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.
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