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.
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