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.