just concern. The image I had of her Thanksgiving night outside alone. Phoebe did not smile at me. In the few dreams I've had she's been distant, somewhere else to be ...never smiling, not angry, not speaking, just showing concern in her eyes ...a deep awareness of me. With Mary Claire saying that to another sibling, I wonder what she senses that I don't. Phoebe wants me to let her go? How could that be? Wouldn't she want to be held onto for all time, until we reunite? Part of me feels rejected ...certainly by her death, but more even now as this sense of her need for me to release her builds. I cannot just leave her, say "ok, bye for now." Then, just move on. Yet, that is what I must do. But how do I? I have to trust that God, with whom I am quite angry, has a plan, that He sees and desires my wholeness and fullness with Him. I have to believe that my children are better off for all eternity ...because of ...despite ...this nightmare. That is so so hard. How do I tell my weeping child, desperately missing their sister, their best friend, that really this is all for the best? How? Does this show at all the merciful, just God I've taught them to love? These are questions beyond hard ...they are impossible to answer, irrational. But there is an answer ....and He has a name, Christ our Savior. Impossibly conceived in the womb of a virgin. Irrationally born among animals in a manger ...because His own didn't even notice their own rejection of Him. Unbelievably nailed to a cross, hung to die, mocked and spit upon. This is my King, Phoebe's King. I want to find my way to the manger, so I can take my place at the foot of the cross with true contrition and pure love for the One who died for me. I don't pretend to understand. I don't claim wisdom. But I follow my faith and its promise. "Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1 And so my prayer, my insistent prayer, is this: "Lord, make me know your ways. Lord, teach me your paths. Make me walk in your truth, and teach me: for you are God my Savior."

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Turning Stones

Some things get easier ...I think.  Walking into her room, touching her things doesn't rattle me quite as much.  There is more of a rhythm, an ease making my way into and about her space.  I'm in constant conversation with Phoebe.  Sometimes I think she answers me and I shake it off, knowing I'm playing my own game, wishing, inside my head.  But sometimes, the responses are so insistent and encouraging that I do wonder if they are real.  A few times even, had I found her sitting on the couch it wouldn't have surprised me.  Seemed quite natural ...because, in fact, it was.  Last night, after dinner, I stepped outside to let the sobs break free.  The day had been so good, and we were happy ...but once the meal was done, that finality, the permanence of her not being with me, stabbed hard.  I wanted to unglue, but alone ...so I stepped outside.  And I cried hard from wanting her, Phoebe.  The air was cool and damp, the sun had set.  In my mind, she stepped out from behind a tree at my side.  She was wearing her blue oxford shirt and shorts ...her comfort clothes.  Her hair was up in her silly, floppy bun and, of course, she was barefoot.  She just stepped out and caught my eye ...a look of sadness ...I know Mom, I'm sorry ...her eyes told me.  There is nothing she can do ...nothing anyone can do as I beg the question of why over and over.  I don't think any of that is real ...but maybe they are little glimpses to let me know she sees me.  Phoebe and I communicated a lot through eye contact when we were in social settings.  I could read her eyes as she moved them in certain ways to let me know something.  I don't have that with anyone else ...just her. And now I don't anymore, so after seventeen years, I'm relearning how to "be" in social settings where she would have been.  I never realized that until now, it was just such a part of me and us.  But I saw it again last night ...in my head ...those eyes that told me so much ...I know Mom, I know.  Then why, Phoebe, why, I want to scream.  Answer me.  Why have you left me with so much?  So much to worry about, so many to worry about, so many unanswered questions.  But most of all answer me, why my oldest girl, why was I not enough for you?  Didn't you know how much this would hurt?
You learn as you grieve that you go over and over, examining the finest details of your life with the one you've lost.  Everything is viewed with precision and introspection.  Each conversation rewritten, fine tuned, anticipating a different outcome, anticipating a life that would have continued.  From the first moments of my mothering I see mistakes I made.  I see them all along her path.  What one moment would have changed the course?  I'll turn over every stone I find ...looking, searching, pleading for the answer.  But there is none to be found.  Life is.  It just is.  No parent would look back and say "My, what I fine job I've done at every turn."  And if they did ...what a horrible parent they must be!  We are human, imperfect, doing our best.  Have I failed?  No, but the weight of letting her down speaks failure to me.  I can't listen to that. 
I just keep giving it all back to God.  God sees, He knows my story, He allowed me to write my story.  And sadly, He allowed Phoebe to write hers. We had different endings for her story.  We were supposed to share turkey sandwiches today.  "Mom, did you get the country white bread ...and make sure you have extra cranberry sauce."  "Supposed to?!"  One thing I've learned loud and clear is that "supposed to" has no bearing on anything. 
I want to ease out of this post with some words of inspiration and hope.  They are inside of me, but they don't want to come out right now.  I feel as if God is saying "be still."  Healing is important, and part of that is just resting ...being still.  He carries my load for me at this moment.  There are no words except "be still" that come from Him into my heart.  I am flat ...with a long road ahead that promises peaks and valleys, but for now ...it's just a long, flat road.  I drove one of those long flat roads once with a good friend, in New Mexico.  I remember commenting on how flat it was ...nothing but flat.  You don't really know what flat is until you drive a road like this one.  She assured me that up ahead, a few hours, I would see something other than flat.  I didn't believe her ...like a child in the backseat,whose mother answers "just a few more minutes, honey.  The child knows full well that means its a really, really long wait.  But sure enough, up rose a mountain.  The magnificence grew as we inched closer.  It felt like hours watching that mountain grow on the horizon.  I was stunned by its beauty and appearance out of this nowhere flatness.  I think I'm on that road again.  Phoebe didn't care much for anything that hinted of flat, so I'm pretty sure she'll do what she can to get me to that mountain real soon.  I'll keep you posted.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe, and my perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Throwing your heart

I thought I would write about how terrible today was ...how i barely made it through. Instead, I can tell you that given our loss, our tragic, terrible void ...the missing of Phoebe ...we had a very nice, well loved day. For the first time in nearly seven weeks I woke with a bit of happiness and anticipation. We started our day with a road race with all the expected people ...but some unexpected as well. The t-shirts were beautiful and easy to pick out in the crowd. I was able to cheer every runner on over the finish line and get their picture. The joy, the generosity, the energy that Phoebe carried was all there ...she would have loved this. Soon, I hope, I'll upload some of the pictures and let you take a look at these people who have loved us so well ...whose own radiance lights our way and leads us through. We had lots of laughter too ...two lovebirds holding hands while crossing the finish line. I told them hearts were floating out of there heads above them ...because they were! Five months pregnant, another sprinted over the finish line ...beating her husband, brothers, father ...okay, I won't rub it in anymore. My girls had there own fun running with their friends, finishing with big smiles. Could they be more beautiful? My son ran too. But the one that caught my heart most of all was my husband. An off and on runner, he gave it up last spring due to bad knees. Today's race was a 2 or 5 mile run/walk ...take your pick. I sensed this morning that while I had a sense of mission to get out the door, he seemed to hold back a bit. The plan was that he would walk the five mile. He was deep in thought ...his own place, his own private journey. Just before start time, he quickly told me he would run it as best he could. I thought to say "but your knees." I bit my tongue ...this was for Phoebe. Phoebe and Dad ...so similar in many ways ...pushing the limits of life, of ideas ...the philosophical, the physical ...in ways unexplored by most. "Throw your heart down the hill, Phoebe ...give it everything you've got." How many times did I hear him say that to her? So this morning I knew he had decided to throw his heart down the hill ...for her, his girl. So when he crossed the finish line ...there was no public record of note, no impressive time. Just a heart that sang a song for his girl, just a heart thrown down the hill, chasing his girl. Thats the finish I'll remember on this first Thanksgiving day without her.

Thanksgiving

It's getting late, the day almost done.  Tomorrow is Thanksgiving ...our first without Phoebe.  Our day promises to be surrounded with lots of love and friendship ...we are blessed.  I've always cooked in the past.  Usually, its a small gathering ...a lazy day, a long walk, lots of food, all the girls watching "Little Women."  Tomorrow will be different.  I know for sure there will be lots of laughter among my kids ...they'll get lots of hugs.  I will too ...laugh and get lots of hugs.  I miss her.  Plain and simple.  She belongs here, asking me what we're having, telling me what we should do again, maybe skip next year.  She belongs here with me, side by side, in my kitchen so I can teach her, again, the art of Thanksgiving dinner.  In my future, I saw us all at Phoebe's house.  Just seemed right.  She would take over, tell me where to go.  Funny how such a personality can just ...vanish.
I count my blessings though, of which there are many.  Seven of them still live here with me.  Many more don't.  Phoebe was mine for seventeen years, 4 months and almost 22 days.  A hundred years ago she may have easily died in childbirth at that age.  But it's not a hundred years ago, and that's not what happened.  Phoebe made a choice to leave ...without saying goodbye ...without permission.  When Phoebe died, part of me did too.  So, I guess for now, I'm thankful for what is left of me ...and I'm thankful for what God has in store for me ...He always has something.  I'm grateful that I can still say thank you.  But, I miss her.
Of course you do, you say.  No, unless you've lost a child, you have no idea.  I never did ...couldn't even let myself imagine it ...what it might possibly feel like. Today, I live it ...this thing there are no words for.  So many words that comfort and soothe ...and yet there is this chasm.  Do you remember in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, when the misfit toys break off a piece of ice and float away. The toys on shore can no longer help them.  Off they go!  Alone!  Now, it all works out for them in the end.  I am on that ice boat now ...alone! adrift! Where will I end up?  Oh, I know I'm not really alone.  I have my husband, kids, a wonderful support network ...but inside, I'm alone.  Without Phoebe, I'm alone.  Memories are so good to replay ...they  nourish and confirm that there was love and fun ...life.
A couple of years ago, I went out for a run with Phoebe.  It was rather pathetic on my part.  I slowed her down ...and she let me know it.  The sun had nearly set.  I ended up walking and she ran ahead then back.
Finally, she told me she'd just finish the run home and would see me there.  "Okay."  I said.  Watching her head off into the near night, I saw her slow, seem hesitant, start running at an angle, then turning quickly and sprinting towards me, right into my arms.  "There's a coyote"  she screamed.  As if I could save her!  We clung to each other as we made our way home.  You would have thought we were with Shackleton on his adventures when we arrived home to tell the tale.  It makes me laugh that memory.  We laughed about that so often.  Each time since then when she'd head out for a run I'd say "want me to join you?"  Both of us would just giggle, she'd roll her eyes "Um, yeah, no thanks, I could do without the coyotes."  Somehow I was the cause of the coyote in her path.  I'm glad I had that run with her ...well, that walk.
Tomorrow morning "Phoebe's Team" will cross the finish line of a road race.  I was planning to walk it. My plan now is to stand firm and watch every one of her team cross that finish line. The team -shirts have a picture of her.  So,  I will watch her smiling, beautiful face race towards me, and my heart will be lifted ...if only for a moment.
Happy Thanksgiving!  Happy Blessings to all of you!

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Return

The brownies, the Hubbard Squares, came out of the oven just as the door opened and I heard familiar voices making their way inside.  One of them I hadn't heard in a while.  It was Joe.  Joe had come home and had now come here to this house.  It wasn't hard like I thought it would be.  A big hug for this fine young man.  He smelled the Hubbard Squares, ready for Thanksgiving, for their house.  Something I thought would make me sad, made me comfortable.  We talked all about school, his classes, the city ...  and we talked about Phoebe. He knew her, had some fun with her, shared some laughs.   A bunch of familiar faces sat around and talked and laughed ...it was a scene Phoebe would have loved.  And I think she did tonight.  And I think she made sure it brought comfort to me. 
This grief thing is hard.  I don't ever expect that there will be a last day of wanting her.  But there are moments of wanting her that don't hurt so much.  I told a friend today that I am not accustomed to this cross yet, but one day, I will be.  The burden will be lighter ...I will sense her or appreciate her, while not despairing in my own loss.  Tonight was just a glimmer of that.  God quenched my thirst ever so slightly ...just enough to not satiate, just enough to keep me leaning into Him ...into this pain.  The harder I lean in to Him, the closer I come to know Him.   I have a very long way to go, but I'm willing to make the journey.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Longing

Sometimes it really feels like God is playing with us. This whole fiasco, disaster couldn't possibly come from a loving God. What kind of a father would do such a thing to a family that strives to love Him and show Him that love? Sounds like a madman! That gaping hole just doesn't quit. I'm still factoring Phoebe into my day until I remember she isn't part of it ...here anyway. But if I can listen, try to lean my ear up towards Heaven ...I can hear something that is much sweeter than my own thoughts. Last night we traveled into Boston for Mass at a church with a late, 8 PM, Mass. It was the last place Phoebe went to Mass, so it lured me a bit. I had never been, but have always heard good things ...perpetual adoration, plenty of times for confessions, no convoluted homilies ...the things that speak to me and put me at ease. I know I seem "over the top" perhaps, but my mission has always been to teach my kids the authentic faith ...not a morphed version of it, often called "cafeteria catholic."  So I choose where we go carefully.  One daughter already suffered great confusion, I don't need another to.  Mary Claire leaned into my face. Loudly she whispered "Are you sad?" "No" I answered. "Are you?" "No, I'm not, because she is here with me." "Who?" "Phoebe!, She's right up there" And she pointed to the ceiling above the altar. As I listened, I knew ...because isn't that where all our deceased ...the Church Suffering and the Church Triumphant are, right there in our midst, but most especially in perpetual adoration. Ah yes! Thank you for the reminder. Later, as the priest spoke he reminded us of the three times Pilot would have let Christ free. But no one ...disciple, blind man given sight, forgiven sinner woman at the well ...no one came to his defense ...probably out of fear. Christ stood alone ..and was condemned ....and nailed ...to the cross ...for our sins. I've grown up knowing this ...but it isn't always that I comprehend this magnitude of suffering and love. When I do, and I realize He did this for all of us, for me, for Phoebe, for the sinner on either side of Him, I am humbled. Yes, I feel alone. Yes, I am alone. I've lost my daughter. (I know I have six more, but it doesn't work like bagels ...there's still enough of those, but not enough of her.)
But He is here with me ...even without the feeling of Him, He is here. The priest posed the question if you could have one wish fulfilled what would it be? My eyes stung ...I want Phoebe back. I want her here with me, even with the worry of her ...the promise of her.  My eyes stung because I know that wish will never be granted ...can never be.  On the car ride home I asked my husband what his one wish would be. He had felt broken all day, to put one foot in front of the other was work of extraordinary measure. Today, he was hurting more than me. It's like that, we seem to take turns. His answer "eternal happiness for our whole family." As usual he finds the big picture answer while I search for and desire the immediate.  I told him mine and he said "She would just have to go again ...we all will." We will all die, yes that is true, and hopefully we all will merit a place in Heaven. One day we will all be together for all eternity ...  How I wish I could say that is enough for me.  But it isn't.  I don't understand why Phoebe had to die, why He allowed her to die.  I see no justice, no mercy in this, my missing my daughter.
I need that reminder again today. I need to listen, to get out of my own head, my own words that want to tell God he let me down. He didn't let me down. He put me in the desert.  Why, I have no idea. 
Thanksgiving.  Homecoming.  Friends, dear ones, returning from school.  Phoebe would have a new bounce today knowing they were home in just a few short days.  It would have been a weekend of giggles, movies, catching up.  I would hear the familiar footsteps, the laughter spilling through my front door.  "Mom, what should we do?" she would ask, dismissing everything I suggested as if it came from Mars, but she would giggle ...and they would too.  They might still giggle, I hope they do, but not with Phoebe, and not with me in the way that had grown so familiar, so comfortable.
One young man returns, I haven't seen him yet ...since Phoebe died.  Friends since childhood, some shared memories, family friendship ...I remember the time we searched and searched for them at a BIG wedding.  My friend and I growing in panic ...the dads staying calm, but urgent ...and we found them, exactly where we told every child NOT to go.  Joe and Phoebe on the dock, on the pond, out of sight, just enjoying the day, each other.  How I long for that May day again.  When the world was safe, my worries so much smaller, and tragedy seemed remote ...impossible.
I guess its these odds and ends that I have to tie up somehow.  Seeing the people Phoebe loved that I haven't yet seen.  This time, for me, it will be Joe ...this Thanksgiving.  Poor kid, probably has no idea how much rests on him from me ...those memories.  Christmas will bring Annie home ...from so many states away.  The day I had Phoebe, I learned that Annie was on the way.  Seven months apart, their moms best friends, they've always known each other.  Familiar ...loving each other so well simply because their moms love each other so well.  Annie will be hard for me too ...I see the two of them, out too deep in the ocean, Kelly yelling for them to come in closer.  Giggling, thinking we're crazy, they move in a bit only to drift out again.  In her, I'll see Phoebe.  Phoebe loved Annie, pure and simple.  They didn't see each other a lot, but she loved her ...a simple friendship that needed no stoking.  Will these loose ends ever be tied?  Will I ever heal and not feel so raw ...taken, mocked?  Can I be happy for these wonderful people, or will I just yearn for Phoebe.  When does that tide turn?
I try so hard to listen, and when I can, I hear Him and it is sweet and soothing ...but I can't stay there long.  I can't anchor myself, I'm swept in a whirlpool, the water dragging me down.  I want to see sunlight again.  I want her laugh again.  I want to see her play again ...to fly far too high on the rope swing.  Even at 17 "watch me Mom!"  "Okay, Pheebs, I'm going inside if you swing that high, it scares me."  "C'mon Mom, you're such a chicken."  "I'm not chicken, I'm a mother!"  "Phoebe why don't you wear shoes when you skateboard."  "It's longboarding Mom, and since when have I ever worn shoes."  "Phoebe, the water is too cold for you to swim."  "Are you kidding me, last year, my first day in was March 2nd ...it's almost April!"  Phoebe, please come back and play, let me worry about you again.  Please!?
Phoebe wasn't perfect, no child is, but she was my perfect, imperfect child.  And I loved her so much.  She pulled everything she could out of me ...conditioned me, prepared me ...for this. She made me strong, strong enough to say goodbye.  But I don't want to be that strong.  If I wasn't, maybe God wouldn't have taken her from me.  Is this the price I pay for chasing my little girl her whole life?  Is this the price I pay when, finally, our stride matches, we are in step.  Side by side, we were walking side by side, and we were smiling at each other, together.  We were happy, we had arrived at the other side, had crossed the bridge ... and we were holding hands ...and she let go, without telling me.
So now, I bathe myself in tears and wish for what should have been.  I weep over the loss of my daughter and look on as others reunite with theirs ...and I am sad, and questioning.  Why did He choose this mother and this daughter to separate?  Did I do something terribly wrong?  What if I had ...?
Yet, I know the answer despite my anger, my sadness, my confusion ...that God loves me enough to offer me this horrible suffering ...and only He knows why.  It doesn't feel like enough, but for now, it has to be.  I believe that in the end, the promise will be clear, the wait and separation well worth the pain.  But to pretend it doesn't hurt, to say I can bear this, to suggest its not all that bad ...is a lie.  I hurt deeply, and the current of pain runs deep and long.  Yet, I look ahead, because someday, on that horizon, she will be and I will reach out my hand and she will hold it ...and she will say "Mom, come watch me."  And I will say "Darling girl, show me all you can do, show me how high you can fly, and how fast you can run!"  And she will be barefoot ...and I will smile with a full heart and a robust joy ...that runs deep and long.  That is the promise I believe.  The only one I can believe.  So Phoebe,  wait for me dear one.  When she was very little I would say  "you are my little helper."  "No Mommy, I your girl!"  Yes, you are my girl and how I long for the day I will see you again.  Wait for me Phoebe, please.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe, and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Passage

My head aches tonight.  Probably from plenty of tears today.  The Father/Daughter Dance is tonight at Phoebe's school.  An event she attended with her Dad the past few years.  She was supposed to go tonight.  I was supposed to do her make-up, touch her skin.  I remember the feel of it, the feel of her cheeks, her forehead and chin.  She would wear the dress we struggled to find.  Tonight she would be more beautiful than ever ...it was her time.  It would have been poignant since it would be their last time at this dance ...senior year.  Her applications would have been in for college ...a time to celebrate and enjoy the fruits of years of hard work.  But it wasn't to be ...isn't to be.  And I am sad ...because I wanted to run my fingers over her face ...with the makeup she didn't need.  I wanted to see her and her dad off.  His heart always swelled for her ...she was such a light for him.  Phoebe was special ...is special.  So today was a hard day.
Her sisters went with their dad tonight to honor Phoebe ...go in her place.  They are pretty girls, gorgeous really with their big blue eyes, much like their sister's. My kids are known for their eyes, the Walsh eyes.  All different shapes and sizes they carry a shadow of her in their profiles, expressions, movement.  She taught them all so many things ...and they learned well.  And I am proud of them, for their heroics these past six weeks.  For moving forward without their leader here in flesh.  They are sad, their hearts heavy, the constant reminder of one of them missing lingers.  But they giggle as they dress, make themselves pretty for dad, for Phoebe.  And I weep ...at all that is lost, all I had hoped.  Littlest girl sees mommy crying.  "Mom is sad" she yells through the house and then at my side she is there telling me Phoebe is in Heaven and she is happy.  Oh the faith of four year olds!  Other arms envelop me, temper the tears, rock me.  "I love you Mom, I miss her too."  Yes we do, we all do!
No one can replace her.  No one can erase what has been lost.  Our oldest daughter gone missing ...and our four year old leads us on. 
Today was a sad day ...and I know Jesus wept with me, for me, for us.  He promises a new life in Him ...so that's where I'm headed to find my groove again, to find my way ...always the way back to Him is the only way.

A Gaggle of Girls

Tonight I shuttled some of my girls, along with a few others to their girls club.  It has been a pilgrimage for many years now ...these groups that grow together, all on the backbone of faith.  How blessed am I? Since they were very little they have huddled together to make crafts, learn prayers and recognize the love God has for them.  Now as they usher into the teenage years, they have each other to weather the treacherous waters ahead.  The mothers, well, we come from different towns and distances.  We have traveled together down this path of parenting and raising children, exchanged struggles, triumphs, ideas, inspirations.  We have prayed together, had babies together, learned together, laughed ...a lot, and cried ...a lot, as of late.
Down the road a ways, we gather, these four women ...with a few younger kids in tow.  Impromptu plans, quick text messages (aren't we so modern!) find us a spot.  Hugs and smiles, we share coffee and ice cream ...and we hover over our loss ...our loss of Phoebe.  The oldest among the girls by three years ...she never made the age group for this particular group of girls, yet she was the base in many ways.  For some reason, there just weren't that many girls her age interested in these groups.  Maybe they were and we just didn't know.  I think now about "Friday Night Club" and how it was a part of Phoebe's life in that she loved her sisters involvement in it.  She encouraged them to stay with it ...even though they didn't need encouragment.  Maybe she was squirreling it away for the day they back away.  Who knows.  I know it would have benefited her, given her the haven to turn to when the world was all crazy.  But it cannot be rewritten.  It is done.
I think so much about my own loss, but then I see in these women's  eyes their own.  They loved her too.  They loved us.  They knew our struggle, our battle to survive the world and these teenage years.  They were sure of her ...because she was Phoebe.  Makes me think of a comment I may have already posted here.  A teacher shared with a friend at the wake, "I worry about these girls, where they're headed, what they're doing, how they'll make it in the world.  But Phoebe, I never worried about her.  She was smart and pretty, confident, friendly, well liked.  I never would have thought this could happen to Phoebe."  Yes, I know, nor did I.  Nor did any of us.  And that is pretty scary ...to know, really know, that no one saw this coming.  How do we make sense of this?
And so, I sit and share with these women.  I've known them all a little over twelve years.  We've aged that much together, and now even more in the past six weeks.  Is it that many already?  I can still hear her blowing her nose downstairs (it was REALLY loud) and her feet on the steps.  I can still smell her and hear her opening the fridge, just to see ...
We share, us women, us moms ...our eyes a bit more sunken.  But there is work to be done, girls to raise and we march on.
We arrive back in the parking lot to gather our car loads ...and the gaggle of girls comes tumbling out, laughter and hugs.  Screams of "I love you!"  "I miss you!" as they pile back into our cars.  We drive off, edified, raised by our sorrow, pushing on ...there is work to be done, girls to raise.  We must march on.
And we will.

Holy Days

Thanksgiving isn't necessarily a holy day, but it certainly springboards into one of the holiest of seasons.  I wonder how this season will be without Phoebe.  I expect the unexpected.  Waves of grief and sadness just tend to wash up and over, drowning me when least expected.  With holidays, there's so much anticipation that goes into the wait of the "day."  Maybe the "day" itself will be no big deal, but the road there will probably be rather bumpy.  Fortunately, we've been extended warm invitations for Thanksgiving.  At the very least, this hurting  family won't be alone to just stare at each other, to stare at the empty seat at the table.  In the past, we've always stayed home.  My mother-in-law will come over, maybe a few other relatives.  Sometimes even, my husband has to work, so we're accustomed to it being a low-key day.  This year, the first without Phoebe, we'll all be together, embraced by friends.  I'm grateful for that care. I'm nervous though, because even in the fun of friendship, the laughter, the joy ...pain seeps in and wraps around my heart.  I'm told this will happen less frequently and not last as long ...in time.  Another thing too, I know, is that it is not easy for my friends to watch me suffer.  Phoebe was my child, my daughter ...but she was well loved by so many wonderful women.  This is there loss as well.  And while they reach to console me ...they hurt too.  They hurt for me, for themselves and the big, awful question of whether this could happen to them too.  Their children hurt.  Phoebe's friends ...her immediate one's, but also the extended ones, older and younger, families, whole families are suffering over the loss of her.  Only gratitude will soothe this sorrow.  Thankfulness for being alive, being together, and most especially for having had Phoebe among us for seventeen years.  Yesterday, the 17th was her half birthday.  She's heading towards eighteen now.  How I would have liked to see that!

After that, the real season of holy days begins with Advent and our journey to Bethlehem.  I've always loved the season of Advent.  Not quite as penitential as Lent, it still is a time of sacrifice and reflection as we make our way to the manger where our Savior, our King awaits us.  We celebrate the wonderful feast days all along the way and its always been a fun way to approach Christmas and temper the commercialism that takes over, masking the real celebration.  On the eve of Dec. 6th, the kids put out one shoe (sometimes) in hopes of a treasure from St. Nick come morning time.  Dec. 8th is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception ...a joyful time to focus on Mary's purity from the moment of her creation.  Purely made, without original sin, she is the first tabernacle.  Dec. 11 we celebrate Our Lady of Guadalupe and the miraculous story of conversion in Mexico ...a promise for all of us.  Our Lucy especially loves Dec. 13th when we celebrate the feast of St. Lucy with steaming hot chocolate and some delicious pastry.  We will still do all this.  For me though, this will be a far more penitential season as I humbly approach the infant and ask his pardon for any hurt I may have caused my daughter.  I will also, though, approach with a glad heart because I believe I have been given a great gift.  After Phoebe died, we piled in the car the next day, the eight of us and headed to Bar Harbor, ME as had been planned with Phoebe.  We were visiting her dream college ...finishing what she had started.  Looking back, it was the best thing we could have done ....very healing.  Our last part of the visit we climbed the highest point in Acadia National Park.  The wind whipped while the sun shone bright.  I was overwhelmed on this mountaintop with the smell of pine, for me, the smell of Christmas.  I looked at Stephen, my husband, and said ...Phoebe is at the Nativity.  She is safe.  As I have said before, I do not know if Phoebe is yet in Heaven, but I know one day she will be.  The Christmas theme keeps popping up ....Christmas trees are on the pottery that miraculously came to us ...and other little ways outside the normal.  It has been revealed that it is on Christmas Day that more souls are brought from Purgatory to Heaven than any other day.  Whether it is wishful thinking or a real awareness, I have a strong sense that Phoebe is going to Heaven on Christmas Day.
 I could be wrong, but I am planning on celebrating Christmas, this Christmas with that in mind, while never ceasing to pray for soul.  It may be that very commitment, and those lifelong prayers I will say that will merit Heaven for her this year on that very special, very holy day.  Part of that journey towards Christmas will include the prayers and disposition of one approaching the King and offering my gift, my daughter, my Phoebe.

Stay with me as I seem to take a side trip.  For the past several years, I have sustained my life as a homeschooling mother largely because of two blogs I visit regularly.  Both of them are homeschooling mothers with a bunch of kids ...they share the journey and the struggle, all interfaced with and leaning towards God ...towards heading home ...to Heaven.  I've written both of them and let them know how much they have offered back to me ...without knowing anything about me or my life.  They have a gift, and they share it well and have probably kept many a mother from going crazy ...for real!  Both of them integrate their faith in their daily lives with their children.  I strive to do the same, but fall far shorter than them ...but I push on.  Both of them are worth your time ...because both live with and see God in the ordinary.  Elizabeth Foss is a Catholic mother who weaves the faith into her everyday.  I've learned so much from her.  Visit her blog "In the Heart of My Home" at http://ebeth.typepad.com/.  Ann Voskamp is the other.  She has Christ in her life as if He is right there beside her.  She asks real questions about real struggles ... she exposes the bone.  I don't know her particular denomination, but she knows Him in ways I hope to one day.  She is also a wonderful photographer.  Her music from her blog plays in my house every morning.  My kids tease me, but when its not on ...I hear about it.  You can visit Ann at Holy Experience, http://www.aholyexperience.com/.  Ann's oldest has crafted a beautiful advent wreath that can also be used during Lent.  It makes the journey to Bethlehem with Mary on the Donkey.  I ordered one.  I have not been asked to make any sales pitch on their behalf, I am simply sharing what I believe is a gift for me, for this particular Advent leading towards this particular Christmas.  Each day we will light a candle leading to the manger.  It will be light unto my feet, it will carry me forward as my heart sags and holds me back, and begs me to resist my offering of my daughter.  It will lead my way, in a real and physical form.  God offered us His son, Christ ...and He suffered, Blessed Mother suffered.  I believe with my whole heart that if I can make my way to the Manger, His Manger and offer my girl as my gift ...then, and only then can I take my place at the foot of the cross, only then will I have merited such a holy place.  So pray for me this season ...that I can bring Phoebe to Him, wrapped in joy and love.
The hands of a fifteen year old boy I do not know have shown me the way ...Thank you Caleb!

Radical Love

A few people have expressed concern about my rest and personal care ...largely because when they read a post here they usually see the time around 4 AM.  That is not real time.  I most often write my entries during my morning time that was Phoebe's time.  Between 6:40 and 7:30 I pray and write.  These are two ways that I use a vacancy I never asked for ...the one to one time each day with my daughter.  So for those concerned, I am resting and sleeping ...a real grace, I know.  My days are still busy with homeschooling Lucy and Mary Claire, caring for the house, my husband and all the other details of managing life for a family of nine.  I say nine still because Phoebe continues to be a real part of our day to day family.  We pray for her, talk to her, gaze at her pictures ...and remember her ...without ceasing.  Phoebe has a new role in our family.  She is not gone from us, she is very much alive in the life of Christ.  And as we continue to strive for Him to be the center, the very core of our family, we continue to share our lives with Phoebe.
We pray for her every morning in our offering for the day, we pray for her at meal times, at Mass, at our night prayers.  And we say "Good night Phoebe, I love you!" as we close our eyes.  It does not take away the void.  It does not ease the pain and suffering.  But ...it does unite us to her and increases our desire to live our lives today pleasing to God, so one day, through God's mercy,  we will be united with Him, but also (and I can't wait) with Phoebe.  I know she wants that too ...for us to share with her in the divine mystery of our Creator.  That is truly powerful ...and radical.
Last night a friend came along with a wonderful dinner and three young boys eager to play with our kids.  I won't disclose their name, but will tell you my youngest daughter, still struggling with certain sounds, calls them "The Groovies."  They had a wonderful time outside in the dark night of a fall evening.  That is a precious joy to hear my children's laughter.  I don't get to see this friend often, even though we live only five miles apart.  We know the busy lives of family and it keeps us all in different directions, but what I love about these particular kinds of friends (big family friendships) is that we don't NEED to spend time together to know we pray and support each other. Most especially we UNDERSTAND each other.  It is an amazing thing ...a real true blessing I wish more people enjoyed.  In fact, I have one friend that I have probably spoken to for 90 minutes, or less, in the course of our lives.  I've known her for 10 years.  I consider her a very good friend, someone I could call at the drop of a hat if needed.  By worldly standards we haven't built a friendship ...but in God's Kingdom, we have.  This is one of the mysteries lost on our culture today ...and I hope we return to it ...because it is GOOD  and RIGHT.
Anyway,  I bumped into last night's friend in the grocery store about a year ago.  We did our quick, cryptic catch-up (little big ears present!).  I was upset Phoebe hadn't been going to Mass ...couldn't get her to.  I was so sad.  "Good for her!" came the response.  "You've given her a solid foundation and she'll come back ...and her faith will be HERS, not yours.  In this world our kids can't survive if they don't have their own ...they can't rely on ours for them, forever."  I never expected that response, but it gave me an incredible, enveloping comfort.  Yes, what she said is true.  I never want any of my kids to stray away from the faith.  It is too beautiful and rich to toss aside and life without it ...well, I couldn't do it.  But Phoebe did, she strayed for a few different reasons.  She strayed because we lost a dear friend to cancer.  He never got the healing we prayed for ....hard.  A young mind can often have trouble wrestling with this.  If our friend loved God so much, why did God make him suffer?  And more, why did He make us suffer in our loss of him. She strayed because so many of her friends were being confirmed who rarely, if ever, went to Mass, who saw no moral issues with abortion, didn't believe in the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist., and who had no idea what the Catholic faith is all about.  It's not their fault, but it falls on someone.  So Phoebe saw this as a great hypocrisy of the Church she was raised in.  Why would our Church allow people to be confirmed when in fact they had no idea what it was about?  It is a fair, necessary question.  And so Phoebe spent almost two years examining this ...grilling us.  Her family is so radically outside of the culture in many ways ....and it is a struggle.  Ask any other family trying to do the same in Boston.  There are parts of this country many of us have traveled to, who know Catholics from Boston are largely not supported in their mission to live authentically Catholic lives.  Other parts of the country have a more solid faith in place.  I am not whining about this (anymore!) because I now see it as a gift to live in this place that is so far away from Rome.  It gives us an opportunity ...it lures us to a radical love.  A love of God that demands every inch of our beings to be turned over to Him.  For sure, this is not easy.  The world tells our children something and we tell them something else.  We tell them the truth, we set our expectations, and all around them are glittery lies that can lead them astray.  It used to be that we looked out for each others kids.  This still happens among friends, at least for us.  But it used to be part of the culture at large ...now, parents are pushed aside and too often dismissed not only by the children themselves (which is a natural part of growing into adulthood) but it is even reinforced and encouraged by other adults, even parents of our childrens' friends.  Who put them in charge?????  And how dare they step on our rights and obligations as parents????  You'll hear more from me on this!
So what to do?  Last nights friend listened to my teary wonderings about what has happened.  She loved Phoebe too, had watched her grow.  She saw Phoebe grow into her skin, growing in her relationship with me, and me with her.  Phoebe and I had found our stride, we were in step for a while now.  So why me ...who (even through imperfection) gave everything I had to this child ...every ounce of patience and care I could muster ...and not some aloof parent who pays little mind?  She shook her head and said she had thought about this too, why Carolyn?  Why the Walshes?  Why this family who has tried so hard to give it all to God ...every day?  Why? The sure answer she had was "I think He's counting on you, knows He can."  For what?  What more can I give?  I strive everyday to offer with joy, my daughter, Phoebe, back to Him ...thanking God for the time I had her.  That is so hard for me, but every day I go there. Wanting so bad to choke back the words, the offering.  No God, give her back to me.  I will do better this time, I promise.  Please, please just give her back to me.  But I know the answer.  It isn't because my job wasn't good enough.  I am not being punished ...even though it feels like that.  What, oh what, is He asking of me?  I know the answer, but no understanding of what it means.  He is counting on me for a radical love ...of Him.  I am called to love Him wholly and completely in my suffering and loss.  A radical love.  Radical ...contrary to the norm, above and beyond the norm, completely different to the norm ...I'm not sure.  Radical ...until it hurts?  It already does.  Radical ...out of my comfort zone.  Aren't I already? I have no idea what He is asking of me.  But He is asking?  And I pray I will answer well.

Tell Me a Story

Two nights ago, one of my daughters had a dream and at the end, she saw Phoebe.  Phoebe was standing, smiling, her hair down.  Lucy could only see her from the chest up and said it looked like she was in World's End (a 400 acre nature preserve behind our house).  As she looked at her, she knew Phoebe was happy ...and then, Phoebe laughed.  Lucy cried after she shared this with me.  I did too!  I've asked God for a dream ...and He heard.  He gave it to Lucy.  A treasure; lamplight to my feet.
If you knew her and if you would like, I'd love you to share with me a story about Phoebe.  There are lots and lots.  You can post it here in the comments, or send me an email:  carolynwalshpiw@gmail.com.  I know they'll bolster me. 
Thanks for reading and sharing.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace. Amen

In Praise

No one can tell me how to grieve, give me a map that will lead me to a safer place.  I would love to find a place with no fear, a place that doesn't remind me of Phoebe.  Its not that I don't want to be reminded of her, but only if that reminder is sweet and soothing.  The pain of losing a child cannot be measured or painted in words.  No matter the circumstances, it is a lance, a piercing far greater than the capacity of a human to bear.  Compound that with an act that chose death, chose the separation from the world, from the family, from her mother.  The more I learn about suicide, the more I hear that someone is out of their mind when they cross that line.  Out of their mind like a madman, no, but in another place.  They've lost sight.  As a mother, it is inconceivable to me that I could not have stopped that.  Over and over I am told it was out of my control, beyond my reach.  Somehow, I find no comfort with that assurance.  A mother's instinct ...shouldn't I have known ...even a flash of awareness, but there was none.  It can happen that fast, out of view.  Still, no comfort in that either.  So where will I find it.  I've shared that I am reading C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed.  His loss is different than mine, but still his reflection speaks loud and clear to this rough sea I am swimming through.  He arrives right where I know I will, because it is where I usually go to right my course ...to make it through the day.  The only answer, the only place of refuge is in God himself.  In praising him ...everyday, all day I find my rest.  There is work to be done, children to raise, people to educate.  So there is no "rest" as we think of rest.  But there is the "rest" of my foothold, and that can only be found in God. 
I go over and over the same things, asking the same questions, tweaking observations ....like a child, learning about the world and this new way of life.  This new way is a gift.  Dare I say that ....I do.  I don't like this gift right now, but because God is all good, because He sent His only Son, Jesus Christ, to live among us and teach us ...show us the Way, I accept this gift as the medicine that is good for my soul, the soul of my family.  Just above the place where Phoebe died were many images of our faith.  I look at them many times each day and one, a wedding gift, is the scriptural quote.  God makes all things work for the good of those who love Him.   I believe that.   So all I do, all I suffer, feel ...the good, the bad, I offer back in Praise.  All things will work, all things ...even this, will work, only through Him. 
In praise, in all ways, in all things.  I will live my life in praise to Him ...and see where that takes me.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen

Heart Pangs

Everywhere I turn screams Phoebe.  There is no place, no time that is not her.  Even places that weren't part of her life, suddenly they are, simply because they are part of mine.  It just shows how intertwined we are with our children.  Our lives are theirs, and theirs ours.  We cut our son's hair tonight.  The last haircut, Phoebe had taken command. The ends of his hair would no longer be her ends.  I open the freezer, out falls frozen mango ..only for her.  What will I do with that now?  I move things around finally,  taking her hospital bag from the kitchen.  Her clothes shredded from attempts to restart her heart.  I bury my nose taking in the smell of her, the smell of Phoebe.  Clothes so commonly worn, comfort clothes, hers.  The elastic hair band tossed in the bottom, strands of her hair coiled around ...her hair.  Phoebe had gorgeous hair.  She is all over this house, all over this place.  That is good, really.  She is here, with us.  The veil between where she is and where we are is so thin.  Owen knows.  "Since Phoebe is closer to God now, does that mean we are too?"  Yes, Owen, I think. 
I thank God I know people who are devout, with a strong, deep faith.  They confirm for me what I want to believe ...that God is comforting us, He is allowing Phoebe to comfort us.  The pottery was God's hand ...meant for me.  My husband would never have gotten that signal grace.  And I never would have gotten his.  The precision and detail of each gift designed so clearly for the receiver.  He is so good, so generous in the wake of this horror.  I've said before, and I still know, this terrible act was not willed by God.  Phoebe's own hand made the choice.  Painfully, I say that, knowing though that she was not in her right mind ...could not have been.  But God allowed it, and He knows our suffering. Of course he will provide comforts that so obviously only come from Him.
These treasures edify me, us.  And yet, the pain still runs so deep.  I wait for her footsteps that will not come.  I wait.  I watch families walk by, in tact, or so I think.  Little children in tow, and I wonder for them, "do you have any idea the pain that may wait just ahead?"  Or maybe not.  I load my girls in the car, all five, no, now just four of them.  She should be here, with us.  My lead girl.  I wrestle with my thoughts, are we less because she is gone, or are we more because she is with God?  I don't know the answer, depends on where I am on this wave of grief.
I pray hard for her soul.  I pray she is happy.  I pray she can see us remembering her, loving her.  I pray.  Without ceasing, without rest from it, I pray.  It is the only thing I know how to do ...and it is good.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

"Life, long or short,
Is a journey towards Paradise
There is our fatherland
There is our real home
There is our appointment!
Jesus is waiting for us
In Paradise
Never forget this supreme
And consoling truth."

Pope John Paul II
June 14, 1979

I'll try to remember this, live this.  Not easy these days, but it is true ...the Truth.  We are heading
to this place ...the promised land.  I will see Phoebe there, I am sure.  How many days till then? Only God
knows the answer to that.  My job now is to live each day, moment grabbing hold of the graces granted, using the gifts and talents given me, and treasuring the blessings of my children, husband and friends.  That's a good bit to keep me busy and focused...thankfully.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and let perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen

Remembering

Today I doddle.  Not sure where I am headed ...floppy and distracted.  I am searching for Phoebe.  I want her home here with me.  Its Friday night, she may not have been home anyway, but still I want her near me.  I'm angry with her tonight too ...have a few things I'd like to clarify.  She left me with quite a bit of debris, sorrow.  She left me with sad siblings.  By usual standards ...we are just phenomenally moving through this tragedy, or settling into it!  In tact, fulfilling our obligations, getting by.  We get out of bed and then back in at the end of a long day!  We should be happy to know we are doing so well.  Then why aren't we?  Because we are all still waiting for Phoebe to come home.  She isn't, we know.  On the other hand, we know she already has ...gone home that is ...to God.
Tonight, just as the sun set, I walked with our two youngest.  We held hands start to finish.  My seven year old cried the whole way, directing his younger sister not to go here or there, his worry so apparent.  I told him she was okay, he needn't worry.  " I worry about everything now ...ever since the day Phoebe died." We talked all about Phoebe and imagined her walking next to us.  He remembered how Phoebe taught him to ride his bike.  I see it too.  I watched as she encouraged and challenged him.  "Try it again Owen, you can do this!"  She picked out his bike for his birthday ...he remembered that too.  He thought about a few times he wasn't nice to Phoebe, and I reminded him of so many times when he was!  He thought about the bad splinter I had to remove recently from his foot.  Phoebe heard him crying and came to hold his hand and soothe him, telling him that mom wasn't trying to hurt him and if he just squeezed her hand it wouldn't hurt so much.  I can see her so clearly now as she ushered everyone out of the room so there would be no distractions.  She had calmed Owen, but also me.  How does a life just end?  Poof, and she was gone.  She had asked me to leave my two little one's with her that morning, offering to help me out.  But a friend awaited them at the soccer field.  If she had been able to give that morning would she still be here? Everything becomes a question of "if".
We prayed about Phoebe and asked God to heal our hurting hearts and help Owen to not worry so much anymore.  I asked him if he wanted to add anything. "Please God, make sure Phoebe is safe in heaven."  My heart hurts, torn and rugged, from losing her.  But my heart swells and rises to this plea from a little boy.  Surely God will hear him, and surely God will heal him.  Won't He?

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace, Amen.

Quiet

My house is quiet now.  It's not very often quiet.  Before when it was, when the last of the littles would finally find stillness, I would usually hear Phoebe's footsteps headed my way ...a chance to be together, if only for a moment.  I always loved that sound.  Over the past year, it happened more and more ...she would be there, just waiting for me.  I'd come from the shower and she would be sitting there on my bed.  We had lots to discuss ...about her, about me.  Family, friends, school, future ...all those set on the table of talk.  Lots of our conversations were easy banter ...the more I just listened, the more I would learn, and the better she would arrive at her own solid, well founded conclusions.  Sometimes, they were heated, especially when I expressed concern.  Those were harder conversations because they seemed to threaten her ...a typical teenage response.  How I wish she knew she didn't know everything ...yet.  I grapple with the teenage arrogance that dismisses a parents experience and wisdom ... We had some tough times for sure, maybe harder than most.  Phoebe was full of passion, full of her own will.  At home, parent's can find their children come up against them, while outside these same kids are a beacon, notable in so many ways.  And that was Phoebe.  She was notable.  She reached out for others when she thought they didn't get a fair shake ...she paid attention to the student who struggled with the English language.  One teacher told me one of these students told her Phoebe was her only friend because when she struggled to talk, search for the words of this foreign tongue, she would find Phoebe's eyes that always said "it's ok, take your time, you will learn."   She fought for the girl who tried out every year for soccer and didn't make the team ...she fought because this girls character, perseverance and hard work would be an asset to any team.  She fought for her siblings when she thought she could help mom and dad see more clearly.  She fought for the boy in third grade who was made to wear a skirt for the afternoon when he had an accident.  She fought for the friend who had lost so much in her life, so many loved ones.
Phoebe was notable because she noticed.  So why, why why, did she not fight for herself ...why?
I don't mean to place her on a pedestal, make her something she was not.  But an advocate for the unnoticed was part of her tapestry.  I think about these kinds of things in the quiet, when she isn't here.  I think about who she was, is...still.  And I can't help but wonder ...did I notice ...enough.  I certainly prayed hard and long for her about so many things.  I certainly loved her and went to bat for her when she needed that, or at least I thought she did.  I certainly thought about her and enjoyed picking up little things for her she hadn't asked for, like mango strips, funky socks, an iced coffee.  Silly little things really, but it made my heart sing when she would giggle out "thanks mom."  But did I NOTICE her?  Were there tear stains on her face I didn't see?  Did her sides hurt her lately because she had cried so hard during the night?  Did the twinkle in her eyes fade while I was wearing sunglasses?  Did she mouth to me "help me" as I turned my back?  What, oh what dear God, did I miss ...because I sure am missing her right about now?  Did she fight for the unnoticed because she was among them?????
What now can I do?  I scream to God ....where were You?  You have seen my struggle, my fight for my children, my battle for their safety ...for YOU!!!  Where were YOU that dreaded morning as I raced off to soccer?  Was that MORE important than my daughter, my Phoebe?  Did You not notice how much I love her ...was it not enough?  Are you asking me how much I love You?  What are you asking of me?
I struggle, oh how I struggle.  I am a strong woman ...always have been.  It is an extraordinary strength I've been given ...a gift, I always thought.  But is it?  Did I show such strength to Phoebe that she felt she couldn't keep my pace?  Did she see a mother who charged through chaos and disorder to establish order in line with natural law ...and think she didn't have the strength to do that too?  Did she not know that the reason I've done that, carved out an order in life pleasing to God, contrary to so much of this culture, was so that she and her siblings wouldn't have to?  Didn't she know that her father and I wanted a better way for her and her children ...and theirs?  Didn't she understand it was for her, to spare her.  And she has not been spared, she has been taken, and I, we have been left with a gaping open wound. 
This unusually strong woman will go on, my life will move forward.  But not without great reluctance.  A life ahead without Phoebe?  If you knew her ...you know the cost of that.  She was not just a girl, she was Phoebe, and she was mine.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe, and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen.

Pottery

I've been praying for some consolation, some awareness of Phoebe.  Others have experienced a sense of her, that she is near.  I have not.  There are reasons I'm sure ...perhaps I am not ready ...maybe never will be.  I read C.S. Lewis  and he looks for the same thing and then realizes his demand for that consolation deprives him of the capacity for it.  Interesting, makes me think, am I thwarting grace God offers me.  I pray to let go, abandon ...and I do, at least I think.  But something small just happened that almost past me unnoticed.  A friend called.  I say of him that he occasionally floats down from Heaven and visits.  His wife had a set of china she just had to get rid of ...would I please take it off their hands?  (Hmmm?  Ok, thank you, of course I could use it)
I simply couldn't know what a favor I was doing them ...this burdensome china, getting it out of their way.  (They hide their generosity, and try to tell me it is mine!)   A full service for eight.  On October 8, I needed a full service for nine ...a day later, only eight.  He delivered it, brought it in.  One box to my kitchen where it will always be, the others to the place Phoebe died.  I loved it!  Polish pottery.  I buy one little piece every time I travel to Pennsylvania. I would labor over which pattern to choose, their all beautiful to me.  But just one piece,  how to pick?   I treasure it.  Now a full set, so beautiful, different patterns, all pleasing to each other ...and they are mine. ours.  Thank you so much, a small comfort ...homey and pleasing to me as I seek to recreate our space with Phoebe in a totally new and different way.  He leaves and I claim  my love for it to Lucy, 10.  She points to the cabinets with the glass doors.  " I know Mom, we should put it all here in this cabinet so we can always see it ... it was Phoebe's favorite!"
She caught me quick.  Of course, how had that not been so present in my mind.  It is indeed Phoebe's favorite. She has her own bowl and mug from birthdays past.  Watch out if you snuck a use!  They were her little earthly treasures; don't let her find them dirty.  Oh, thank you Phoebe!  Thank you for filling the space of my kitchen with a shared love, our shared appreciation for the Polish pottery.  Thank you for making sense of the space that calls out your name.  At least here in this corner, the emptiness of you is gone as you establish yourself once again in this home, our home, your home.  You are with me dear girl, aren't you.  I love you!
Thank you my dear Heavenly Father for this grace ...this new treasure ...that my life with Phoebe goes on ...in my kitchen.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen.

One Month

Today is the one month anniversary of Phoebe's death.  I count the time past in every way possible.  Each rising of the sun is a day away from when I last saw her, spoke to her.  But it is also closer to when I will see her again, less time to wait.  The wait will always be too long, always up ahead.  My job is here, and likely will be for a long time to come ...in time as we know it, but so quick when compared to eternity.
In my head, I play games ...when a year passes, it will be easier.  "Isn't that true?"  I ask.  "I will have passed through holidays, birthdays, graduations ..., so it must get so much better, right?"  No one commits to anything.  "Well, it's true, a year's passing is significant, but ..."  Ugh!
I'm reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis.  He captures grief so aptly ....it helps, when words are fleeting.  I like words, always have.  Some people like visuals, I do too, but I find words resonate deeper and longer with me.  Lewis writes, as he grieves the loss of his wife: 

      And grief still feels like fear.  Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense.  Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen.  It gives life a permanently provisional feeling.  It doesn't seem worth starting anything.  I can't settle down.  I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much.  Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time.  Almost pure time, empty successiveness.

That is what I feel.  I have plenty to keep me busy, and much to make me smile.  I have six other children, my husband.  All bring joy, a reason to say thank you.  But this loss, the loss of Phoebe, suspends times.  Is it the loss of a mother, a father?  It is the loss of a great love, a robust, rich life ...I am a car with no acceleration.  Maybe because I am still waiting for her to take the seat next to me ...her seat, she held for so many years.  One last ride, please, and all will be well.
One month dear girl.  How did I live without you for one month.  I made it Phoebe!  I did something I didn't think I could ....I lived one month without you.  I've hated every moment of that, but I did it ...because of the promise that I will see you again.  And I do believe that day will be sweeter than I imagine.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace,  Amen.

Crosses

There is a story perhaps you've heard.  I will not offer it to you in its thoroughness, because I can't remember even where I read or was told this wonderful lesson.  Here is my best shot.
A man, tired and weary, approaches God and says "Dear Lord, this cross is too heavy...it's weight to great for my ability.  I have carried it so long and so far, please dear Lord, spare me this.  I will take another, but please relieve me of this one."  In His mercy and love, God answers, "of course, but to be united to my Son, you must carry a cross.  You may take your pick ...choose one that fits you well, one you can shoulder with confidence and a bit of comfort, one you know you can carry."  The man is brought to an enormous field filled with crosses of every size and texture, some rough, others smooth.  He tries several on, walking a bit with this one, then with that one.  Hours pass and he grows restless and discouraged.  He tries still another.  "Ah, yes, this one fits me nicely Lord, much better than the others."  "Are you sure, you have a long way ahead.  You will need to carry this and be sure of foot."  He answers "Oh yes, Lord, this feels as though it were made just for me.  I will take this one."  The Lord answers the man.  "It was made just for you, my child.  It is the very cross you came in with."
I love this story and I think of it often ...even before now.   My Phoebe's death is my cross, as is her birth into eternal life.  To not want this cross, to ask for another is also to ask to have not been Phoebe's mother.  What I really want is no cross at all ...no burden.  Who actually WANTS one?  In our struggle to unite to Christ, it is the only way, the only bridge.  The paradox of the Cross, think about it.  To have no cross is to have no Christ.  No Christ, no redeemer, no hope.  I don't have the words yet to explain this from where I stand, what I live today.  One day, maybe ...and I will share it.  I have no doubt that as I weep Christ sees me.  My cross is one no parent wants ...no parent deserves.  I am told over and over, by professionals, priests ...this is the worst possible tragedy a person could ever experience ...there is nothing that is greater, more painful.  And yet, that pain, that intensity directly correlates to the intensity of my love for Phoebe and her love for me ...her imperfect mother.  So in that searing pain, that cuts quick and deep, there exists an intensity of love that leads to joy.  How can you have both at once?  I don't know, but it happens ...just fleeting, not long enough to hold on to ...just a peek.  I hope that peek means it is coming for longer.  I trust it does.
My story isn't over, but I am here not needing to worry about my daughter transitioning to adulthood.  No more worries of her well-being on earth.  I have an end ...in a worldly way.  Spiritually, I know my mission for her until I die ...pray for her soul as if she needs every prayer in the world, while enjoying the consolation of her glory in Heaven.  Again, the paradox, two things at once.
So many prayers are offered for us with genuine and care ...because my struggle, our sorrow is public.  Phoebe's death was public.  It is a blessing in that people have responded ...abundantly!  Keep those prayers coming.
But let's stop and think about those whose crosses are not public, yet bear a weight that doesn't end, but rather grows in heaviness each day.  I have a friend with a cross few would recognize.  I worry, a lot, about this friend.  I worry that what people see on the outside, gauges the amount of prayer people offer.  Some people, like this friend, have a surface life, radically different from their real life.  There is nothing they can do on their own.  I could go down to the town square and beat my chest and howl in agony ...and people would let me, they would even cry with me ....easing the heaviness of my cross, willing to share the weight.  But there are those who cannot do that ...because of the great cost to others they love.  They are silenced and cannot beg for prayer ...like I can.  So for now, I am begging for this friend, that you pray hard, storm Heaven with your prayer that the burden is eased, the vision clear, and the movement precise.  Especially pray for protection and safety.  With Phoebe's diligence, her willfulness and tenacity beyond compare, ask her to pray for someone she loves very much ...to know and understand God's will, and the confidence to be obedient to it. 

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace. Amen

Building a Raft

For the past month ...just about, I've been pretty busy building my raft.  I've gleaned what I know from our faith, listened attentively, prayed hard and long, taken those logs of knowledge and understanding and built a fine raft. I believe it is strong and stable, ready for the calmer days, but most especially for the rough seas I see in the horizon.  It's been like establishing my footing, making sure my shoes fit and are proper for the earth beneath my feet, knowing the terrain may challenge me further along the trail.
I think I'm okay, and if I'm not, I've got provisions, backup ...a long line of friendships surrounding me in prayer.  My net, my safety.  Please keep praying, I know you will ...but I want you to know the benefit of your prayers these many weeks for me and my family.
Life goes on all around us.  The whirl of life draws me in, but I am not ready.  I will do all that I must atop my raft.  But the silliness of life, the terrible concerns and problems ...I have no mind for, no heart for.
We had dinner with friends tonight, a friendship I've always loved, but never quite realized how deep it ran until now.  Without words they showed up, all of them, in their own way.  They cooked and cleaned, they held us, they wept as they cut my hair and swept my floor.  Their eyes meet mine, no words, but countless thoughts that cry ...I know, I see your pain.  They offer hugs that hold tight and say we will not let go.  Please, please don't.  I've been profoundly blessed with friendships beyond what I could have imagined.  Why is this one so unique?  Because its a whole family loving my whole family ...loving Phoebe, missing her.  Big families have something smaller families don't.   I can't explain it ...they just know.  Its a different life, a different way that is often greatly misunderstood in this culture.  And our friends, this big family, just knows ...just feels our pain, our battle to stay afloat, all of us ...together.  And they are fighting for our own very lives.  I don't mean to suggest others aren't ...it's just that the whole entire family is tended to, at once.  It's not that the ages match, or there is one to one ...it is a unity, a life of having to share and make do, of having less than your friends, but finding you have more ...in each other.  It is a life that is still there when all the things are gone.
They asked our permission tonight for the privilege of running a road race together on Thanksgiving as "Phoebe's Team."  Humbly, they asked, ...and all I could do was weep.  Of course, and the smiles made their way round the room ...young and old.  If only Phoebe had known the depth of their love for her.
And so my raft is even sturdier tonight, and I am grateful.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen

Timing

Just when I think I'm about to crash, someone swoops in with a ready ear and heart.  This is so needed at times like now.  It's not their words that soothe me right now, it's their ears ...they listen with their hearts ready to gather my chips of sorrow.  My intellect assures me of Phoebe's safety ...I can reason that, but my heart?  Well, often that can have a whole different dynamic going on.  It boils down to the simple fact that I miss Phoebe.  I do, I miss her.  Part of me seems to have gone missing, part of me just up and left.  I'm surrounded, even buoyed and comforted by my other kids, all wonderful, alive, vibrant with promise.  They hurt too, something isn't right.  But for a mother, a father too, oh there are no words in this English language that captures what we have become ...who we are now.  Broken? No.  Hardened? No.  Angry?  At times, yes.  It's more like the marrow of our bones has been taken, and though we seem the same, look the same, have the same mannerisms, expressions ...we are hollow.  I am hollow.  I believe in the promises of Christ.  I believe He loves Phoebe, suffered for every hair on her head, for her very soul ...so that she might find salvation.  Yet, to live each moment wanting her ...is like an incomplete yawn.  You need that yawn to manage the exhaustion.  But it is never complete.  I know we are wrapped in prayer and that is why I can live each day, it's why I can type here and name what my heart cries.  And I am so grateful.  Tomorrow marks four weeks.  In some ways, I expected  the worst to be over, but I wonder now, is it yet to come?  I'm not a doomsday person, but I've never experienced a wound, a sorrow that continues to seep, every so slightly, deeper and wider each day. When does the healing begin, take hold?  Pray for us, most especially for Phoebe. 
Their is the promise of the Resurrection, a new life.  I'm holding tight and won't let go, but it takes everything out of me, out of us.  Today, I am a weary traveler ...making my way to the Promised Land.  I know it is just ahead, though perhaps a lifetime away.   I can say all these things, allow the cascade of sadness when a listener is there ...and it frees me, gives me the second wind I need for the next mile.  Timing is everything, listeners are everything ...without them my heart would be far too heavy to carry.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen.

All is a Gift

For about a week now I've been pondering a particular thought.  If I consider Phoebe's life, her life story, no matter what ...even imagining she hadn't died so young, the end of the story is always the same.  She dies.  It doesn't matter the age or circumstances, the bare fact is that she dies.  Just like all of us, our ending is the same. When I can wrap my head around this and know this, simple, plain, but true fact ...I find some comfort, a haven that offers assurance and promise.  So whether Phoebe died at 40, 52, 90, or sadly, at 17 ...her ending arrives at the same place ...at least here on earth.  No matter the age, I can start there, at her death and walk backwards through her life and see with such great clarity the gift of each moment she lived.  I can approach my loss of her with a tear of sadness that quickly gives way to the joy and promise of her incredible life.  All the way back, I arrive at her birth, and further, her very creation ...which has no sadness, no regret, no fear.  It has only pure joy ...the pondering of an exquisite gift that always was and always will be because the source of that gift, the giver, is God ...who is before and after, who is always.  I think that's a pretty good place to rest, knowing that God knows Phoebe from all time.  My sweet Phoebe, my strong hearted girl, how I miss you and your ways!

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe, and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace. Amen