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.
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