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.
No comments:
Post a Comment