I don't have much time today to write. I am acutely aware as the calendar changes that ours will look very different this year. Phoebe filled a lot of space in those little boxes ...not so as we pass into the new year. 2011 will have only two spaces filled for her ... that will truly remain hers. Her 18th birthday and her first year anniversary will be significant enough, I guess. I am sad to march into this next year without her. But I hope it will be a year of healing and wholeness ...a year of new life, gratitude ....all things that bring us beyond survival and into a life fully embraced ...fully lived. That is my hope.
Happy New Year!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Reach
The days of darkness have a heaviness, a burden that descends from nowhere. I know now, from reading about grief, particularly grief under these circumstances that is the nature of sorrow. We hopefully progress through grief, making our way through the stages that will finally set us free. Free, at least to reclaim life, to commit to a life given to us. We claim the blessing and the commitment, the obligation to live fully and wholly ...even though the one gone has taken a piece of them with us. Those days, moments, thoughts of despair, the acute awareness and unbelievability of loss, may serve as benchmarks. For most of us, they are short lived ...they last a matter of hours ...hopefully not longer than days. When we crawl out of them we can see that we have indeed moved forward. Maybe only inches ...but it is forward. That is all I ask, that my steps be forward. Overwhelming feelings of loss, sadness, guilt slay us, slay me. These feelings expose and confirm my greatest fears ...I have failed as a mother. This loss is due to me. To be in that place is horrendous ...to admit I have committed the gravest of all acts of motherhood ...pulls downward, spiraling, pulling, yanking me in a whirlpool leading to the darkest places of the human heart. I am not the lover of the innocent I claim to be. There is a disconnect between who I think I am and who I really am. How have I been so blind? How has God entrusted children to such a monster? These are the questions that torment me ...rage steady war against my soul. Surrounding me are friends, women of faith with the burden of crosses beyond most. Each one, striving to know, love and serve God is given some thing far too heavy for the human heart ...the human mother. Yet, over and over, year after year these women walk with a grace so profound and sweet, no one would suspect the weight of their sorrow. They have each led me, mostly by living ...by carrying on. They have heard my wails, my pleading cries to the above ...and they have listened, held my hand, shaken their heads, shed tears to marry mine. Sometimes they whisper words ...sometimes only one. Today a word was whispered to me, just one five letter word ...one I can cling to ....trust. It is the only answer in those moments of extraordinary darkness. The further I pull away, the blacker the darkness comes. Lean into it, trust that through it, there is light ...always ...the light will come. Slowly, sometimes, but it will come.
God does not abandon His own ...He clings to us, stronger than we to Him. Shows us His way ... Today I read in a book "My Son, My Son: A Guide to Healing After Death, Loss or Suicide" something written by the author's 92 year old aunt, after the suicide of the author's 20 year old son.
These days are the winter of the soul,
but spring comes and brings new life
and beauty because of the growth of
roots in the dark
Just a whisper to tell me He is here, and the darkness will always give way to light. The flowers will always bloom. Life springs anew ...even when all is barren, seemingly hollow. Life will go on without Phoebe. I will never like that ...why would I. But life can again be good and I can rest in the knowledge that my darling girl is safe. To honor her, to show her I love her, miss her ...I must live well. I must embrace the blessing of today ...the gift of a life she loved in so many ways. And God, my faith will see me through. The tangible reality of friends ...and children, my own ...my husband point me onward, pull me from the dark.
I have rested by the crib, resistant to leave. "What now, where shall I go?" I think. I took the steps to arrive in Bethlehem ...He carried me most of the way. I wasn't afraid to go because I had a destination. Now that destination is elusive ...unknown. I am afraid. Several times in the bible the angel says "Do not be afraid." Yes, of course, I've thought when reading those words before. Now, I am here in this place of my life ...a place I never desired, never headed towards. Those words are not so easy. I can't just lay the fear to the side. Yet I say them over and over and arrive at that word again ... trust ... It is hard to trust the unknown because it mean relinquishing my will ...my only map is the treasure of the Church ...the Eucharist, the sacraments, the devotions. I will hold on fast because it is only in that Heaven on earth I will find refuge ...I will find rest and be able to go on.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
God does not abandon His own ...He clings to us, stronger than we to Him. Shows us His way ... Today I read in a book "My Son, My Son: A Guide to Healing After Death, Loss or Suicide" something written by the author's 92 year old aunt, after the suicide of the author's 20 year old son.
These days are the winter of the soul,
but spring comes and brings new life
and beauty because of the growth of
roots in the dark
Just a whisper to tell me He is here, and the darkness will always give way to light. The flowers will always bloom. Life springs anew ...even when all is barren, seemingly hollow. Life will go on without Phoebe. I will never like that ...why would I. But life can again be good and I can rest in the knowledge that my darling girl is safe. To honor her, to show her I love her, miss her ...I must live well. I must embrace the blessing of today ...the gift of a life she loved in so many ways. And God, my faith will see me through. The tangible reality of friends ...and children, my own ...my husband point me onward, pull me from the dark.
I have rested by the crib, resistant to leave. "What now, where shall I go?" I think. I took the steps to arrive in Bethlehem ...He carried me most of the way. I wasn't afraid to go because I had a destination. Now that destination is elusive ...unknown. I am afraid. Several times in the bible the angel says "Do not be afraid." Yes, of course, I've thought when reading those words before. Now, I am here in this place of my life ...a place I never desired, never headed towards. Those words are not so easy. I can't just lay the fear to the side. Yet I say them over and over and arrive at that word again ... trust ... It is hard to trust the unknown because it mean relinquishing my will ...my only map is the treasure of the Church ...the Eucharist, the sacraments, the devotions. I will hold on fast because it is only in that Heaven on earth I will find refuge ...I will find rest and be able to go on.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Frozen
In Conversation with God, Advent, Volume 1, pg. 256 reads "...he wants us to understand at the same time that our pain and suffering can have a redemptive meaning and lead to our personal purification, even in the case of those which seem unjust, or out of all proportion."
This book has been my guide much of my way through Advent to Christmas, and now, after Christmas. There are gems throughout that stop and stun as if slapped across the face ...woken from a deep sleep. Last year as I read the quote above, it had a different meaning, different application ...my worries, my sufferings were different. Now, it is a suffering like no other. I should read and take comfort in those words. Certainly, the death of a child is out of all proportion. Could it actually mean that God understands? In my head, I know, I trust He does ....but here goes my heart again. Restless isn't the right word, because that would mean unsettled, not sure where to rest ...to pause. My heart is insane ...refusing to be still, rejecting anything it does not want ...and the only thing I want is Phoebe. Yes, I have traveled to Bethlehem, and yes, I have been blessed beyond my wildest dreams, and yes I am grateful. But what troubles me is that I cannot stay there. Why, just days away from such peace, such assurance, am I thrown into the jumble of an ocean storm, clamoring to come up for air, and when barely a breath is taken, slam ...I am pummeled to the bottom again. When does this chaos end? I feel like a grownup, suddenly thrown back into my teenage years. It just does not seem fair.
Later the book reads "But little or great, suffering accepted and offered to Our Lord produces peace and serenity. When it is not accepted it is out of tune and its internal rebellion is shown in gloom and bad temper." This is where I am ...not accepting ...and I thought I had. Each moment I must choose, but each moment of this day, I've been begging for it to be lifted. It is not His plan for me ...right now. Dear Lord, help me to choose this, accept this pain.
Yesterday was the feast of the Holy Innocents, the babes killed by Herod's men as they searched to find the newborn King. Imagine the pain of their parents ...the utter, unbelievable loss. Yet, it saved the Christ child ...they died for Him ...and later He would die for all of us. If I only this pathetic brain of mine, this sagging heart could wrap around the magnitude of these babies slaughtered. If I could only place my sorrow next to there's ...I would find gratitude in that I had been spared. That is amazing. If I consider that ...perhaps, because of there loss ..I will find peace.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
This book has been my guide much of my way through Advent to Christmas, and now, after Christmas. There are gems throughout that stop and stun as if slapped across the face ...woken from a deep sleep. Last year as I read the quote above, it had a different meaning, different application ...my worries, my sufferings were different. Now, it is a suffering like no other. I should read and take comfort in those words. Certainly, the death of a child is out of all proportion. Could it actually mean that God understands? In my head, I know, I trust He does ....but here goes my heart again. Restless isn't the right word, because that would mean unsettled, not sure where to rest ...to pause. My heart is insane ...refusing to be still, rejecting anything it does not want ...and the only thing I want is Phoebe. Yes, I have traveled to Bethlehem, and yes, I have been blessed beyond my wildest dreams, and yes I am grateful. But what troubles me is that I cannot stay there. Why, just days away from such peace, such assurance, am I thrown into the jumble of an ocean storm, clamoring to come up for air, and when barely a breath is taken, slam ...I am pummeled to the bottom again. When does this chaos end? I feel like a grownup, suddenly thrown back into my teenage years. It just does not seem fair.
Later the book reads "But little or great, suffering accepted and offered to Our Lord produces peace and serenity. When it is not accepted it is out of tune and its internal rebellion is shown in gloom and bad temper." This is where I am ...not accepting ...and I thought I had. Each moment I must choose, but each moment of this day, I've been begging for it to be lifted. It is not His plan for me ...right now. Dear Lord, help me to choose this, accept this pain.
Yesterday was the feast of the Holy Innocents, the babes killed by Herod's men as they searched to find the newborn King. Imagine the pain of their parents ...the utter, unbelievable loss. Yet, it saved the Christ child ...they died for Him ...and later He would die for all of us. If I only this pathetic brain of mine, this sagging heart could wrap around the magnitude of these babies slaughtered. If I could only place my sorrow next to there's ...I would find gratitude in that I had been spared. That is amazing. If I consider that ...perhaps, because of there loss ..I will find peace.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Darkness
Last night, as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the wind howled ....out went the lights. Candles were lit, sparingly, not knowing how long it would last, this darkness. We were still ....not very quiet, but still. We were shut down. I sat there thinking about the darkness, how real it is ...how dark it is. I am a person of the light. I don't like the dark...unless there is some light to make it glow. Some people really do like it when there is no light. I remember a conversation not too long ago with Phoebe ...about the woods and the dark. I was telling her again about a date dad had taken me on a year or so ago. He had grabbed head lamps, told me we'd have fun ...we were going for a bike ride. "Where are we going?" "Just follow me, you'll see." "Where are we going?" I insisted. A sigh, "trust me, it'll fun." "I'm not going if I don't know where to." I can be very impatient. I hold on tight to the known. I like a plan ...that makes sense to me. He knows me well enough ..."You'll be safe, and if you don't like it we'll turn around." Reluctantly, I hopped on and followed. We turned right, down the road to World's End. It is a place home to countless wildlife ...deer, coyote, owls, foxes, lots and lots of them. I like all these animals, I just don't want to come face to face with one or have it chase me down. I like control.
Phoebe had giggled when I was telling her this tale again. "I love the woods at night, I love the dark." She'd said. She had spent much time in the woods, in the wild, at night ...in the darkness. "Doesn't it feel creepy, scary?" "Not at all, why would you think that?" We talked about that difference between us. Phoebe wasn't afraid of the dark. I am. I thought a lot about her last night as I sat in the dark ...missing her. We were all here. Where would she have chosen to be in the house if she were here with us? It is a mighty strange thing to miss a child that has died. It simply doesn't make sense. It will take a life time for this to become part of my life, probably never feeling quite normal. Even though I know where she is, even though there is great comfort and assurance ...it is still too dark for me. And I hear her whisper to me ...it's okay, the darkness is not bad, because it is always lit by Christ. But I am sad, not in a desperate way. I am just deeply, deeply sad that my walk with Phoebe is done.
That night we rode the bikes through World's End made my heart race. Through trails, over rocks, the headlamps lit the way, but beyond the reach of light ...there was still darkness. It wasn't light enough for me. I had to just trust. We headed to the highest point. From there we could see the skyline of Boston, the twinkle of the lights, boats crossing the bay, all lit. The big dark sky blanketed us. It was spectacular. A view, a setting, a darkness that made the beauty so bold ...so rare. We took it in ....and then ...the reflection of ten eyes back at us. Startled, I was sure a pack of coyotes had silently followed us, planned the attack, waited to pounce. I was sure there were more behind us, others in front. How would we escape? See, I thought, the sinister had found us in the dark. My husband knew my angst. He turned his headlamp on. Deer. Five beautiful, elegant deer stared back at us.
Deer are very symbolic for our family. They settle us for some reason. And I was settled as I marveled at them. Fairly large, but dainty, they move with such a lightness. I love to watch them. We saw them recently when we visited Phoebe's grave ...they were there around her. I thought how she would like deer around her.
So I had told Phoebe that story again of being in World's End, in the dark. She had laughed at my fear, but smiled at my joy in seeing the deer. "See Mom, that wouldn't happen in the day." No, Phoebe it wouldn't. And just as this darkness, the darkness of your absence, upends me, I know there are sights to behold here. I just have to trust ...so hard for me. Phoebe wasn't afraid of the dark ...and she is teaching me too, that darkness illuminates a beauty that cannot be seen in the daylight. I'm trying to reach for that, to believe.
Only God will heal, will mend this brokenhearted mother ...only God will bring light to my darkness.
As I pause by the crib, as I marvel at the infant savior, and remember my beautiful daughter, readying to leave her there with Him, I pray I gain the strength, the hope, the assurance to walk through this darkness, toward the light.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Phoebe had giggled when I was telling her this tale again. "I love the woods at night, I love the dark." She'd said. She had spent much time in the woods, in the wild, at night ...in the darkness. "Doesn't it feel creepy, scary?" "Not at all, why would you think that?" We talked about that difference between us. Phoebe wasn't afraid of the dark. I am. I thought a lot about her last night as I sat in the dark ...missing her. We were all here. Where would she have chosen to be in the house if she were here with us? It is a mighty strange thing to miss a child that has died. It simply doesn't make sense. It will take a life time for this to become part of my life, probably never feeling quite normal. Even though I know where she is, even though there is great comfort and assurance ...it is still too dark for me. And I hear her whisper to me ...it's okay, the darkness is not bad, because it is always lit by Christ. But I am sad, not in a desperate way. I am just deeply, deeply sad that my walk with Phoebe is done.
That night we rode the bikes through World's End made my heart race. Through trails, over rocks, the headlamps lit the way, but beyond the reach of light ...there was still darkness. It wasn't light enough for me. I had to just trust. We headed to the highest point. From there we could see the skyline of Boston, the twinkle of the lights, boats crossing the bay, all lit. The big dark sky blanketed us. It was spectacular. A view, a setting, a darkness that made the beauty so bold ...so rare. We took it in ....and then ...the reflection of ten eyes back at us. Startled, I was sure a pack of coyotes had silently followed us, planned the attack, waited to pounce. I was sure there were more behind us, others in front. How would we escape? See, I thought, the sinister had found us in the dark. My husband knew my angst. He turned his headlamp on. Deer. Five beautiful, elegant deer stared back at us.
Deer are very symbolic for our family. They settle us for some reason. And I was settled as I marveled at them. Fairly large, but dainty, they move with such a lightness. I love to watch them. We saw them recently when we visited Phoebe's grave ...they were there around her. I thought how she would like deer around her.
So I had told Phoebe that story again of being in World's End, in the dark. She had laughed at my fear, but smiled at my joy in seeing the deer. "See Mom, that wouldn't happen in the day." No, Phoebe it wouldn't. And just as this darkness, the darkness of your absence, upends me, I know there are sights to behold here. I just have to trust ...so hard for me. Phoebe wasn't afraid of the dark ...and she is teaching me too, that darkness illuminates a beauty that cannot be seen in the daylight. I'm trying to reach for that, to believe.
Only God will heal, will mend this brokenhearted mother ...only God will bring light to my darkness.
As I pause by the crib, as I marvel at the infant savior, and remember my beautiful daughter, readying to leave her there with Him, I pray I gain the strength, the hope, the assurance to walk through this darkness, toward the light.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Rest
A quiet day ...soft, gentle. I can stay here awhile, just remembering and giving thanks. I've been blessed beyond what I could imagine. Truly, I couldn't ask for more ...God could not have been more generous during my journey and arrival at Bethlehem. He could have been enormously less so, and I would have been grateful ... for anything. I have a assurance, confirmation ...peace.
My heart is full, yet it rests low in my chest. It still feels heavy ...I miss her. If she walked into the room ...it would still be natural, she still belongs in my day. But today, it does not pull me over. I can stay here and rest. I can enjoy where she is, where my heart has been ...in Bethlehem. She can stay there. But, my life must go on, and go on well, with every bit of effort as if she were still here. I see her in my mind. "You go Mom, it's not your time, it's okay." She smiles a gentle smile, the one she had when her heart was sure. She walks with me. I go about my tasks, the mothering, the keeping house ...and she smiles accompanying me, laughing "I know Mom." She follows me as I switch from washer to dryer ...she knows the complexities of that in this house ...she knows. She has me hold my tongue ..."shhh, wait Mom, don't react." I pray, and she leans on me "it is good Mom." I have this now, for now ...maybe only for now. I don't have to leave right now, but soon. There is a life to live. "I'll be here Mom" as she nods towards the manger, "It will be good."
I ask her questions and she answers smiling ..."always pray" she seems to say "it is the best way. He is here, God is here." I'll rest here now, gaining strength, learning purpose ...knowing she is well ...and that I will be, we all will be well too.
God has cared for me in the most tender way. May I give back to Him in all I do. He has Phoebe ...and she has Him. I love you Phoebe ..."I know" she says ...and her eyes shine and her body smiles. When a mother must take leave of her daughter ...this is truly the best of ways. Be well, my sweet one.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
My heart is full, yet it rests low in my chest. It still feels heavy ...I miss her. If she walked into the room ...it would still be natural, she still belongs in my day. But today, it does not pull me over. I can stay here and rest. I can enjoy where she is, where my heart has been ...in Bethlehem. She can stay there. But, my life must go on, and go on well, with every bit of effort as if she were still here. I see her in my mind. "You go Mom, it's not your time, it's okay." She smiles a gentle smile, the one she had when her heart was sure. She walks with me. I go about my tasks, the mothering, the keeping house ...and she smiles accompanying me, laughing "I know Mom." She follows me as I switch from washer to dryer ...she knows the complexities of that in this house ...she knows. She has me hold my tongue ..."shhh, wait Mom, don't react." I pray, and she leans on me "it is good Mom." I have this now, for now ...maybe only for now. I don't have to leave right now, but soon. There is a life to live. "I'll be here Mom" as she nods towards the manger, "It will be good."
I ask her questions and she answers smiling ..."always pray" she seems to say "it is the best way. He is here, God is here." I'll rest here now, gaining strength, learning purpose ...knowing she is well ...and that I will be, we all will be well too.
God has cared for me in the most tender way. May I give back to Him in all I do. He has Phoebe ...and she has Him. I love you Phoebe ..."I know" she says ...and her eyes shine and her body smiles. When a mother must take leave of her daughter ...this is truly the best of ways. Be well, my sweet one.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Arrival
Christmas day is near closing. My cherubs are all snug in their beds, accounted for ...those here with me. My treasure, I know, now, where she is ...and I am pleased, contented ...not without thirst, not without want, but I am content.
I have shared my travels, my sorrowful heart, held close treasuring my precious Phoebe ...(my precious cargo, as my Neenie would say), on our way toward Bethlehem. Underfoot has not been easy, but there have been respites along the way. It has been a journey, well worth the orientation, the heart setting, the mind setting ...all pointing toward Bethlehem. I have chosen to trust ...and that ...has not been easy. It has demanded a conformity of my own will to God's. What mother would choose to trust God in the taking of her own child? Only one, Christ's own mother. Because I asked the mother of my savior to guide me, lead me ...she has. I have arrived in Bethlehem. It is a rather long story. There are lots of details along the way. I invite you to listen in, and hear my tale. It is all centered on reaching for God ...reaching for truth. And in a selfish way, it is all about me ...this mother, whose heart was shattered one beautiful October day, eleven weeks ago, when I had no time to say goodbye to my Phoebe. If you are reading here, hoping I expose personal details of her life, tell you she was in dire agony, tell you my girl had a horrible life ...than read no further. This is the story of a mother whose teenager daughter lived in a loving home, a home of faith and laughter, a home willing to fight the good fight to finish strong. This is the story of a mother whose ultimate goal is to get all of her children to Heaven.
When I started out, dazed and confused, I only knew one thing ...God was the answer. I wanted other answers, why, how, who, when? But in the recesses of both mind and heart, I knew those question might never be answered. And so, with His grace, I took that first step forward in the direction I felt called. I was asked to be counted, as Joseph had been asked. So, I followed ...to Bethlehem. In His divine generosity, Advent became my map, a wooden spiral my road, prayer and sacraments my nourishment along the way. There were several lightposts that led me onward as friends, well invested in this faith walk, lit one lantern after another with their tears, their encouragement, their prayer. There were several places of rest too, most especially, my Joy, a nine year old girl, whose life intersected with our own 18 years ago. I was blessed all along the way ...fortified with gifts that only God could provide. Some days have doubled me over in pain that has tormented every cell of my body. I would stand in Phoebe's room clutching clothing, papers, shoes just to grasp a sliver of the girl who left me. Shaken and out of place I would move through the day, focusing on those still here asking God to help me see them, care for them. In caring for them, I could care for Phoebe too ...connected by blood. Other days, I would fill a lift, a lightness that rested in my heart, a promise that all would be well ...a trust. But always, I tried my best to stay on route, Phoebe with me. "Please God, let her hear me, so I can tell her I love her, tell her goodnight." I've wanted nothing more than to deliver her to God, joyfully. He shared her with me for seventeen years, four months, twenty one days, sixteen hours. I am blessed ...but I wanted more ...still do.
I've prayed for three very specific things. First, I prayed that I might joyfully offer Phoebe back to the infant Jesus on Christmas morning. Secondly, I've prayed for a disposition that would place me at the stable in the manger ...a heart and mind set. Third, knowing that more souls are released from Purgatory on Christmas Day, I pleaded with God to bring her to Heaven on this day if he had not already. A friend told me tonight she had worried for me if I did not get what I was looking for. I had really expected nothing, no confirmation of any one of these requests. I had made the choice to trust God ...and when you do that, there is a certain "letting go" that doesn't require or expect a response. I guess the only thing I had really expected was that my heart could at least rest, knowing that I had taken this time of the liturgical year heading towards this great feast, and done all I could to present my daughter back to God. I had not considered this generous, I just thought it was right. There is the expression "God's generosity can never be outdone." My story is testament to His profound generosity that has rocked this aching heart and assured me of His love for me, my family, and most especially for Phoebe.
My first prayer, to offer Phoebe joyfully back to the Christ Child, was affirmed early on in my travels when we met the mother of Joy. Joy died at nine from electrocution ...and my husband was the first responder. He tried to save her. Joy's life ended nine months and five days before Phoebe's birth. Literally, as Joy's life ended Phoebe's began. What is the likelihood of meeting these two mothers meeting, and grasping the significance of these two lives intertwined in God's divine plan? Only God could arrange such a meeting, such awareness, such vision and clarity. It was simply far too obvious for me to ignore ...it fostered hope ...which led to Joy.
My second prayer asked, begged for my heart to have the full sense of what happened so many, many years ago when Christ was born, an awareness at least in mind and heart, where I could imagine what it must have been like ...why it must have been. I have my spiritual reading guiding me there ...and it did. But then, I am invited by an unassuming, joyful farmer girl to help her feed the animals on Christmas day. Just up the road, I would go to the stable and walk among the animals, many the kind that circled around the newborn infant. They would breath and they would smell so much as they had so many years ago. And we did go ...we fed them as night fell, and I breathed in the air that captured all they are and all they gave. They gave themselves that first Christmas ...and they warmed Him. I took in the sky, so big and wide, pink streaks the only hint of day ...and I thanked Him as I thought of my Phoebe truly there with Him. And I am with her as my other children scurry around me filling buckets, tossing hay, finding eggs. She would have liked this ...does like this. You notice details of His creation and the order of His plan among the animals. How far us humans have strayed. We are not animals, yet we have much to learn from them ...their simplicity, their dependence, their trust. He created man to have dominion over the animals, over the earth ...but I am struck at how we have lost our way ...and it is them that teaches us, that offers us the Truth, just as they did when Christ was born. It is a time of sweetness and sorrow as I come to know the promise of Phoebe still in my life, but the loss of holding her hand, hearing her laugh, seeing the twinkle in her eye, the confident command of her tasks ...for now. He has assured me by bringing me to the stable that she is there ...truly in Bethlehem. He lets me look ...even feel, but I must wait my turn. With abundance and generosity He has heard and answered my prayer in a most concrete way ...beyond my imaginings ...beyond even my desires. Still, He gives more.
Hours before I would step foot at the farm, anticipating the greatness of that gift, I ready our own home for Christmas morning. Christmas Eve is waning and my house is quiet. I hear a gentle knock at the door. It is so late, I don't recognize it at first, but then again. She stands in my doorway and says my name. I have always loved the way this friend says my name ...it sounds almost foreign on her tongue, two syllables instead of three, this Irish tongue, born here, but imprinted with a slight brogue that reveals itself when it is only her heart speaking. I don't think she sees that in herself, but it just one of thousands of things that make me love her. There is a package in her hand. "I wanted to give this to you, tonight, I can't stay, I just wanted to make sure I got this to you." Should I open it now I ask. She tells me I can wait. She sits with me a few moments, and we both fill with tears. She is the mother of two of Phoebe's three best friends. She loves Phoebe very much. When Phoebe had died, I had cried to her, so distraught, spun out into orbit. Had Phoebe been so sad. "No," she had said. "Whenever I saw her, I saw her smile like the sun, and her eyes that danced." Yes, she had loved her so well. We spoke a little, and agreed we would meet at the cemetery on Christmas day. It would be fitting that she accompany me ...more than I could know then. I put her package under the tree. A bit later, I lit my spiral Advent wreath, all ablaze, and prayed the rest of my rosary. "Where do you think she is now, at the manger?" I asked my husband. "Not yet, she's walking with the Shepherds." he answered. "Yes, probably"
I had hoped for a dream, something while I slept that would let me know Phoebe was there. I didn't really expect it ...and it wasn't to be. Still, I felt something ...some lightening.
Morning comes quick when there are little ones about, full of anticipation. Santa had indeed come. I did not gasp at her absence. I did not tear up ...I stayed present with the living ...and was glad for their smiles. A bit later, my husband and I sat and I pulled out the gift delivered just hours ago. As I lifted the tissue, I could see immediately what it was, and began to sob. A true gift, is one that is treasured and deeply loved by the giver.
No person can ever give that gift as God himself did in giving us His own Son. But, it is the rarest of people who will let go of something that speaks to their own soul ...because there is a cost ...a loss for them. They can do this because they see the gain for the other ...the receiver of their gift.
Several years ago now, this friend introduced me to a most powerful novena which begs St. Joseph for intercessory prayer, http://www.catholictradition.org/Joseph/joseph28.htm . It is a beautiful prayer, that is demanding, but strengthening. You will pray for something, but you will grow so much ...each word, each phrase oriented to the ultimate destination. We have prayed this novena together many times, and separately even more. It is called the Novena to the Holy Cloak. St. Joseph protected the Blessed Mother and the Christ child with his cloak ...a real physical article of clothing. A few years ago, an elderly women passed away. She had several relics (authentic pieces of a significant item, article ... deemed holy) and her husband wanted my friend to have one. Not knowing her devotion to and trust in St. Joseph's intercession on her behalf to God, the husband gave her a relic of St. Joseph's cloak. We were both stunned when this happened, amazed at God's timing and again, His generosity. I saw the relic, but for some reason had not been able to see the enormity of it ...because God had other plans and did not grant me the understanding then.
As I moved the tissue, I saw the top of the relic and knew immediately what it was ...or so I thought. It was the relic of the holy cloak, the cloak that protected and warmed Christ in the manger. I was being brought to Bethlehem. I pressed it close and thought of Phoebe. Looking at it, three little, barely visible flecks with writing in Latin under each. I figured out that it not only was a relic of St. Josephs' cloak, but also a relic of Blessed Mother's veil. I knew I would go to the barn later to be among the animals. This too! To behold in my hands a piece of the cloak and the veil, articles that grazed the very flesh of our Savior. It was far more than my mind could have considered ...even accept in this moment. Yet, here it is, physical articles that were indeed present in the stable at Bethlehem. I was and am stunned by His incredible generosity.
I meet her at the grave. Here lies the body of my daughter on Christmas morning. Oh, how I miss her. "I knew it was the holy cloak, but I didn't know the veil." I say as I walk toward her. Yes, my patient friend says to me. She knows my impatience, my rushing that misses important details ...she is so very patient with me, gentle as she waits.
She looks at the relic with me. "Do you know what this is?" she asks me. "No, I don't". She pauses, looks at me and says my name again. "Carolyn, this is a relic of His crib."
There are no words for me to say. He, my God, has brought me as much as He could, as close as I could go to the real Nativity. What more could I ask for? I, this woman, gifted with wordiness ...have none, except ...Thank You, my dear Heavenly Father, Thank you. I have envisioned approaching the crib with Phoebe, to offer her, leave her there with Him. How could I have known or thought, that God would bring the crib to me?
My third prayer was that Phoebe would go to Heaven on Christmas Day, if she was not already there. We can never know for sure where a soul is. As Catholics we believe a soul ultimately destined to be with God, can in rare instances, go directly to Heaven, or more often, spend time in Purgatory to achieve the state of perfection worthy to be in the presence of God. Lots of people think of Purgatory as a place of punishment, like a prison. In fact, it is a place where a soul frees itself from all the stains of sin ....Personally, I find great comfort in knowing of such a place. Sadly, there are souls that meet eternal damnation in that place called Hell. I want everyone to find Heaven ...most especially, my kids.
In a matter of twelve hours this past Thursday, four very separate and distinct conversations took place with me. Three of those conversations were not prompted by me, but by different people. One of them was prompted by me, but was totally unrelated to my prayer request. At the end of the day, I had some things to think about. As I mulled them over, I came to an acceptance of something I had not even considered before. This acceptance took hold in me this morning. It made me ask a question about Phoebe and her soul. I was not thinking about my prayer ...and it wasn't until I was at her grave, standing with my friend, who showed me the relic of the crib, that I realized my third prayer had been answered. There is no greater confirmation or consolation God could have offered me, short of bringing Phoebe back to me. He has given Christmas to me in a spiritual, but also very physical and tangible way. God asked me, continues to ask me, to pay a very high price. I do not want to have a dead child. Period. But, He sees that struggle to trust Him still ...choose Him, still. He sees.
I have trusted Him ...even in my anger. I have followed Him ... I have stepped outside of where I want to be, bundled in my grief and missing of Phoebe, and I have chosen Him ....because He has offered me the grace to choose Him.
And He has blessed me far more than I deserve. I am weary, yet rested. I am missing her, yet glad for where she is. I am imperfect ...and yet He loves me. I have loved Phoebe, and He has promised me He loves her more.
This will take some time to absorb. He has been outrageously generous, I know that. It will continue to seep in, taking hold of who I am ....forming me into who He wants me to be.
May each of you find and see the blessings He has for you this Christmas.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I have shared my travels, my sorrowful heart, held close treasuring my precious Phoebe ...(my precious cargo, as my Neenie would say), on our way toward Bethlehem. Underfoot has not been easy, but there have been respites along the way. It has been a journey, well worth the orientation, the heart setting, the mind setting ...all pointing toward Bethlehem. I have chosen to trust ...and that ...has not been easy. It has demanded a conformity of my own will to God's. What mother would choose to trust God in the taking of her own child? Only one, Christ's own mother. Because I asked the mother of my savior to guide me, lead me ...she has. I have arrived in Bethlehem. It is a rather long story. There are lots of details along the way. I invite you to listen in, and hear my tale. It is all centered on reaching for God ...reaching for truth. And in a selfish way, it is all about me ...this mother, whose heart was shattered one beautiful October day, eleven weeks ago, when I had no time to say goodbye to my Phoebe. If you are reading here, hoping I expose personal details of her life, tell you she was in dire agony, tell you my girl had a horrible life ...than read no further. This is the story of a mother whose teenager daughter lived in a loving home, a home of faith and laughter, a home willing to fight the good fight to finish strong. This is the story of a mother whose ultimate goal is to get all of her children to Heaven.
When I started out, dazed and confused, I only knew one thing ...God was the answer. I wanted other answers, why, how, who, when? But in the recesses of both mind and heart, I knew those question might never be answered. And so, with His grace, I took that first step forward in the direction I felt called. I was asked to be counted, as Joseph had been asked. So, I followed ...to Bethlehem. In His divine generosity, Advent became my map, a wooden spiral my road, prayer and sacraments my nourishment along the way. There were several lightposts that led me onward as friends, well invested in this faith walk, lit one lantern after another with their tears, their encouragement, their prayer. There were several places of rest too, most especially, my Joy, a nine year old girl, whose life intersected with our own 18 years ago. I was blessed all along the way ...fortified with gifts that only God could provide. Some days have doubled me over in pain that has tormented every cell of my body. I would stand in Phoebe's room clutching clothing, papers, shoes just to grasp a sliver of the girl who left me. Shaken and out of place I would move through the day, focusing on those still here asking God to help me see them, care for them. In caring for them, I could care for Phoebe too ...connected by blood. Other days, I would fill a lift, a lightness that rested in my heart, a promise that all would be well ...a trust. But always, I tried my best to stay on route, Phoebe with me. "Please God, let her hear me, so I can tell her I love her, tell her goodnight." I've wanted nothing more than to deliver her to God, joyfully. He shared her with me for seventeen years, four months, twenty one days, sixteen hours. I am blessed ...but I wanted more ...still do.
I've prayed for three very specific things. First, I prayed that I might joyfully offer Phoebe back to the infant Jesus on Christmas morning. Secondly, I've prayed for a disposition that would place me at the stable in the manger ...a heart and mind set. Third, knowing that more souls are released from Purgatory on Christmas Day, I pleaded with God to bring her to Heaven on this day if he had not already. A friend told me tonight she had worried for me if I did not get what I was looking for. I had really expected nothing, no confirmation of any one of these requests. I had made the choice to trust God ...and when you do that, there is a certain "letting go" that doesn't require or expect a response. I guess the only thing I had really expected was that my heart could at least rest, knowing that I had taken this time of the liturgical year heading towards this great feast, and done all I could to present my daughter back to God. I had not considered this generous, I just thought it was right. There is the expression "God's generosity can never be outdone." My story is testament to His profound generosity that has rocked this aching heart and assured me of His love for me, my family, and most especially for Phoebe.
My first prayer, to offer Phoebe joyfully back to the Christ Child, was affirmed early on in my travels when we met the mother of Joy. Joy died at nine from electrocution ...and my husband was the first responder. He tried to save her. Joy's life ended nine months and five days before Phoebe's birth. Literally, as Joy's life ended Phoebe's began. What is the likelihood of meeting these two mothers meeting, and grasping the significance of these two lives intertwined in God's divine plan? Only God could arrange such a meeting, such awareness, such vision and clarity. It was simply far too obvious for me to ignore ...it fostered hope ...which led to Joy.
My second prayer asked, begged for my heart to have the full sense of what happened so many, many years ago when Christ was born, an awareness at least in mind and heart, where I could imagine what it must have been like ...why it must have been. I have my spiritual reading guiding me there ...and it did. But then, I am invited by an unassuming, joyful farmer girl to help her feed the animals on Christmas day. Just up the road, I would go to the stable and walk among the animals, many the kind that circled around the newborn infant. They would breath and they would smell so much as they had so many years ago. And we did go ...we fed them as night fell, and I breathed in the air that captured all they are and all they gave. They gave themselves that first Christmas ...and they warmed Him. I took in the sky, so big and wide, pink streaks the only hint of day ...and I thanked Him as I thought of my Phoebe truly there with Him. And I am with her as my other children scurry around me filling buckets, tossing hay, finding eggs. She would have liked this ...does like this. You notice details of His creation and the order of His plan among the animals. How far us humans have strayed. We are not animals, yet we have much to learn from them ...their simplicity, their dependence, their trust. He created man to have dominion over the animals, over the earth ...but I am struck at how we have lost our way ...and it is them that teaches us, that offers us the Truth, just as they did when Christ was born. It is a time of sweetness and sorrow as I come to know the promise of Phoebe still in my life, but the loss of holding her hand, hearing her laugh, seeing the twinkle in her eye, the confident command of her tasks ...for now. He has assured me by bringing me to the stable that she is there ...truly in Bethlehem. He lets me look ...even feel, but I must wait my turn. With abundance and generosity He has heard and answered my prayer in a most concrete way ...beyond my imaginings ...beyond even my desires. Still, He gives more.
Hours before I would step foot at the farm, anticipating the greatness of that gift, I ready our own home for Christmas morning. Christmas Eve is waning and my house is quiet. I hear a gentle knock at the door. It is so late, I don't recognize it at first, but then again. She stands in my doorway and says my name. I have always loved the way this friend says my name ...it sounds almost foreign on her tongue, two syllables instead of three, this Irish tongue, born here, but imprinted with a slight brogue that reveals itself when it is only her heart speaking. I don't think she sees that in herself, but it just one of thousands of things that make me love her. There is a package in her hand. "I wanted to give this to you, tonight, I can't stay, I just wanted to make sure I got this to you." Should I open it now I ask. She tells me I can wait. She sits with me a few moments, and we both fill with tears. She is the mother of two of Phoebe's three best friends. She loves Phoebe very much. When Phoebe had died, I had cried to her, so distraught, spun out into orbit. Had Phoebe been so sad. "No," she had said. "Whenever I saw her, I saw her smile like the sun, and her eyes that danced." Yes, she had loved her so well. We spoke a little, and agreed we would meet at the cemetery on Christmas day. It would be fitting that she accompany me ...more than I could know then. I put her package under the tree. A bit later, I lit my spiral Advent wreath, all ablaze, and prayed the rest of my rosary. "Where do you think she is now, at the manger?" I asked my husband. "Not yet, she's walking with the Shepherds." he answered. "Yes, probably"
I had hoped for a dream, something while I slept that would let me know Phoebe was there. I didn't really expect it ...and it wasn't to be. Still, I felt something ...some lightening.
Morning comes quick when there are little ones about, full of anticipation. Santa had indeed come. I did not gasp at her absence. I did not tear up ...I stayed present with the living ...and was glad for their smiles. A bit later, my husband and I sat and I pulled out the gift delivered just hours ago. As I lifted the tissue, I could see immediately what it was, and began to sob. A true gift, is one that is treasured and deeply loved by the giver.
No person can ever give that gift as God himself did in giving us His own Son. But, it is the rarest of people who will let go of something that speaks to their own soul ...because there is a cost ...a loss for them. They can do this because they see the gain for the other ...the receiver of their gift.
Several years ago now, this friend introduced me to a most powerful novena which begs St. Joseph for intercessory prayer, http://www.catholictradition.org/Joseph/joseph28.htm . It is a beautiful prayer, that is demanding, but strengthening. You will pray for something, but you will grow so much ...each word, each phrase oriented to the ultimate destination. We have prayed this novena together many times, and separately even more. It is called the Novena to the Holy Cloak. St. Joseph protected the Blessed Mother and the Christ child with his cloak ...a real physical article of clothing. A few years ago, an elderly women passed away. She had several relics (authentic pieces of a significant item, article ... deemed holy) and her husband wanted my friend to have one. Not knowing her devotion to and trust in St. Joseph's intercession on her behalf to God, the husband gave her a relic of St. Joseph's cloak. We were both stunned when this happened, amazed at God's timing and again, His generosity. I saw the relic, but for some reason had not been able to see the enormity of it ...because God had other plans and did not grant me the understanding then.
As I moved the tissue, I saw the top of the relic and knew immediately what it was ...or so I thought. It was the relic of the holy cloak, the cloak that protected and warmed Christ in the manger. I was being brought to Bethlehem. I pressed it close and thought of Phoebe. Looking at it, three little, barely visible flecks with writing in Latin under each. I figured out that it not only was a relic of St. Josephs' cloak, but also a relic of Blessed Mother's veil. I knew I would go to the barn later to be among the animals. This too! To behold in my hands a piece of the cloak and the veil, articles that grazed the very flesh of our Savior. It was far more than my mind could have considered ...even accept in this moment. Yet, here it is, physical articles that were indeed present in the stable at Bethlehem. I was and am stunned by His incredible generosity.
I meet her at the grave. Here lies the body of my daughter on Christmas morning. Oh, how I miss her. "I knew it was the holy cloak, but I didn't know the veil." I say as I walk toward her. Yes, my patient friend says to me. She knows my impatience, my rushing that misses important details ...she is so very patient with me, gentle as she waits.
She looks at the relic with me. "Do you know what this is?" she asks me. "No, I don't". She pauses, looks at me and says my name again. "Carolyn, this is a relic of His crib."
There are no words for me to say. He, my God, has brought me as much as He could, as close as I could go to the real Nativity. What more could I ask for? I, this woman, gifted with wordiness ...have none, except ...Thank You, my dear Heavenly Father, Thank you. I have envisioned approaching the crib with Phoebe, to offer her, leave her there with Him. How could I have known or thought, that God would bring the crib to me?
My third prayer was that Phoebe would go to Heaven on Christmas Day, if she was not already there. We can never know for sure where a soul is. As Catholics we believe a soul ultimately destined to be with God, can in rare instances, go directly to Heaven, or more often, spend time in Purgatory to achieve the state of perfection worthy to be in the presence of God. Lots of people think of Purgatory as a place of punishment, like a prison. In fact, it is a place where a soul frees itself from all the stains of sin ....Personally, I find great comfort in knowing of such a place. Sadly, there are souls that meet eternal damnation in that place called Hell. I want everyone to find Heaven ...most especially, my kids.
In a matter of twelve hours this past Thursday, four very separate and distinct conversations took place with me. Three of those conversations were not prompted by me, but by different people. One of them was prompted by me, but was totally unrelated to my prayer request. At the end of the day, I had some things to think about. As I mulled them over, I came to an acceptance of something I had not even considered before. This acceptance took hold in me this morning. It made me ask a question about Phoebe and her soul. I was not thinking about my prayer ...and it wasn't until I was at her grave, standing with my friend, who showed me the relic of the crib, that I realized my third prayer had been answered. There is no greater confirmation or consolation God could have offered me, short of bringing Phoebe back to me. He has given Christmas to me in a spiritual, but also very physical and tangible way. God asked me, continues to ask me, to pay a very high price. I do not want to have a dead child. Period. But, He sees that struggle to trust Him still ...choose Him, still. He sees.
I have trusted Him ...even in my anger. I have followed Him ... I have stepped outside of where I want to be, bundled in my grief and missing of Phoebe, and I have chosen Him ....because He has offered me the grace to choose Him.
And He has blessed me far more than I deserve. I am weary, yet rested. I am missing her, yet glad for where she is. I am imperfect ...and yet He loves me. I have loved Phoebe, and He has promised me He loves her more.
This will take some time to absorb. He has been outrageously generous, I know that. It will continue to seep in, taking hold of who I am ....forming me into who He wants me to be.
May each of you find and see the blessings He has for you this Christmas.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Agape
Last night, I used the word agape, as an adjective, two syllables,(jaw dropping) to describe moments on Christmas morning when complaints seemed ...out of context. But that word as a noun has another, more powerful meaning ...three syllables, ah gah pay,... it means ....love ...the kind of love that one cannot fully describe. It comes from the Latin (I am no scholar here!). God's love for us ...agape. As I reread, it struck me that I had used that word ...another little link to this mystery of death, life ...abandonment, fullness.
I think of the Blessed Mother, coming to know her, understand her and her way. She was prepared for her life from before her creation. Immaculately conceived, without concupiscence, a tendency toward sin, she is indeed the perfect tabernacle for the savior. In her human perfection, she still experienced human emotion ...love, joy, pain, sorrow of deepest proportion, loss ...yet, how she differed from us, who tend toward sin, toward our own selfishness, is she never doubted God ...she always accepted, always trusted ...always, always. How I wish I could be there. The best I can do is imitate her over and over. I fail ....I try again. I fail ....I try again. It will always be, but I trust and believe that God is pleased with my effort. I can only imagine how often He shakes His head at me, seeing my stubborn pride guiding me so often. But I also imagine He relishes in the effort of my heart.
Blessed Mother abandoned everything to God ...she emptied herself ...radically. I cannot begin to imagine what that was like ...is like. I hold on to so much ...cling for dear life to the things I know and love ...but they must be let go. Phoebe must be let go. I don't want to but He is giving me the tools, the bridges, the path to Bethlehem that lead me to that sacred place where all can be given back to Him ...that place ...agape. I've shared many of those signs along the way, revealed some bared bones, raw wounds that can't be bandaged. Some of them will always be there, but some will be healed.
I've shared of the young Franciscan who taught Phoebe to smell the manger, see the hay, the golden bedding for our King. He taught her to listen to the breath of the animals as they warmed Him. This young priest taught her how to be at the Nativity. I listened, wanting her to take it all in, hear him, remember his words. We want our children to believe with every fiber, every cell of them that Christ came for them. I've thought of that over the past few years, remembering the intensity of his gaze on her. Her own eyes fixed on him as she nodded her head. She had said nothing of it after to me ...which told me she had heard, had believed. Was that a treasure given to us both those years ago? Did it bring us to the place we would both desire to be one Christmas day?
I believe Phoebe will be at the Nativity on Christmas, for a long time I've believed that, known in some way she would kneel at the crib. She would smell the hay, see the animals, the glory of the newborn King. I've prepared my heart to be there too, asking, begging as I make my way to Bethlehem. And yes, He is always generous. I've expected nothing ...it would reside in my heart and head, because I forget. Yet, another treasure offered, one I could never have thought to ask for, designed. A gift from Him, perhaps from Phoebe too. An invitation.
Two miles down the road is a farm. A beautiful, old farm that rolls down a grand hill. Llamas, belted cows, pigs, chickens, horses, goats ...gardens. It is a gem ...a generous place that invites all those around here to dig hands into earth. Working there is a young woman who endeared my heart the moment I met her. She's taught my kids so much about our surroundings, read them stories, put them to work ... It was in this place that Phoebe was to spend her last three months of her senior year. Working the farm as her internship under Meg's guidance. Her heart hurt bad when she learned of Phoebe. "No way, not you guys" she had said. "Farmer Meg" as she is known in this house, has watched this family grow. "Hey man, you guys are crazy, but I think you're just about the coolest family I know" she'd say when she learned yet another Walsh was to be born. I love this girl ...she's the real deal! Anyway, she came over yesterday with her incredibly adorable little one. I asked her what her plans were for Christmas. She gets to feed the animals at the farm that day. "I love it ....I get to escape all the craziness and just hang with the cows and the chickens ...its peaceful. Want to come?" I stopped. "Yes. YES! I want to come and help you feed the animals." I told her about my travel to Bethlehem, leaving Phoebe there and how it would be perfect ...like I was going to the manger. "Hey, whatever works. We can all hang out at the manger." And once again, I am stunned at what God offers me ...and I haven't even arrived yet. I can smell what Phoebe smells, hear the breathing of the animals as Phoebe will, see the glow of the hay, just as she will. I will share Christmas with her in a way I never imagined. Tell me, just try to tell me, that God is not all generous, all loving, all knowing.
After Christmas Mass, is there a more perfect way for me to spend Christmas day? I think not!
I am not dragging down this road, hesitant ...I am running as my heart begins to swell, begins to beat a different rhythm ...a glad, grateful beat to the sounding of my coming Savior. I am giving my Phoebe to a God who knows no limits. He will throw me in the fire of sorrow and loss, burning away the trappings of worldly love, so that He may begin to fill my heart with the only thing that matters .... Christ, Himself. Agape!
And as we ready ourselves for the Christ child, may I ask you to please pray for an expectant mother, Kelly. A prayer intention for her is on the sidebar. Hold her and her baby close.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I think of the Blessed Mother, coming to know her, understand her and her way. She was prepared for her life from before her creation. Immaculately conceived, without concupiscence, a tendency toward sin, she is indeed the perfect tabernacle for the savior. In her human perfection, she still experienced human emotion ...love, joy, pain, sorrow of deepest proportion, loss ...yet, how she differed from us, who tend toward sin, toward our own selfishness, is she never doubted God ...she always accepted, always trusted ...always, always. How I wish I could be there. The best I can do is imitate her over and over. I fail ....I try again. I fail ....I try again. It will always be, but I trust and believe that God is pleased with my effort. I can only imagine how often He shakes His head at me, seeing my stubborn pride guiding me so often. But I also imagine He relishes in the effort of my heart.
Blessed Mother abandoned everything to God ...she emptied herself ...radically. I cannot begin to imagine what that was like ...is like. I hold on to so much ...cling for dear life to the things I know and love ...but they must be let go. Phoebe must be let go. I don't want to but He is giving me the tools, the bridges, the path to Bethlehem that lead me to that sacred place where all can be given back to Him ...that place ...agape. I've shared many of those signs along the way, revealed some bared bones, raw wounds that can't be bandaged. Some of them will always be there, but some will be healed.
I've shared of the young Franciscan who taught Phoebe to smell the manger, see the hay, the golden bedding for our King. He taught her to listen to the breath of the animals as they warmed Him. This young priest taught her how to be at the Nativity. I listened, wanting her to take it all in, hear him, remember his words. We want our children to believe with every fiber, every cell of them that Christ came for them. I've thought of that over the past few years, remembering the intensity of his gaze on her. Her own eyes fixed on him as she nodded her head. She had said nothing of it after to me ...which told me she had heard, had believed. Was that a treasure given to us both those years ago? Did it bring us to the place we would both desire to be one Christmas day?
I believe Phoebe will be at the Nativity on Christmas, for a long time I've believed that, known in some way she would kneel at the crib. She would smell the hay, see the animals, the glory of the newborn King. I've prepared my heart to be there too, asking, begging as I make my way to Bethlehem. And yes, He is always generous. I've expected nothing ...it would reside in my heart and head, because I forget. Yet, another treasure offered, one I could never have thought to ask for, designed. A gift from Him, perhaps from Phoebe too. An invitation.
Two miles down the road is a farm. A beautiful, old farm that rolls down a grand hill. Llamas, belted cows, pigs, chickens, horses, goats ...gardens. It is a gem ...a generous place that invites all those around here to dig hands into earth. Working there is a young woman who endeared my heart the moment I met her. She's taught my kids so much about our surroundings, read them stories, put them to work ... It was in this place that Phoebe was to spend her last three months of her senior year. Working the farm as her internship under Meg's guidance. Her heart hurt bad when she learned of Phoebe. "No way, not you guys" she had said. "Farmer Meg" as she is known in this house, has watched this family grow. "Hey man, you guys are crazy, but I think you're just about the coolest family I know" she'd say when she learned yet another Walsh was to be born. I love this girl ...she's the real deal! Anyway, she came over yesterday with her incredibly adorable little one. I asked her what her plans were for Christmas. She gets to feed the animals at the farm that day. "I love it ....I get to escape all the craziness and just hang with the cows and the chickens ...its peaceful. Want to come?" I stopped. "Yes. YES! I want to come and help you feed the animals." I told her about my travel to Bethlehem, leaving Phoebe there and how it would be perfect ...like I was going to the manger. "Hey, whatever works. We can all hang out at the manger." And once again, I am stunned at what God offers me ...and I haven't even arrived yet. I can smell what Phoebe smells, hear the breathing of the animals as Phoebe will, see the glow of the hay, just as she will. I will share Christmas with her in a way I never imagined. Tell me, just try to tell me, that God is not all generous, all loving, all knowing.
After Christmas Mass, is there a more perfect way for me to spend Christmas day? I think not!
I am not dragging down this road, hesitant ...I am running as my heart begins to swell, begins to beat a different rhythm ...a glad, grateful beat to the sounding of my coming Savior. I am giving my Phoebe to a God who knows no limits. He will throw me in the fire of sorrow and loss, burning away the trappings of worldly love, so that He may begin to fill my heart with the only thing that matters .... Christ, Himself. Agape!
And as we ready ourselves for the Christ child, may I ask you to please pray for an expectant mother, Kelly. A prayer intention for her is on the sidebar. Hold her and her baby close.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Closing Days
Its not far off now ...just a few days away and we will arrive in that place of promise. I don't think the earth will shift, a horn will sound or the wind howl. I think it will just be ...and it will be well. The more I strive to let go of Phoebe ...not forget her, but truly let go of her so God may fully embrace her ...the more confirmation I get. Sign posts point me onward. Yes, they say, it is right and good you have chosen this path. Today's reflection found in "In Conversation with God, Advent and Christmastide," I read ...
The Kingdom of Heaven is beyond price, and yet it costs what you have to give ... It cost Peter and Andrew the price of a boat and some nets. It cost the widow two little coins. It cost them everything they had as it will do in our case too. What we are and what we have are saved at the moment we surrender them. Your boat (your talents, your hopes, your achievements) is worth nothing whatsoever, unless you leave it in Christ's hands, allowing him the freedom to come aboard. (p. 193)
Confirmation of my journey to the little one in the manger rings loud here, letting me know, encouraging me to stay the course, finish these last few days until His birth, so that I may leave Phoebe with Him ...and continue, even after, to release all that I have to the One.
Last night I had time for a quiet moment (rare in a full house). I hadn't finished my Rosary or my Divine Mercy Chaplet. I had come home from our support group, small in number due to the snow. Joy's mom was there ...with a picture of Joy at nine, just before she died. Looking at her smile, her life ...I called it "contagious adorability" ..not even a real word, but it just sprang to mind. I leaned both Phoebe's picture and Joys against the figure of the Blessed Mother from my Advent spiral, lit the candles and prayed. For the first time in a long time, I felt a tingle of delight that ran deep and gave promise to a life my daughter now beholds.
I thought about the hugging when we all parted after our meeting. "Merry Christmas" as we all headed off to celebrate in our various ways ...but all of us with trepidation, dread, and a bit of fear. But also hope. A new kind of hope ...that I can't even define yet, but nonetheless ...a hope and belief that nourishes and comforts. We laughed about our children as we spoke freely ...and long. There is always that fear in our everyday life we are rambling on and on about the one we've lost, while excluding the ones still here. In this place, we can let loose and allow our hearts to expand and share the beauty of our child, our lost one. It is here that we grow to love other children no longer physically present, but still very much alive, just as vital to their parents' lives as they were when they walked with us.
Christmas with Phoebe was always an adventure. Her expectations were so high, so outrageous sometimes we would all stand agape at her disappointment on Christmas morning. "What do you mean I didn't get my own condo this year?" "Where's the horse I asked for?" Looking back, I don't think her angst had anything to do with a desire for things ..but more the struggle to grasp the true meaning. Gifted with a mature intellect from early on, she wrestled with adult wisdom and childlike desire. But last Christmas, she was nothing but joyful and grateful ...and fun. We had outgrown the childish impatience and hit a new stride ..and it was lovely. But as I shared that, I smiled and laughed, and others did too as they are really coming to know Phoebe. Some even shared that their children, gone ahead of us, were that way too ...and we laughed even more. "I'm sure they are having a ball right now. Can you imagine the adventure they are on. The mountains they are climbing." And what comfort I took in that, thinking that Phoebe has two friends with her ...equally full of life and passion ...gone far sooner than we would have them go. The tears and the laughter, the hugs, the tissues passed, the memories shared ...I believe are one treasure God granted along this path to Bethlehem.
It is an odd thing to befriend someone, and grow to love their child gone from here. I have been blessed with the richness of friendship beyond what I could have ever asked for. But my friends are hurting too. They knew Phoebe alive, feisty, giving me a run for a trained olympian. They cheered us on and saw the passion of this incredible girl. Their hearts miss her ...they have an emptiness too, a new life to live.
Truth of it is, Phoebe was an incredibly unique, powerful personality ...she was loved beyond measure.
Where she went, she left her mark ...people remembered her. She is a bright star
To watch people grow to love and know your daughter ...and appreciate her ....after her death ...is a miracle ...nothing less. For me too, I am coming to know and accommodate others' children in my life. children I will never see ...until one day. You develop a desire to learn more about them, what made them tick, how did they wear their hair, what were their hobbies ...you want to know. And I think it is one of the gifts of losing a child ...you are given the ability to get to know someone, a lost child, because you know how very much alive your own child still is. That mutual desire of knowing each others children fuels us, encourages us to go on. We don't want our childrens lives to be over ...and they aren't, but that is best shared and experienced, perhaps, among those who walk this very difficult path. I don't think I can explain it fully, but it is like wearing new glasses ...and not that things now come into view, but that you see new things you couldn't before. You "see" as if blindness lifted at the same time the scene changed.
So as I prayed with the candles lit, I felt it for those few moments, the promise ...and it made way for the trust, the letting go. I don't feel it now, but I remember it ...those moments of pure, peaceful delight. I'll hang on to that these final days. I'll follow the one who with a simple "yes" gave all, with full abandon.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
The Kingdom of Heaven is beyond price, and yet it costs what you have to give ... It cost Peter and Andrew the price of a boat and some nets. It cost the widow two little coins. It cost them everything they had as it will do in our case too. What we are and what we have are saved at the moment we surrender them. Your boat (your talents, your hopes, your achievements) is worth nothing whatsoever, unless you leave it in Christ's hands, allowing him the freedom to come aboard. (p. 193)
Confirmation of my journey to the little one in the manger rings loud here, letting me know, encouraging me to stay the course, finish these last few days until His birth, so that I may leave Phoebe with Him ...and continue, even after, to release all that I have to the One.
Last night I had time for a quiet moment (rare in a full house). I hadn't finished my Rosary or my Divine Mercy Chaplet. I had come home from our support group, small in number due to the snow. Joy's mom was there ...with a picture of Joy at nine, just before she died. Looking at her smile, her life ...I called it "contagious adorability" ..not even a real word, but it just sprang to mind. I leaned both Phoebe's picture and Joys against the figure of the Blessed Mother from my Advent spiral, lit the candles and prayed. For the first time in a long time, I felt a tingle of delight that ran deep and gave promise to a life my daughter now beholds.
I thought about the hugging when we all parted after our meeting. "Merry Christmas" as we all headed off to celebrate in our various ways ...but all of us with trepidation, dread, and a bit of fear. But also hope. A new kind of hope ...that I can't even define yet, but nonetheless ...a hope and belief that nourishes and comforts. We laughed about our children as we spoke freely ...and long. There is always that fear in our everyday life we are rambling on and on about the one we've lost, while excluding the ones still here. In this place, we can let loose and allow our hearts to expand and share the beauty of our child, our lost one. It is here that we grow to love other children no longer physically present, but still very much alive, just as vital to their parents' lives as they were when they walked with us.
Christmas with Phoebe was always an adventure. Her expectations were so high, so outrageous sometimes we would all stand agape at her disappointment on Christmas morning. "What do you mean I didn't get my own condo this year?" "Where's the horse I asked for?" Looking back, I don't think her angst had anything to do with a desire for things ..but more the struggle to grasp the true meaning. Gifted with a mature intellect from early on, she wrestled with adult wisdom and childlike desire. But last Christmas, she was nothing but joyful and grateful ...and fun. We had outgrown the childish impatience and hit a new stride ..and it was lovely. But as I shared that, I smiled and laughed, and others did too as they are really coming to know Phoebe. Some even shared that their children, gone ahead of us, were that way too ...and we laughed even more. "I'm sure they are having a ball right now. Can you imagine the adventure they are on. The mountains they are climbing." And what comfort I took in that, thinking that Phoebe has two friends with her ...equally full of life and passion ...gone far sooner than we would have them go. The tears and the laughter, the hugs, the tissues passed, the memories shared ...I believe are one treasure God granted along this path to Bethlehem.
It is an odd thing to befriend someone, and grow to love their child gone from here. I have been blessed with the richness of friendship beyond what I could have ever asked for. But my friends are hurting too. They knew Phoebe alive, feisty, giving me a run for a trained olympian. They cheered us on and saw the passion of this incredible girl. Their hearts miss her ...they have an emptiness too, a new life to live.
Truth of it is, Phoebe was an incredibly unique, powerful personality ...she was loved beyond measure.
Where she went, she left her mark ...people remembered her. She is a bright star
To watch people grow to love and know your daughter ...and appreciate her ....after her death ...is a miracle ...nothing less. For me too, I am coming to know and accommodate others' children in my life. children I will never see ...until one day. You develop a desire to learn more about them, what made them tick, how did they wear their hair, what were their hobbies ...you want to know. And I think it is one of the gifts of losing a child ...you are given the ability to get to know someone, a lost child, because you know how very much alive your own child still is. That mutual desire of knowing each others children fuels us, encourages us to go on. We don't want our childrens lives to be over ...and they aren't, but that is best shared and experienced, perhaps, among those who walk this very difficult path. I don't think I can explain it fully, but it is like wearing new glasses ...and not that things now come into view, but that you see new things you couldn't before. You "see" as if blindness lifted at the same time the scene changed.
So as I prayed with the candles lit, I felt it for those few moments, the promise ...and it made way for the trust, the letting go. I don't feel it now, but I remember it ...those moments of pure, peaceful delight. I'll hang on to that these final days. I'll follow the one who with a simple "yes" gave all, with full abandon.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Choosing
Taken from yesterday's (Dec. 20, 2010) Magnificat
Saint Augustine said that Mary conceived Christ in her heart by faith before she conceived him in her womb. As we look toward the celebration of his birth,let us pray that he may come to dwell through faith in every heart purified by the search for God.
I will never be the mother of God. That is not my goal. But ...I can imitate her in this way. To make space for him in my heart is to imitate her. My heart is the center of my living. If it doesn't beat, I don't live. What makes my heart beat? If anything other than Christ controls the thump bump of my heart ...than I want to cast it out. I only want Christ to reign in that place. I'm striving to get there. I know it will take my whole life, but I am striving. That doesn't mean I can rest ...ever. That is why I must make my way to Bethlehem ...because there, I can empty my heart at the manger, of yes, even those I love the most, even the one whose loss scorches and burns me. If I can get there, no matter how tough or hard the journey, no matter the detours or distractions, I can give my imperfect heart to the perfect infant who was born to save me ...to save us all. If I can open my hands, my arms, my heart to give all I have, all I've had, back to Him ...only then, can I claim what graces He has for me. I don't expect big things, an exchange that is even in a worldly way. I do hope, and yes expect, that my heart will be cleaner, less cluttered, ready to be full of Him. And when I am full of Him, I can be His servant in a way like never before. I can conceive Christ in my heart. That's what I want for Christmas. It will not just happen. I have to desire it, deeply and with great conviction. I have to ask for it ...and I have to live as if I want it by practicing a life that reflects that ....a heart that reflects that.
God is so gracious and kind. He has given me a life I never wanted ...and yet, it is indeed a gift. How? I can't answer that. I may never answer it. But, if my heart is to belong to Him, ultimately only Him, then I must trust this burden as part of His plan, part of His great generosity for me, and everyone else affected by Phoebe's absence. For sure, I don't like it ...don't want it ...would choose a radically different gift ...one of comfort, peace ...one that includes my Phoebe here and breathing, laughing, complaining, living, singing ...all the things that are part of her. I would choose that ...but God has offered an invitation to accept something else, a gift He prefers for me. I do choose it ...and I wait ...and I trust.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saint Augustine said that Mary conceived Christ in her heart by faith before she conceived him in her womb. As we look toward the celebration of his birth,let us pray that he may come to dwell through faith in every heart purified by the search for God.
I will never be the mother of God. That is not my goal. But ...I can imitate her in this way. To make space for him in my heart is to imitate her. My heart is the center of my living. If it doesn't beat, I don't live. What makes my heart beat? If anything other than Christ controls the thump bump of my heart ...than I want to cast it out. I only want Christ to reign in that place. I'm striving to get there. I know it will take my whole life, but I am striving. That doesn't mean I can rest ...ever. That is why I must make my way to Bethlehem ...because there, I can empty my heart at the manger, of yes, even those I love the most, even the one whose loss scorches and burns me. If I can get there, no matter how tough or hard the journey, no matter the detours or distractions, I can give my imperfect heart to the perfect infant who was born to save me ...to save us all. If I can open my hands, my arms, my heart to give all I have, all I've had, back to Him ...only then, can I claim what graces He has for me. I don't expect big things, an exchange that is even in a worldly way. I do hope, and yes expect, that my heart will be cleaner, less cluttered, ready to be full of Him. And when I am full of Him, I can be His servant in a way like never before. I can conceive Christ in my heart. That's what I want for Christmas. It will not just happen. I have to desire it, deeply and with great conviction. I have to ask for it ...and I have to live as if I want it by practicing a life that reflects that ....a heart that reflects that.
God is so gracious and kind. He has given me a life I never wanted ...and yet, it is indeed a gift. How? I can't answer that. I may never answer it. But, if my heart is to belong to Him, ultimately only Him, then I must trust this burden as part of His plan, part of His great generosity for me, and everyone else affected by Phoebe's absence. For sure, I don't like it ...don't want it ...would choose a radically different gift ...one of comfort, peace ...one that includes my Phoebe here and breathing, laughing, complaining, living, singing ...all the things that are part of her. I would choose that ...but God has offered an invitation to accept something else, a gift He prefers for me. I do choose it ...and I wait ...and I trust.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Childlike
"It doesn't even feel like Christmas" they say to me often. No, how could it, when one of us is missing. I think about how they must have felt so long ago ...waiting ...longing for the savior to be born. It must have been an aching like this ...like something isn't quite right. No, it doesn't feel a whole lot like Christmas to me either. But it isn't yet, anyway. It's Advent ...a time of waiting, expectation, hope. I wish I could feel more festive, joy filled. I'm trying ...hard. But this is no easy task and there is no way around it. I must go through. We all must. To find my way, I must be like a child. That innocent trust that just is ...those passionate requests so hopeful. How do I get there ...and stay?
Behind us is a beautiful peace of land where I walk. It is those trails that I've searched for Phoebe, trying to catch a glimpse ...a sense of her. Fleeting, sometimes I do. She loved this place ...all it offered ....all year. And so I walk those trails visiting her sites where she was so alive, full of adventure, living unencumbered, enjoying all that is free from God. I think of Bethlehem and the path Mary took there. I imagine it was similar in ways to these trails I follow now, mostly only cleared by feet walking a common way. The twists and turns, jagged rocks, narrowing here and there. Some places wider, where others you walk through catching branches on your way. It must have been like that at times for Mary. I imagine it because I want that walk to be mine. I want to arrive at the stable and humbly, but joyfully offer my own child, my Phoebe. That time is getting closer, and that doesn't make it easier. The tears fall more frequently, the sobs always at the ready. I look around me and see the families intact, alive, happy. Why was I given this to carry? I look at my own face, aged and fallen. I see us all together with too much space ...Phoebe missing. I want her so much ...I miss her beyond words. Touch her things, talk to her, tell her, ask her "Phoebe, how did you think I could go on?"
People remind me of conversations they had with her, how bright, clear headed, thoughtful she was. How interesting, they say. Surprised to find one her age that you could have a meaningful conversation with. I am so happy to hear anything about her ...but it also makes it more unbelievable. Yes, I think ...then where did it go wrong. What happened?
How do I take these thoughts, these pains and turn them into childlike trust? That seems so beyond my ability ..even beyond my desire. How does a mother, aching for her daughter, freely, with reckless abandon, reach out and trust the very God who allowed such a horrible thing to happen? I know that is what I must do, but how. Some days find me stronger, while others find every cell in agony ...a real physical pain that reminds me always of what I've lost.
And now, we've cleared ten weeks, and people have moved on ...as they should. But we are still here, struggling to move beyond the promise of our seventeen year old. It is a loneliness like no other ...we are alone on this rugged terrain ...hoping for smoother footing. Perhaps some sign, some sense that God hears us will come. I believe he hears me, us, I do. But I've no emotional sense of that. It is empty, dry ...parched. Where is God in all of this? Yes, I understand the big picture ...all of eternity, I do. And I believe it. The struggle is to believe it without any confirmation. That is faith. And as I try to hang on to my own, how about my children's? Where is the heavenly help here? What can I do to preserve their own trust in the wake of their loss? These are difficult questions that can't be answered all at once ...but they are real questions.
I know I can't begin to answer them until I strive for that childlike simplicity of loving God ...trusting Him.
Right now I can only get there by following the Blessed Mother. She trusted ...totally. I follow here, at least I try, to Bethlehem. I don't know what else to do.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.
Behind us is a beautiful peace of land where I walk. It is those trails that I've searched for Phoebe, trying to catch a glimpse ...a sense of her. Fleeting, sometimes I do. She loved this place ...all it offered ....all year. And so I walk those trails visiting her sites where she was so alive, full of adventure, living unencumbered, enjoying all that is free from God. I think of Bethlehem and the path Mary took there. I imagine it was similar in ways to these trails I follow now, mostly only cleared by feet walking a common way. The twists and turns, jagged rocks, narrowing here and there. Some places wider, where others you walk through catching branches on your way. It must have been like that at times for Mary. I imagine it because I want that walk to be mine. I want to arrive at the stable and humbly, but joyfully offer my own child, my Phoebe. That time is getting closer, and that doesn't make it easier. The tears fall more frequently, the sobs always at the ready. I look around me and see the families intact, alive, happy. Why was I given this to carry? I look at my own face, aged and fallen. I see us all together with too much space ...Phoebe missing. I want her so much ...I miss her beyond words. Touch her things, talk to her, tell her, ask her "Phoebe, how did you think I could go on?"
People remind me of conversations they had with her, how bright, clear headed, thoughtful she was. How interesting, they say. Surprised to find one her age that you could have a meaningful conversation with. I am so happy to hear anything about her ...but it also makes it more unbelievable. Yes, I think ...then where did it go wrong. What happened?
How do I take these thoughts, these pains and turn them into childlike trust? That seems so beyond my ability ..even beyond my desire. How does a mother, aching for her daughter, freely, with reckless abandon, reach out and trust the very God who allowed such a horrible thing to happen? I know that is what I must do, but how. Some days find me stronger, while others find every cell in agony ...a real physical pain that reminds me always of what I've lost.
And now, we've cleared ten weeks, and people have moved on ...as they should. But we are still here, struggling to move beyond the promise of our seventeen year old. It is a loneliness like no other ...we are alone on this rugged terrain ...hoping for smoother footing. Perhaps some sign, some sense that God hears us will come. I believe he hears me, us, I do. But I've no emotional sense of that. It is empty, dry ...parched. Where is God in all of this? Yes, I understand the big picture ...all of eternity, I do. And I believe it. The struggle is to believe it without any confirmation. That is faith. And as I try to hang on to my own, how about my children's? Where is the heavenly help here? What can I do to preserve their own trust in the wake of their loss? These are difficult questions that can't be answered all at once ...but they are real questions.
I know I can't begin to answer them until I strive for that childlike simplicity of loving God ...trusting Him.
Right now I can only get there by following the Blessed Mother. She trusted ...totally. I follow here, at least I try, to Bethlehem. I don't know what else to do.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Rosary Girls
This morning I sat among my circle of ladies who've gathered to pray the Rosary for many years now. We tried to calculate how long its been since it all began ...and we are a little foggy. I think the time has been lost in prayer. It is at least eight years ...could be ten. We're just not quite sure. At first we prayed at night, after my little ones were in bed. Three of us began ...not always together. There were times it was just me, praying the Rosary ...trusting it would grow ...more would come as we recognized the need for God in this untidy world. When nights became harder as children got bigger and more difficult to settle earlier in the night, we moved our gathering time to Friday mornings. And that is where it has been for many years. People have come and gone. Some came once, some for years ...we waxed and waned. But still, a core of us held firm to gathering every Friday to pray together, for each other. Babies have been born, and grown. Parent's have died, other relatives too. A husband, and dear friend died. We've prayed people well, people to die with dignity, people back to the faith. We've prayed for fortitude, perseverance in the faith, gratitude for friendship. We've begged God to bless our children, our marriages, our faith. We've prayed for holy priests, for patience and trust to survive ...even thrive in a place that is far away, in many ways, from the teachings of Rome, our Church. We've prayed for the unwed mothers ...an end to abortion ...and most especially the unborn. We've prayed for so many things and have woven a fine tapestry of sincere, but imperfect prayer to our Heavenly Father. We've prayed for each other and we have grown to love one another in a unique and blessed way. I believe now, we cannot survive without each other. I know this to be true.
We've prayed for everything, through everything, but now we've been given the task, the harrowing, heartaching task of praying through the loss of a child ...my child, Phoebe. And I can tell you, that the depth of their pain, the sense of their loss ...is not much shallower than my own. We are all stunned that this could have happened, and it puts all of us on alert, makes everyone question the safety of their own children. But more, these women know and love Phoebe. I don't mean that in a simple way ...I mean they really loved her. They miss her too!
It is a funny thing to see how we have grown together, walked together hoping to find Heaven. All of us stumble, we are an unholy crew striving for holiness. We have all been humbled and brought to the very knees we thought we were already on. We are a group of women trying with all our might, to live an authentically Catholic life, every millimeter in line with the fullness of the Church's teachings. I am not patting us on the back, raising us up, saying we are better than anyone ...I am simply and honestly saying that each day we strive to live a heroic life, centered fully on Christ ...regardless of the cost. And some of us, all of us now, have paid an extraordinarily high price. Our loss of Phoebe has shaken our faith to the very core ...and yet, we gather ...and we pray ...trusting. We offer our Rosary knowing that without it ...we may well lose our way. We are not afraid, overly scrupulous ...we simply trust God and know that to survive this ...we must stay very, very close to Him.
I wish everyone had the gift of a prayer group like this. It is likely, that if it were not for this group, some of us would not be friends today. Our paths would never cross, or our interests, ages of our children would not cultivate a natural friendship .., yet because of a circle of beads, we are bound together. They have seen me at my worst ...desperate, afraid, alone, angry, weak. And they have seen me when my heart is full and I can step forward. They've watched all of my children grow ...and they've watched one die. They've seen my mothering, watched my impatience, my disappointments and frustrations ...and loved me through them. They've shared their confidence that things will be well for us again. Gently, and with great compassion and charity, they have helped remove scales from my eyes when I haven't seen clearly. They've held my head and shifted my gaze every so slightly so I might see through a finer lens. And all this before Phoebe's passing. And now, they give even more. They've dug even deeper into their hearts and reached to far away places to care for me and my family.
As I move closer to Bethlehem, I see them more clearly. These women have been swaddling me and my family. I've felt as though I've been walking this trail alone ...but my servants have followed close by. I've wanted to feel Phoebe's arms around me ...and I have not been blessed with that. Maybe someday. But I have been wrapped in the arms of the Rosary Girls. And I am tremendously grateful.
Another friend, shared with me a reflection she heard about the Blessed Mother. The priest offered the thought that as we approach her to intercede for us and place our children under the protection of her mantle, she considers us one of "her girls." So when we do something that is pleasing to God, in a way she herself would have, it's as if she is saying "That's my girl!" I think the Blessed Mother has been saying that a lot lately about the women in my life. I imagine as all of Heaven watches these women so generously tend to us, she is there too, "Yup, those are my girls!" May I one day be one of "her girls."
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
We've prayed for everything, through everything, but now we've been given the task, the harrowing, heartaching task of praying through the loss of a child ...my child, Phoebe. And I can tell you, that the depth of their pain, the sense of their loss ...is not much shallower than my own. We are all stunned that this could have happened, and it puts all of us on alert, makes everyone question the safety of their own children. But more, these women know and love Phoebe. I don't mean that in a simple way ...I mean they really loved her. They miss her too!
It is a funny thing to see how we have grown together, walked together hoping to find Heaven. All of us stumble, we are an unholy crew striving for holiness. We have all been humbled and brought to the very knees we thought we were already on. We are a group of women trying with all our might, to live an authentically Catholic life, every millimeter in line with the fullness of the Church's teachings. I am not patting us on the back, raising us up, saying we are better than anyone ...I am simply and honestly saying that each day we strive to live a heroic life, centered fully on Christ ...regardless of the cost. And some of us, all of us now, have paid an extraordinarily high price. Our loss of Phoebe has shaken our faith to the very core ...and yet, we gather ...and we pray ...trusting. We offer our Rosary knowing that without it ...we may well lose our way. We are not afraid, overly scrupulous ...we simply trust God and know that to survive this ...we must stay very, very close to Him.
I wish everyone had the gift of a prayer group like this. It is likely, that if it were not for this group, some of us would not be friends today. Our paths would never cross, or our interests, ages of our children would not cultivate a natural friendship .., yet because of a circle of beads, we are bound together. They have seen me at my worst ...desperate, afraid, alone, angry, weak. And they have seen me when my heart is full and I can step forward. They've watched all of my children grow ...and they've watched one die. They've seen my mothering, watched my impatience, my disappointments and frustrations ...and loved me through them. They've shared their confidence that things will be well for us again. Gently, and with great compassion and charity, they have helped remove scales from my eyes when I haven't seen clearly. They've held my head and shifted my gaze every so slightly so I might see through a finer lens. And all this before Phoebe's passing. And now, they give even more. They've dug even deeper into their hearts and reached to far away places to care for me and my family.
As I move closer to Bethlehem, I see them more clearly. These women have been swaddling me and my family. I've felt as though I've been walking this trail alone ...but my servants have followed close by. I've wanted to feel Phoebe's arms around me ...and I have not been blessed with that. Maybe someday. But I have been wrapped in the arms of the Rosary Girls. And I am tremendously grateful.
Another friend, shared with me a reflection she heard about the Blessed Mother. The priest offered the thought that as we approach her to intercede for us and place our children under the protection of her mantle, she considers us one of "her girls." So when we do something that is pleasing to God, in a way she herself would have, it's as if she is saying "That's my girl!" I think the Blessed Mother has been saying that a lot lately about the women in my life. I imagine as all of Heaven watches these women so generously tend to us, she is there too, "Yup, those are my girls!" May I one day be one of "her girls."
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Clean Heart
Create in me a clean heart, O God (Ps 50:10) That's what I want ...a clean heart, one that is trusting and open ...willing to follow His way. I don't have that yet, but I'm trying. There is the desire to stand still, not leave this place. But there is the need to move forward ...bringing me closer to home. Children have such a strong sense of Heaven ...an assurance we tend to lose as we age, mature. I remember years ago when one of my daughters was just about four. One night she asked me as I tucked her into bed "Mommy, when am I going home." I answered with a "you silly, you are home." "No, mommy, when am I going to my real home ...with God." I was speechless ...what did she know, I worried. Was something to happen to her that she had a sense of? Nothing did, but it struck me so deeply ...this awareness that she was not yet truly home. I have a bit of that now ...that I don't quite fit here. This isn't my place, and yet, it is ...it is where I am to be, probably for some time. There are good reasons to desire being here ...and I do, I just don't feel complete anymore. Probably, that's exactly how God wants me to feel. I am not complete without God. And though I strive to live each day in service to Him, even though I may struggle with anger toward Him, until I am in His presence, I will not be whole. I know people who experience that ...without losing a child. Those are extraordinarily gifted people, ones with a natural sense of their place before God. I am more of an ordinary person ...I need to be hit over the head with some very basic truths. He hit me really hard this time.
So now that I have this desire to be home with God ...so that I can see Phoebe (which isn't quite the right motive yet.) I want my heart to be as clean and pure as possible. This ...will not be easy for me though I know it is true.
I read today that if we prepare ourselves and talk to God often throughout our day, make use of the sacraments, examine our conscience we will not at all be surprised when He comes again. True Christians are prepared because they live their lives like a guard at attention, not leaving their post for an instant. I've thought of myself as a true Christian ...but I don't think I am there yet. I want to be, I strive to live as one. But where is my heart unclean, selfish, preoccupied. Well, for one, why can't I joyfully accept that Phoebe is with God? For me, I struggle with the belief that joy will come only when I am there too, right next to her. But then what about my others? Am I so consumed with the loss of this daughter, that I fail to recognize the children still here? Are they struggling to catch my gaze only to find my eyes vacant ...distant? Is my motive to be with Phoebe about God, about wholeness, about love? Or is it about a desire ...a demand? I don't know the answers. I do know I want my heart to be clean when I approach the manger ...as clean and pure as it can be. To be clean it must be free of all the clutter that distracts me from God ...things of this world, my own selfish desires (some of them quite natural as a mother), my putting off the work I must do here ...now. I must pick up this heavy, heavy burden and trust that it is truly mine to carry ...and trust that in time I will learn to love it. Not that I will ever love Phoebe's absence, but I will grow to love this sorrow as a gift, one that builds the foundation necessary for me to find my own way to eternal life with God. Some souls are more pliable than others ...I'm stubborn ...He has to work me harder than most perhaps. A clean heart ...that's a project that will last me a lifetime. I hope my sincerity allows me to approach the infant, and offer as a promise my own beloved child. My heart will not be as pure as it will one day be ...but for now, my desire and struggle will perhaps be enough.
I look ahead at Blessed Mother. She's walked this way and she urges me onward. I will follow her ...she has never let me down. I can hear the rustling of her mantle as it guides me towards her Son.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
So now that I have this desire to be home with God ...so that I can see Phoebe (which isn't quite the right motive yet.) I want my heart to be as clean and pure as possible. This ...will not be easy for me though I know it is true.
I read today that if we prepare ourselves and talk to God often throughout our day, make use of the sacraments, examine our conscience we will not at all be surprised when He comes again. True Christians are prepared because they live their lives like a guard at attention, not leaving their post for an instant. I've thought of myself as a true Christian ...but I don't think I am there yet. I want to be, I strive to live as one. But where is my heart unclean, selfish, preoccupied. Well, for one, why can't I joyfully accept that Phoebe is with God? For me, I struggle with the belief that joy will come only when I am there too, right next to her. But then what about my others? Am I so consumed with the loss of this daughter, that I fail to recognize the children still here? Are they struggling to catch my gaze only to find my eyes vacant ...distant? Is my motive to be with Phoebe about God, about wholeness, about love? Or is it about a desire ...a demand? I don't know the answers. I do know I want my heart to be clean when I approach the manger ...as clean and pure as it can be. To be clean it must be free of all the clutter that distracts me from God ...things of this world, my own selfish desires (some of them quite natural as a mother), my putting off the work I must do here ...now. I must pick up this heavy, heavy burden and trust that it is truly mine to carry ...and trust that in time I will learn to love it. Not that I will ever love Phoebe's absence, but I will grow to love this sorrow as a gift, one that builds the foundation necessary for me to find my own way to eternal life with God. Some souls are more pliable than others ...I'm stubborn ...He has to work me harder than most perhaps. A clean heart ...that's a project that will last me a lifetime. I hope my sincerity allows me to approach the infant, and offer as a promise my own beloved child. My heart will not be as pure as it will one day be ...but for now, my desire and struggle will perhaps be enough.
I look ahead at Blessed Mother. She's walked this way and she urges me onward. I will follow her ...she has never let me down. I can hear the rustling of her mantle as it guides me towards her Son.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
St. Raphael
This is a long road. I don't like it much. I'm glad I have greeters and guides along the way ...friends who step in, hold my hand, let my tears roll, pour me tea, deliver groceries, remember ...me and Phoebe ...and remind me how they saw me love her ...still see me love her. I'm grateful to those who are so patient with me ...and know that to even speak to them right now would unleash a torrent of emotion I'm not ready for ...yet ...especially those heaven sent, special pair, so many miles away who send their love in so many ways. Not yet Neenie, but one day soon ...because right now you would only hear the sobs and a heaving heart ...but soon... and Poppa too ...thank you. Be patient with me. For now, know that the cookies have been ranked "top tier."
What I want to write about is how I can't stop thinking about last year at this time. The days leading up to Christmas, all the preparations Phoebe was such a big part of. I want to write about the things that make my heart ache ... But instead, I'll share a story that I believe is an early Christmas present ...one that keeps me on the path to Bethlehem.
There have been many, many signal graces along the way. And I am grateful for them, but there is one in particular that gives physical evidence of Heaven on earth. It wasn't my story, but has become mine over these many weeks. I may have shared parts of it already, but in its entirety ...it is a powerful testament to the saints around us, hard at work. Stay with me as I repeat some things already written.
Right after she died, glittering in the late day sun atop her desk was a medallion she had lost. It was a gift to her when she turned 15 that had been lost for some time. And yet, here it was. I took it and put on my necklace which was a medal of St. Raphael. I thought nothing of this. Later I learned that St. Raphael is the patron saint of the young, travelers and healer of souls. The medal was given to me by a friend for my recent graduation from nursing school. He is also patron to all those in the health professions. He's a busy guy, for sure! Those who know Phoebe are well aware that, of course, she would require protection and care from a creation that could multitask with exceptional finesse. I think St. Raphael is indeed that creation.
Almost two weeks after she died, her dad was on one of the Harbor Islands. He'd been there many times for professional work and had tried to see the summer camp out there used for city kids. Each time it was well secured and he could just peek through the gate. For some reason, on this day, it was unlocked.
He drove through the gate and around the beautiful campus, amazed by its size. He recalls having a very strong sense of Phoebe with him. They were best friends ...they had a blast most times they were together. Both adventurous, pushing the limits ...always "thinking outside the box" they had forged a friendship that kept them in step. So on this day, it was just another ride in the car with Phoebe. He parked near a pier that goes out over the water about 200 feet. It was a beautiful, sunny, balmy October day. Any puddles would have dried up immediately ...and the tide was out, so no chance for splashes on the pier. As he walked down, he noticed a puddle up ahead ...and thought to himself that was odd considering the kind of day it was and that the tide was low. (I am not nearly as perceptive and wouldn't have thought twice about a puddle on such a day ...that's why God can't give me these kinds of gifts!) As he approached he noticed a footprint right next to the puddle. Kneeling, he put his hands on the liquid which turned out to be a very light oil ...like olive oil. St. Raphael's oil is just like this. Next to the oil is footprint of a converse sneaker sole. Phoebe wore converse sneakers 98% of the time. In fact, I have left her converse right outside the door ...as she always did. He recognized the tread right away, put his foot up next to it, snapped a picture with his phone ...and felt an overwhelming assurance that here she was, escorted by St. Raphael to spend some time with her dad. At home, he put her sneaker up to his, and looked at the image on his phone ...it was a match! There is no doubt in our minds ...and hearts, that indeed Phoebe's footprint was on that bridge. If Phoebe was alive, and could have been anywhere in the world on that day ...with the wind and the sun ...that is the kind of place she would go to. More, it was the kind of place her and dad would go to ...and play.
I think about that story a lot, especially when the burden gets heavier. Patron of travelers ...aren't we all travelers , on our way to eternity ...on our way to Bethlehem. Travel light, he seems to say. Leave the burden, give it back, return it to God. Travel light. I wish I could. I'm trying. Healer of souls ...yes, I need that. Heal me, please. I believe he helped heal Phoebe's soul as she made such a terrible, irrevocable choice in a blink. And I believe he wants to assist, be God's helper, in healing the souls in this home, her home.
Protector of the youth ...would anyone disagree we need that now more than ever? I need his aide in all these ways as I make my way to the infant in the manger. St. Raphael came early with this gift for Christmas, but true gifts continue to give and nourish long after the physical presence is gone ...just like Christ. Though as Catholics, we have the treasure of His true presence in the Holy Eucharist.
There are so many of us struggling to protect our children, raise them to be virtuous, confident, faithful. This wonderful archangel can assist us along that path ... along the way to Bethlehem.
St. Raphael, pray and intercede for all of us and our children!
What I want to write about is how I can't stop thinking about last year at this time. The days leading up to Christmas, all the preparations Phoebe was such a big part of. I want to write about the things that make my heart ache ... But instead, I'll share a story that I believe is an early Christmas present ...one that keeps me on the path to Bethlehem.
There have been many, many signal graces along the way. And I am grateful for them, but there is one in particular that gives physical evidence of Heaven on earth. It wasn't my story, but has become mine over these many weeks. I may have shared parts of it already, but in its entirety ...it is a powerful testament to the saints around us, hard at work. Stay with me as I repeat some things already written.
Right after she died, glittering in the late day sun atop her desk was a medallion she had lost. It was a gift to her when she turned 15 that had been lost for some time. And yet, here it was. I took it and put on my necklace which was a medal of St. Raphael. I thought nothing of this. Later I learned that St. Raphael is the patron saint of the young, travelers and healer of souls. The medal was given to me by a friend for my recent graduation from nursing school. He is also patron to all those in the health professions. He's a busy guy, for sure! Those who know Phoebe are well aware that, of course, she would require protection and care from a creation that could multitask with exceptional finesse. I think St. Raphael is indeed that creation.
Almost two weeks after she died, her dad was on one of the Harbor Islands. He'd been there many times for professional work and had tried to see the summer camp out there used for city kids. Each time it was well secured and he could just peek through the gate. For some reason, on this day, it was unlocked.
He drove through the gate and around the beautiful campus, amazed by its size. He recalls having a very strong sense of Phoebe with him. They were best friends ...they had a blast most times they were together. Both adventurous, pushing the limits ...always "thinking outside the box" they had forged a friendship that kept them in step. So on this day, it was just another ride in the car with Phoebe. He parked near a pier that goes out over the water about 200 feet. It was a beautiful, sunny, balmy October day. Any puddles would have dried up immediately ...and the tide was out, so no chance for splashes on the pier. As he walked down, he noticed a puddle up ahead ...and thought to himself that was odd considering the kind of day it was and that the tide was low. (I am not nearly as perceptive and wouldn't have thought twice about a puddle on such a day ...that's why God can't give me these kinds of gifts!) As he approached he noticed a footprint right next to the puddle. Kneeling, he put his hands on the liquid which turned out to be a very light oil ...like olive oil. St. Raphael's oil is just like this. Next to the oil is footprint of a converse sneaker sole. Phoebe wore converse sneakers 98% of the time. In fact, I have left her converse right outside the door ...as she always did. He recognized the tread right away, put his foot up next to it, snapped a picture with his phone ...and felt an overwhelming assurance that here she was, escorted by St. Raphael to spend some time with her dad. At home, he put her sneaker up to his, and looked at the image on his phone ...it was a match! There is no doubt in our minds ...and hearts, that indeed Phoebe's footprint was on that bridge. If Phoebe was alive, and could have been anywhere in the world on that day ...with the wind and the sun ...that is the kind of place she would go to. More, it was the kind of place her and dad would go to ...and play.
I think about that story a lot, especially when the burden gets heavier. Patron of travelers ...aren't we all travelers , on our way to eternity ...on our way to Bethlehem. Travel light, he seems to say. Leave the burden, give it back, return it to God. Travel light. I wish I could. I'm trying. Healer of souls ...yes, I need that. Heal me, please. I believe he helped heal Phoebe's soul as she made such a terrible, irrevocable choice in a blink. And I believe he wants to assist, be God's helper, in healing the souls in this home, her home.
Protector of the youth ...would anyone disagree we need that now more than ever? I need his aide in all these ways as I make my way to the infant in the manger. St. Raphael came early with this gift for Christmas, but true gifts continue to give and nourish long after the physical presence is gone ...just like Christ. Though as Catholics, we have the treasure of His true presence in the Holy Eucharist.
There are so many of us struggling to protect our children, raise them to be virtuous, confident, faithful. This wonderful archangel can assist us along that path ... along the way to Bethlehem.
St. Raphael, pray and intercede for all of us and our children!
O Raphael, lead us toward those we are waiting for, those who are waiting for us: Raphael, Angel of happy meeting, lead us by the hand toward those we are looking for. May all our movements be guided by your Light and transfigured with your joy. Angel, guide of Tobias, lay the request we now address to you at the feet of Him on whose unveiled Face you are privileged to gaze. Lonely and tired, crushed by the separations and sorrows of life, we feel the need of calling you and of pleading for the protection of your wings, so that we may not be as strangers in the province of joy, all ignorant of the concerns of our country. Remember the weak, you who are strong, you whose home lies beyond the region of thunder, in a land that is always peaceful, always serene and bright with the resplendent glory of God. Amen.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Monday, December 13, 2010
St. Lucy
Today is the feast of St. Lucy. We have our very own resident, Lucy ...so it makes the day even more special. Our morning starts with steaming hot chocolate and pastry. I'm glad we've spent the years celebrating the feast days of this holy season. That history has made this a time well remembered and appreciated in our home. I've tried a few different ways to approach Christmas. Long ago, not a ribbon or ornament would be seen ...until the children would awaken to a Christmas morning in a home transformed over night. I've never taken that approach, I just hear stories of it. There is a somber element to Advent as we seek to restore our own soul to be fitting to greet the birth of our Savior. I know times were different then. In the past, we've enjoyed the feast days, while remaining rather subdued for most of the season until just days before Christmas. This year, I've let loose a bit more. We need the joy, the anticipation of a miracle ...found in the manger. My kids are laughing ...they are living ...and living well. St. Lucy has blessed them with the joyful sight of the Christmas promise. I'll take that ...and be grateful. It lifts my own heart to see theirs still full of love and life for each other and for their sister. We have many fun and happy memories of this season together. While we wrestle with this blinding blow ...the irrational reality of Phoebe not here with us ...leading us in so many ways, we remember the times past. While I long for her ...a new definition of intensity and desire take hold. I want to spend Christmas with Phoebe. How can I do that? I'm carrying her to Bethlehem in hopes I'll find out how to spend that time with her.
St. Lucy is the patron saint of vision. We ask her to help us "see" the blessings around us. St. Lucy, help me "see" the treasures placed gently on my path. Gifts from God ...even before Christmas have been carefully placed in my life. I'll share two that moved me beyond words and though I did not get to see Phoebe ...Heaven opened just a glimpse for me to know she is with me.
Every year families who've lost a child gather together to remember those we've loved, and continue to. No one expects to lose a child ...even after a long illness. The shock and hollowness leave us dizzy, alone, afraid, confused ...desperate. Everyone experiences these things ...emotions run wild when you've lost a precious child. So gathering together with those who share this road is poignant. Nods towards each other convey the depth of pain, the darkness we've felt. No words are needed really. Lots of hugs, tears, we grow to love each others' children ...children we've never known. I'm new at this, but already there are bonds among some of these parents of different faiths, circumstances. We carry this burden together. Music unleashes the dam ...and the emotions run clean and powerful. Candles are lit remembering them ...these souls
This candle says I love you, this candle says I miss you
This candle is saying I remember you
When I'm holding it toward Heaven
It feels like you are near
If you're looking down tonight and see this candle burning bright
It says I'm wishing you were here.
In the glow of this candle I can almost see your smile
And it carries me away for a little while
To another time, another place
When all it took to light up my world was your beautiful face
Around us are families who've shared the same kind of heartache we have. Hearts and souls poured out in lavish love for a child, dashed without warning. We know, we just know, what the other carries ...we know the lost futures, the lost moments ...the tugs that wear us thin, making us weak and weary. We light our candles and trust in the God who loves us to love our lost one's even more. "Do not say goodbye, just say goodnight." rings through ...okay, I think, I can do that ...continue to tuck Phoebe in each night as I had for so long, and as I still do with my others.
As we entered we hung an ornament for our child on a Christmas tree, and on the way out, we take another, for a child we don't know. We'll hang it there among the ones collected over the years. All seventeen of Phoebe's decorate the tree ...keeping her close, reminding us that she was here. Mingling we make our way into the gathering space ...exchange more hugs, squeezes, "we'll make it through" we promise each other. Us first timers get the extra hugs, the encouragement, advice. My husband wants to know who has Phoebe. Where will she hang this Christmas? No way to know in this crowded room. We don't know the family of ours either. They're first timers too, he died in 2010. I want to know them. Across the room, a smile makes its way towards us. "Guess who I will hang on my tree?" "You have Phoebe?" "I do!, and I am so happy." says Joy's mother. There she is again, that blessing of Joy. We know where Phoebe will be ...in the arms of a mother whose girl lived life in a bathing suit all summer long ...just like Phoebe! (read the post on Joy for more info.)
The blessing of that satisfies me enough for now. I am grateful.
As if that wasn't enough of a grace, I received another. God has been abundantly generous. Soon after Phoebe died, I thought of how to give to her this Christmas. In the past we've sponsored a child in India, helping their education and their families. Fr. Nellie is a priest who visits most summers. He has a parish in India where there is tremendous poverty ...but incredibly rich faith. He told us once that people will wait in line for hours to go to confession ...regularly. Imagine! He is a wonderful priest who humbles us. We Americans complain about ridiculous inconveniences, and then he shares stories of his people. He doesn't try to trump us, or put us in our place. He simply shares stories of life in his parish ...and we are humbled ...immeasurably. Somehow we got out of the habit of sponsoring that child. I thought of that after Phoebe died, how it would be fitting to sponsor a child again ...in her name. But, I'd lost the contact information and though I know people who could get that for me I just never followed up. It was weighing heavy on me today ...I needed to do that soon. The mail arrived, with a letter to us from Fr. Nellie. He doesn't know yet about Phoebe, but he sent a note to us anyway, asking that the infant Jesus would bless us with peace and joy this season. His return address prominent, legible ...leading, guiding. Phoebe will get her gift, in time for Christmas. And I will get mine because I know Mass will be offered for her among these faithful people in this faraway place. The Mass is always the greatest gift for me ...because I know Phoebe is always there.
When I am discouraged, I can't see what God is offering. That's natural in grief. But when I can open my heart to trust Him ...He is there. He knows my broken heart, the depths of my sorrow. "That's why I wept as I did in the garden, Carolyn ...for your heart ache ...the pain you would suffer."He seems to say to me. I want to believe all He has to offer me. I don't want to doubt or question. I want to believe Phoebe is right near me ...loving me right back. I just want her ...like I've never wanted anyone. He offers me these little, but big, signs ...these early Christmas gifts. He encourages me on the way to Bethlehem. I'll keep heading that way ...following the shadow of the Blessed Mother. She's never led me astray.
So, with Phoebe decorating Joy's family tree, and Fr. Nellie sending his Christmas wishes and blessings ...I know I'm being cared for ...in ways beyond this world, beyond this understanding. I am grateful. Thank you God, for Your abundant generosity.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
St. Lucy is the patron saint of vision. We ask her to help us "see" the blessings around us. St. Lucy, help me "see" the treasures placed gently on my path. Gifts from God ...even before Christmas have been carefully placed in my life. I'll share two that moved me beyond words and though I did not get to see Phoebe ...Heaven opened just a glimpse for me to know she is with me.
Every year families who've lost a child gather together to remember those we've loved, and continue to. No one expects to lose a child ...even after a long illness. The shock and hollowness leave us dizzy, alone, afraid, confused ...desperate. Everyone experiences these things ...emotions run wild when you've lost a precious child. So gathering together with those who share this road is poignant. Nods towards each other convey the depth of pain, the darkness we've felt. No words are needed really. Lots of hugs, tears, we grow to love each others' children ...children we've never known. I'm new at this, but already there are bonds among some of these parents of different faiths, circumstances. We carry this burden together. Music unleashes the dam ...and the emotions run clean and powerful. Candles are lit remembering them ...these souls
This candle says I love you, this candle says I miss you
This candle is saying I remember you
When I'm holding it toward Heaven
It feels like you are near
If you're looking down tonight and see this candle burning bright
It says I'm wishing you were here.
In the glow of this candle I can almost see your smile
And it carries me away for a little while
To another time, another place
When all it took to light up my world was your beautiful face
Around us are families who've shared the same kind of heartache we have. Hearts and souls poured out in lavish love for a child, dashed without warning. We know, we just know, what the other carries ...we know the lost futures, the lost moments ...the tugs that wear us thin, making us weak and weary. We light our candles and trust in the God who loves us to love our lost one's even more. "Do not say goodbye, just say goodnight." rings through ...okay, I think, I can do that ...continue to tuck Phoebe in each night as I had for so long, and as I still do with my others.
As we entered we hung an ornament for our child on a Christmas tree, and on the way out, we take another, for a child we don't know. We'll hang it there among the ones collected over the years. All seventeen of Phoebe's decorate the tree ...keeping her close, reminding us that she was here. Mingling we make our way into the gathering space ...exchange more hugs, squeezes, "we'll make it through" we promise each other. Us first timers get the extra hugs, the encouragement, advice. My husband wants to know who has Phoebe. Where will she hang this Christmas? No way to know in this crowded room. We don't know the family of ours either. They're first timers too, he died in 2010. I want to know them. Across the room, a smile makes its way towards us. "Guess who I will hang on my tree?" "You have Phoebe?" "I do!, and I am so happy." says Joy's mother. There she is again, that blessing of Joy. We know where Phoebe will be ...in the arms of a mother whose girl lived life in a bathing suit all summer long ...just like Phoebe! (read the post on Joy for more info.)
The blessing of that satisfies me enough for now. I am grateful.
As if that wasn't enough of a grace, I received another. God has been abundantly generous. Soon after Phoebe died, I thought of how to give to her this Christmas. In the past we've sponsored a child in India, helping their education and their families. Fr. Nellie is a priest who visits most summers. He has a parish in India where there is tremendous poverty ...but incredibly rich faith. He told us once that people will wait in line for hours to go to confession ...regularly. Imagine! He is a wonderful priest who humbles us. We Americans complain about ridiculous inconveniences, and then he shares stories of his people. He doesn't try to trump us, or put us in our place. He simply shares stories of life in his parish ...and we are humbled ...immeasurably. Somehow we got out of the habit of sponsoring that child. I thought of that after Phoebe died, how it would be fitting to sponsor a child again ...in her name. But, I'd lost the contact information and though I know people who could get that for me I just never followed up. It was weighing heavy on me today ...I needed to do that soon. The mail arrived, with a letter to us from Fr. Nellie. He doesn't know yet about Phoebe, but he sent a note to us anyway, asking that the infant Jesus would bless us with peace and joy this season. His return address prominent, legible ...leading, guiding. Phoebe will get her gift, in time for Christmas. And I will get mine because I know Mass will be offered for her among these faithful people in this faraway place. The Mass is always the greatest gift for me ...because I know Phoebe is always there.
When I am discouraged, I can't see what God is offering. That's natural in grief. But when I can open my heart to trust Him ...He is there. He knows my broken heart, the depths of my sorrow. "That's why I wept as I did in the garden, Carolyn ...for your heart ache ...the pain you would suffer."He seems to say to me. I want to believe all He has to offer me. I don't want to doubt or question. I want to believe Phoebe is right near me ...loving me right back. I just want her ...like I've never wanted anyone. He offers me these little, but big, signs ...these early Christmas gifts. He encourages me on the way to Bethlehem. I'll keep heading that way ...following the shadow of the Blessed Mother. She's never led me astray.
So, with Phoebe decorating Joy's family tree, and Fr. Nellie sending his Christmas wishes and blessings ...I know I'm being cared for ...in ways beyond this world, beyond this understanding. I am grateful. Thank you God, for Your abundant generosity.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Listening
This time of year is especially difficult for anyone who misses someone. The longing just can't be satisfied. For those of us who've lost a child there are few words to convey just how far it reaches, how much it consumes our lives. So much is changed. Our sense of knowing, hoping, living is off kilter as we struggle to find the balance to get through most days. Most of us will never find sure footing again. That's life anyway, but its even more true for parents when they've lost a child. It has not been easy losing Phoebe. No one would ever suggest that. It's been much harder than I'd imagined. Holding it together, takes an extraordinary amount of grace ...and thank God for all the prayers and encouragement. I know so many people ..many we don't even know, are praying hard for Phoebe and for us ...and I know they are working, bringing comfort and strength to all of us. It's always right there, the avalanche of emotion that could cut loose, spill out with the slightest prompt.
We are holding on ...navigating a very difficult, treacherous path ...but we are here. And our charge now is to live well.
We spent our Saturday in Vermont with wonderful friends and we experienced the simplicity of a farming life. I don't mean that in the sense it doesn't demand the hardest work imaginable, but that it is so intense that many things must be ignored ...like the cultural pull. I would like that, I think ...but that's not my life. Would life really be simpler for me? Phoebe had talked about becoming a farmer ...she liked what she knew of that life ...the idea of self sufficiency, living off the land, living "off the grid." I missed her while we were up there ...she would have liked it. But in reality, she may not have come with us ...we may not have shared that anyway. That's what's hard about losing her ...we just don't know anything anymore, except what was ...our memories ...and those, for the most part are good. I think God is generous with memories ...and they blanket me often. It was a real Currier and Ives Christmas up there ...a real treasure. Only a few years older than us, this family's second generation is well underway ...the ages of my younger two. Life goes on ... doesn't it! The warmth of friendship, a glimpse at a time past, and being in the fresh, cold air all day soothed and refreshed us. We were fortified ....and even rested after a long day. Generosity of friends does that.
Today, I heard exactly what I needed to hear from St. James. Patience ...ah, isn't that my greatest challenge? Yet, he implores us to trust in God, be patient ...for He is coming. "Be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and late rain." "Well, HURRY UP!" I want to scream back ...because that's me. I must be patient. I don't have a choice ...patience. Yes, the farmer must be patient. Here I am drawn to the farming life ....I'd have a tough time, I think. Be still. Listen, I am told, let God speak to you ...slow down and listen. I'm trying ...but that is hard. Maybe its so hard because I am waiting for answers to MY questions rather than listening for Him. I'm trying ...trying ...trying. All these things to think about, clouds my head, my heart ...leaves no room for the listening, leaves no room to let Him in. I have a fence around my heart ...afraid to lose Phoebe. But what if that fence isn't grounded well? Why can't I trust Him with my daughter. He knows me ...my doubt, my holding on tight. Little ways, He has to use little ways to speak to this cantankerous soul. I pick up a library book.
"How Many Miles to Bethlehem?" Well wouldn't you know!, I think. I'm heading that way ...how many miles more is it anyway? This trip was supposed to be much easier. I open it ...and there it is ...the dedication ...to Phoebe, Imogen and their Rabbit, Flopsy. Coincidence? Maybe. Is God using a children's book to tell me something ...encourage me? I think He is.
So, we'll continue on this rather difficult journey to Bethlehem ...making our way across difficult terrain ...Maybe, just maybe, I'll listen a little closer.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
We are holding on ...navigating a very difficult, treacherous path ...but we are here. And our charge now is to live well.
We spent our Saturday in Vermont with wonderful friends and we experienced the simplicity of a farming life. I don't mean that in the sense it doesn't demand the hardest work imaginable, but that it is so intense that many things must be ignored ...like the cultural pull. I would like that, I think ...but that's not my life. Would life really be simpler for me? Phoebe had talked about becoming a farmer ...she liked what she knew of that life ...the idea of self sufficiency, living off the land, living "off the grid." I missed her while we were up there ...she would have liked it. But in reality, she may not have come with us ...we may not have shared that anyway. That's what's hard about losing her ...we just don't know anything anymore, except what was ...our memories ...and those, for the most part are good. I think God is generous with memories ...and they blanket me often. It was a real Currier and Ives Christmas up there ...a real treasure. Only a few years older than us, this family's second generation is well underway ...the ages of my younger two. Life goes on ... doesn't it! The warmth of friendship, a glimpse at a time past, and being in the fresh, cold air all day soothed and refreshed us. We were fortified ....and even rested after a long day. Generosity of friends does that.
Today, I heard exactly what I needed to hear from St. James. Patience ...ah, isn't that my greatest challenge? Yet, he implores us to trust in God, be patient ...for He is coming. "Be patient, brothers and sisters, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and late rain." "Well, HURRY UP!" I want to scream back ...because that's me. I must be patient. I don't have a choice ...patience. Yes, the farmer must be patient. Here I am drawn to the farming life ....I'd have a tough time, I think. Be still. Listen, I am told, let God speak to you ...slow down and listen. I'm trying ...but that is hard. Maybe its so hard because I am waiting for answers to MY questions rather than listening for Him. I'm trying ...trying ...trying. All these things to think about, clouds my head, my heart ...leaves no room for the listening, leaves no room to let Him in. I have a fence around my heart ...afraid to lose Phoebe. But what if that fence isn't grounded well? Why can't I trust Him with my daughter. He knows me ...my doubt, my holding on tight. Little ways, He has to use little ways to speak to this cantankerous soul. I pick up a library book.
"How Many Miles to Bethlehem?" Well wouldn't you know!, I think. I'm heading that way ...how many miles more is it anyway? This trip was supposed to be much easier. I open it ...and there it is ...the dedication ...to Phoebe, Imogen and their Rabbit, Flopsy. Coincidence? Maybe. Is God using a children's book to tell me something ...encourage me? I think He is.
So, we'll continue on this rather difficult journey to Bethlehem ...making our way across difficult terrain ...Maybe, just maybe, I'll listen a little closer.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Impatience
"You are an impatient choleric!" She said firmly, but lovingly to me. Only a melancholic temperament could utter such a harsh truth. This friend reminded me of the small consolations I have received along the way, and she assured me that were I to be given that glorious image of my Phoebe I so desire, I would question that too. She's right. There is nothing that will satisfy me now ...nothing except to hold my dear child in my arms and watch her floppy bun sway with her very breath. But that is not meant to be. Thank God for friends, dear, dear friends who love me enough to say things I don't want to hear ...never mind believe. By nature, I am rather impatient. I am a doer, I will forge ahead, my life will go on and many good things will happen. Us choleric temperaments are like trains ...at top speed we accomplish great things. Up at the crack of dawn, we'll pull together a party, read an entire book, send off e-mails, pay the bills, do the laundry ...all before a child wakes. But we leave a wake, far too often. Trees fallen, fences plowed through ...we need to be reigned in. We accomplish a lot, give a lot ...but we expect a lot in return. And usually we expect the return to look very similar to our giving. But that is not how others work. It is especially not how God works. This is really tough for types like me. Have I given as much as I can to God? I think I have ...that's been my purpose. But this time it didn't go my way exactly ...and I am mad! That's not fair of me, though. If I claim to love Him, and trust Him, than why not now? Why am I so angry? Because I am in such great pain. Every cell in this body, this capable, strong bundle of bone and flesh, is hurting everywhere. I am not accustomed to having no control over how I feel ...physically, at least. Even in the midst of such beauty ...my other kids ...I hurt.
It is like no other ...and it leaves me vulnerable ...open ...threatened.
So here I've started my journey to Bethlehem, and I fear I am not a good traveler. I am the whiner, the one not making do. I'm the child in the backseat ..."how much longer?" 34 seconds later, "HOW MUCH LONGER, NOW?" "You said we'd be there already, WHAAA, WHAAA." Most of us have experienced that child in the backseat. Well, that's me now.
I really thought the graces would just flow for me because I had decided to make the trip. How presumptuous? How self-centered? Who is this all about? Myself? I guess it is. But I don't want that, I want this to be about Phoebe ...more importantly about Christ coming to us as redeemer, as our salvation. I want to give Phoebe back to Him for her salvation. I want salvation ...eternal life to be my desire. Eternal life means a life in Christ, for all time. That's what I want for all my children, my husband, myself. That's where I want Phoebe to be right now ...and I want proof! I want a receipt! "One daughter raised well, loved immeasurably. Mother did a good job ...no complaints. Daughter returned to Creator where she will live in His glory for eternity. Mother will see daughter on .... In the meantime, mother is guaranteed frequent proof that daughter is doing well and can see her from Heaven and thinks she's the best." Mother will not suffer any pangs of discomfort in the meantime."
Well, how dare I? If I truly believe in Christ, and truly trust him, and truly desire eternity with Him ...I MUST be patient. I must just rest in Him. Naturally, I am not patient ....I'm always buzzing externally and internally. I pray God will grant me a bit more, so that I can truly rest in Him and trust Him in the way He wants me to.
My guess is that God is pleased with me and my desire to serve Him these many years. But, I think He's given me a promotion (maybe its a demotion) ...in the sense that He expects more of me. Perhaps He expects me to turn parts of myself over to Him that I don't even know I have ... Maybe He sees my pride, and the only way to get me to turn that over is to offer me this horrible tragedy ...take one of my seven pearls ...the one who took so long to settle on a stride with. Maybe His timing, so imperfect for me, is absolutely perfect. I don't really want to believe that or accept that thought ...but what if its true. And in my heart, I know it is. He allowed Phoebe's death at a time when the value was at its highest ...when the cost would be most severe. That's not to suggest our children are like stock, increasing or decreasing in value, but our struggles to love each other in our similarities and differences had been teased out. We were victorious and SATISFIED. We had arrived ...and then BAM ...she's gone!
Somewhere in there ...is His love for us. Somewhere.
Today Mass was offered for Phoebe. The request was made by a good friend's son and the priest who offered it is another good friend's, friend. I've been telling God how abandoned I feel, that all the saints have left me ...no one has stayed. And here in this Church were the most beautiful stained glass windows of the Saints. There they were ...One struck me the most, and held my gaze ...Joan of Arc. Why her? Her image was behind me, so my eye didn't just rest there, but it kept pulling me back. I don't know, maybe something is there for me to understand. Days before Phoebe died she had told her principle that she (the principle) was just like Joan of Arc ...being very serious about a particular issue and concern at several meetings. As they left the gathering space Phoebe said. "You know, you're starting to sound like Joan of Arc." Her principle chuckled and said, "Oh, I kind of like that ...Joan of Arc." "Yeah, just be careful, some people thought she was, you know, crazy." replied Phoebe. They had laughed together. It was something this woman appreciated about Phoebe ...that she had this knowledge and understanding of her faith and history that few of her peers shared. Many others had expressed that too. So maybe its just because of that Joan of Arc struck me today. But what stunned me most was the treasure of our Church in making the saints so available to us. We've been criticized abundantly for "worshiping" saints, taking away from God. But that is so ridiculous. Saints were flesh and blood people, born with original sin, just like us. They struggled just like us ...and they've attained Heaven. They're like consultant's who can intercede for us. We ask for them to petition on our behalf, to ask God to grant us some wisdom, understanding so we can attain Him too.
Surrounded by all these saints, and praying for Phoebe ...we also prayed for little Mary, who, after a four year battle with cancer, died in her parent's arms. My heart stung for those parents. I know what they are experiencing. Here last night I am cursing I am only two months out ...and hearing this, I am so grateful to be two months out ...away from those first pangs of crushing and shattering. But I am so heavy for them and their grief. And I look at my own greed. I lament the loss of Phoebe at 17, and yet they lost their daughter at 8. I had nine more years ...what a blessing! What a miracle! How generous of God with me. Their daughter fought to live ...mine died on an impulse. Oh, the mystery of it all.
He has heard my cries, my pangs ...and He has shown me through this Mass ...and through a friend who dared to speak the truth to me.
I am possibly the most impatient person in the world, and the funny thing is people are always saying to me "oh, you must be so patient." Ha! They don't know me. God is teaching me patience ...and I must accept that. Let me be the quiet one on this journey. Let me see who needs my help on the road to Bethlehem. Let me just be as God wants me to be.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
It is like no other ...and it leaves me vulnerable ...open ...threatened.
So here I've started my journey to Bethlehem, and I fear I am not a good traveler. I am the whiner, the one not making do. I'm the child in the backseat ..."how much longer?" 34 seconds later, "HOW MUCH LONGER, NOW?" "You said we'd be there already, WHAAA, WHAAA." Most of us have experienced that child in the backseat. Well, that's me now.
I really thought the graces would just flow for me because I had decided to make the trip. How presumptuous? How self-centered? Who is this all about? Myself? I guess it is. But I don't want that, I want this to be about Phoebe ...more importantly about Christ coming to us as redeemer, as our salvation. I want to give Phoebe back to Him for her salvation. I want salvation ...eternal life to be my desire. Eternal life means a life in Christ, for all time. That's what I want for all my children, my husband, myself. That's where I want Phoebe to be right now ...and I want proof! I want a receipt! "One daughter raised well, loved immeasurably. Mother did a good job ...no complaints. Daughter returned to Creator where she will live in His glory for eternity. Mother will see daughter on .... In the meantime, mother is guaranteed frequent proof that daughter is doing well and can see her from Heaven and thinks she's the best." Mother will not suffer any pangs of discomfort in the meantime."
Well, how dare I? If I truly believe in Christ, and truly trust him, and truly desire eternity with Him ...I MUST be patient. I must just rest in Him. Naturally, I am not patient ....I'm always buzzing externally and internally. I pray God will grant me a bit more, so that I can truly rest in Him and trust Him in the way He wants me to.
My guess is that God is pleased with me and my desire to serve Him these many years. But, I think He's given me a promotion (maybe its a demotion) ...in the sense that He expects more of me. Perhaps He expects me to turn parts of myself over to Him that I don't even know I have ... Maybe He sees my pride, and the only way to get me to turn that over is to offer me this horrible tragedy ...take one of my seven pearls ...the one who took so long to settle on a stride with. Maybe His timing, so imperfect for me, is absolutely perfect. I don't really want to believe that or accept that thought ...but what if its true. And in my heart, I know it is. He allowed Phoebe's death at a time when the value was at its highest ...when the cost would be most severe. That's not to suggest our children are like stock, increasing or decreasing in value, but our struggles to love each other in our similarities and differences had been teased out. We were victorious and SATISFIED. We had arrived ...and then BAM ...she's gone!
Somewhere in there ...is His love for us. Somewhere.
Today Mass was offered for Phoebe. The request was made by a good friend's son and the priest who offered it is another good friend's, friend. I've been telling God how abandoned I feel, that all the saints have left me ...no one has stayed. And here in this Church were the most beautiful stained glass windows of the Saints. There they were ...One struck me the most, and held my gaze ...Joan of Arc. Why her? Her image was behind me, so my eye didn't just rest there, but it kept pulling me back. I don't know, maybe something is there for me to understand. Days before Phoebe died she had told her principle that she (the principle) was just like Joan of Arc ...being very serious about a particular issue and concern at several meetings. As they left the gathering space Phoebe said. "You know, you're starting to sound like Joan of Arc." Her principle chuckled and said, "Oh, I kind of like that ...Joan of Arc." "Yeah, just be careful, some people thought she was, you know, crazy." replied Phoebe. They had laughed together. It was something this woman appreciated about Phoebe ...that she had this knowledge and understanding of her faith and history that few of her peers shared. Many others had expressed that too. So maybe its just because of that Joan of Arc struck me today. But what stunned me most was the treasure of our Church in making the saints so available to us. We've been criticized abundantly for "worshiping" saints, taking away from God. But that is so ridiculous. Saints were flesh and blood people, born with original sin, just like us. They struggled just like us ...and they've attained Heaven. They're like consultant's who can intercede for us. We ask for them to petition on our behalf, to ask God to grant us some wisdom, understanding so we can attain Him too.
Surrounded by all these saints, and praying for Phoebe ...we also prayed for little Mary, who, after a four year battle with cancer, died in her parent's arms. My heart stung for those parents. I know what they are experiencing. Here last night I am cursing I am only two months out ...and hearing this, I am so grateful to be two months out ...away from those first pangs of crushing and shattering. But I am so heavy for them and their grief. And I look at my own greed. I lament the loss of Phoebe at 17, and yet they lost their daughter at 8. I had nine more years ...what a blessing! What a miracle! How generous of God with me. Their daughter fought to live ...mine died on an impulse. Oh, the mystery of it all.
He has heard my cries, my pangs ...and He has shown me through this Mass ...and through a friend who dared to speak the truth to me.
I am possibly the most impatient person in the world, and the funny thing is people are always saying to me "oh, you must be so patient." Ha! They don't know me. God is teaching me patience ...and I must accept that. Let me be the quiet one on this journey. Let me see who needs my help on the road to Bethlehem. Let me just be as God wants me to be.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Two Months
As the day closes, it marks the second month since Phoebe's death. It has been a difficult day. I'm trying to stay on course to Bethlehem, follow through. Truth is, I don't really feel like it right now, don't really see the sense of heading in that direction. I've stalled. I'm a tad bit angry about having my daughter taken. I'm a devoted person, trying to do right by and for God. I haven't been afraid to speak the truth. I've chosen to live according to His teachings ...in ALL ways. We've done things differently for our children, for God. So, I can't quite understand why He has chosen this new life for us. We never know what goes on in others' lives, but from where I sit, I don't see things being doled out in a fair and just way. Should I feel honored? Chosen? ....Am I given this special gift to share in the suffering of my redeemer? I don't feel any of that. I feel punished ...ignored ...betrayed. My faith has been shaken to its very core ...and I am hanging on for dear life. People seem pretty cozy ...dabbling in God from time to time, nice car, nice house ...pretty happy. He's been the heart and soul of this home for a long time. And we've paid a mighty price. Have we been fools?
The hill is too steep for me right now to follow. Maybe tomorrow I will feel stronger, fortified, encouraged. Right now ...I'm pretty sure the only one who really understands any of this at all is someone who's lost a child ...the exact same way. Where was God when this fatal impulse overtook my daughter? He couldn't spare this spirited, passionate soul? Didn't He know what it would do to us? Did He want me to be this angry ...this far away from Him? My intellect continues to choose Him over and over ...but my heart ...has a very different story.
Two months ...I've only waited two months to see her again. I have a long way to go ...and I am very, very sad about that.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
The hill is too steep for me right now to follow. Maybe tomorrow I will feel stronger, fortified, encouraged. Right now ...I'm pretty sure the only one who really understands any of this at all is someone who's lost a child ...the exact same way. Where was God when this fatal impulse overtook my daughter? He couldn't spare this spirited, passionate soul? Didn't He know what it would do to us? Did He want me to be this angry ...this far away from Him? My intellect continues to choose Him over and over ...but my heart ...has a very different story.
Two months ...I've only waited two months to see her again. I have a long way to go ...and I am very, very sad about that.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
How much?
My feet ...and my heart move me forward. But my heart hesitates. Some days the pain is so raw, so tremendous ...it simply won't be ignored. I always believe those times are when God is really working on me. But I would prefer He just let me be. The "lighter" days are still pretty heavy. Bring on the "harder" days and I simply don't understand how God could think I could carry such a load. In my outrage, I still tell Him I trust Him. That is simply a choice ...not a feeling or inspiration. Where else would I, could I, go?
Phoebe and I were teammates leading up to Christmas. She was my consultant, director, organizer ...from gifts for her siblings to appetizers, meals, cookies, visits, visitors ...all these things. Late at night she would wrap with me until she grew too tired and would trot off to bed. The past few years she took over the annual toffee making responsibilities. I've made this recipe since I was in college. I'd make batches and batches while Phoebe watched, spread the pecans and chocolate, broke it into pieces and wrapped packages to be sent off to a few special friends. Finally, she was confident enough to take over ...so it became her task. I'll miss that this year. I don't like feeling on my own. Of course my other girls are eager to pitch in ...and of course, its a pleasure to let them ...but there is an ache, a sorrow, a missing I just can't ignore.
So its time for new traditions and new ways of doing things, mixed in with some of the old. We'll visit a few different places this year. Maybe Christmas day will have a different pattern. I don't like it one bit, not having her here with me in the flesh. I am hoping that her festive spirit sidles up next to me from time to time.
I keep hearing that this life passes in the blink of an eye. Is that true? I've said that myself many times, but I'm just not convinced right now as I navigate through. It feels like slow motion.
Today is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, Mary totally pure, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Phoebe and I were teammates leading up to Christmas. She was my consultant, director, organizer ...from gifts for her siblings to appetizers, meals, cookies, visits, visitors ...all these things. Late at night she would wrap with me until she grew too tired and would trot off to bed. The past few years she took over the annual toffee making responsibilities. I've made this recipe since I was in college. I'd make batches and batches while Phoebe watched, spread the pecans and chocolate, broke it into pieces and wrapped packages to be sent off to a few special friends. Finally, she was confident enough to take over ...so it became her task. I'll miss that this year. I don't like feeling on my own. Of course my other girls are eager to pitch in ...and of course, its a pleasure to let them ...but there is an ache, a sorrow, a missing I just can't ignore.
So its time for new traditions and new ways of doing things, mixed in with some of the old. We'll visit a few different places this year. Maybe Christmas day will have a different pattern. I don't like it one bit, not having her here with me in the flesh. I am hoping that her festive spirit sidles up next to me from time to time.
I keep hearing that this life passes in the blink of an eye. Is that true? I've said that myself many times, but I'm just not convinced right now as I navigate through. It feels like slow motion.
Today is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, Mary totally pure, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Clean Heart
I want to approach my Lord with a pure, clean heart. These days, these moments challenge and push me, stretch me beyond what I thought I could bare. And yet, here I am ...still living, breathing, smiling, laughing. A new wonder has overcome me, certainly tinged with sadness, but a way of looking and seeing that I didn't possess before. The way my littlest holds her head, my youngest understanding irony, the kindness and affection between two siblings ... the sky just before sunset, seem to catch my breath. I noticed those things before, but now I think I see them more, appreciate the treasure of them, as perhaps Phoebe can now. I've begged God to let Phoebe guide me. Not that I haven't wanted or trusted that God does himself, but I want to know she is okay. And when I consider that I am seeing things as she does, it comforts me. Little things matter, the noticing matters. The business of life distracts me so often, that I have missed some little things ...that were really important. I don't want to do that again. But how do I avoid that trap? How do stop the slow slip backwards? Pursue and claim a clean heart ...a heart turned over to Christ, again and again. One of the treasures of our faith is the Sacrament of Penance. It purifies, cleanses, releases, resolves ...pours on the grace and strength necessary to persevere. We bare our sole to Christ ...give Him everything ...all of ourselves ...all our imperfections, our sin. I lived a long time without knowing how to properly prepare myself for Penance ...until someone shared the treasure of examining my conscience. Its a guide that helps me look closely, invites a real honest examination of my soul ...as it may look to God. Certainly it inspires and encourages me to reconcile my heart and soul to God. I want to please Him. I often fail in that ...Penance restores and fortifies. Here is a link that will tell you more about it, scroll down near the end for the specific examination of conscience: http://www.fisheaters.com/penance.html
Think of it! If we all approach Christmas morning with a clean heart, imagine the gift we could give to Him ...and to each other.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Think of it! If we all approach Christmas morning with a clean heart, imagine the gift we could give to Him ...and to each other.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
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