Forward

Part of me wants to jettison my life ...fast forward twenty, thirty years.  I need to get to Phoebe, I need her.  I'm empty without her.  The other part of me wants to stand still, don't let another instant pass, stay in the rawness of her death.  But there is not only her in my life.  My other kids are my life; my husband, the life we've built ...I belong her, with them.  Phoebe should be here too.  There is no hope in her return.  That makes no sense to me, there is always hope.  How could this be ...no hope?  I can't make her come back.  There is no bargain to be made.  I will never watch her head crest as I look for her coming up the stairs into the kitchen.  There are too many nevers here now ...never again ...here. 
I am on my way to Bethlehem, it is Advent ...my journey to bring her to the babe in the manger.  I've met more people along the way.  They have been placed there ...put in my path. 
Just ahead is her silhouette, her mantle dark and full ...her heaviness leading me onward.  She does not look back at me, this Mary. Onward, precise, efficient.  Do not dally she seems to say, while at the same time, beware ...you will learn along the way, there are people for you to meet.  Who, I wonder?  Joy, yes, I've met her ...am still absorbing her, making room for her in my life.
St. Raphael made himself present immediately when Phoebe died ...even before, but it was a while before I could see.  He was subtle, quiet while he held my sorrow, while he healed what he could of my soul.  Raphael is the patron saint of the young ...I never knew.  He was with Phoebe, I know he was, now. 
A few weeks before Phoebe died, a dear friend gave me a blessed medallion of St. Raphael. I didn't know he was the patron saint of nurses.  Having recently finished nursing school, this thoughtful friend gifted me with St. Raphael's intercession.  I simply put it around my neck.  Two years ago, when Phoebe turned 15 we gave her a pretty bracelet with a medallion engraved with her initials and a love from mom and dad on the other side.  She had lost it about a year ago.  It made me sad; I thought she was careless and thoughtless.  I had looked, and she said she had too, but I wondered. 
When we returned from the hospital that day, I went to her room, sat on her bed ...the bed she had risen from just hours ago.  I looked at everything, all of her, who she was ...is.  I looked down on her desk and there sat the medallion.  I immediately took off my necklace and added her medallion for safe keeping.  Where had it come from, so plainly laid there in clear view?  It had gone missing for a long time, and yet there it was.  It was a few weeks later that someone told me, quite casually that he was the patron of travelers and the youth, as well as those in the health care professions.  I found some peace in that ...and there is more of him to share, but it is not my story to tell. 
But all this is before my decision to journey to Bethlehem.  I've only thought of St. Raphael as being there for Phoebe, but as I write now, I realize he is here for me too ...this messenger from God ...doing His bidding.  Of course it all comes from God, all a gift.  I am a traveler with a hurting soul.  So just now as I write, yet another on this journey to Bethlehem. Now I've two from Heaven making themselves known ...Joy and St. Raphael.  Could there be more?  Hasn't he already been generous enough?  Ah, but this is God, my creator.
I turn in the store to check on my little one. The creches are eye level with her ...she is there breathing on the baby, pointing out Mary and Joseph, the shepherds ...her young eyes living the story, being part of the story as I so yearn to be.  Someone enters the store, I look up and her eyes meet mine, shakes her head.  My eyes fill ...and wordlessly we embrace.  Her eyes search my face  "how are you.?" as she squeezes my arm.  I nod  "alive" I say.  "You know."  "Yes. its all we can do."  I nod.  We cry, among these holy things.  Two women, hearts ripped open, robbed of their oldest daughters, both the same age.  Robbed, empty.  "Three years this month."  "Already?"  I say. 
She nods.  There are words that pass between, but so much more does.  I've wept, sobbed with my closest friends.  Their hearts broken to bits missing my girl ...watching me, and not wanting me to suffer ...not understanding ...these women of tremendous faith ...why Carolyn?  And I know they are as close as they can come ...they give all of themselves.  I had not seen this woman in a couple of years.  Once I think, bumping into her, asked how she was, the girls, her husband.  "Okay." she had answered.  Now, I know what that meant.  "Alive." She wants to know how Stephen, our oldest is doing.  I don't think its hit him yet, I say.  I don't think he sees the depth of his loss. 
Long ago, when we were four ...two littles and a mom and dad ...we were part of a start up school.  It was roll up your sleeves, dive in, get dirty, make mistakes ....side by side.  She was there.  Stephen started school there, and I spent a good bit of time helping out, with Phoebe, only two ..She had her school picture taken there.  A known entity she wandered and played.  That's how we were known.  Stephen and Phoebe ...always together.  It was that way for a long time.  Playmates.  She chased him like there was no tomorrow ...like he was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Her brother. 
"I never saw one without the other", this woman said to me.  Always together.  That's how she remembers them.
I tell her I'm on my way to Bethlehem, searching for joy ...and that I found her, found Joy.  Tears stream down her face as she listens.  Tells me that God winks at her ...and so does her beautiful girl.  She can tell who is winking.  We giggle ...the sorrow, just below the surface. 
I tell her I've met her on my way to Bethlehem.  Surrounding us are so many images of Christ. So many nativity scenes.  Words of scripture, wrap themselves around us. We are among holy things ...Heavenly things. 
The silhouette ahead nods ...it is time to go.  "You will see her again ...soon," she seems to say.  I don't want to let go.  My heart feels more whole when next to her ...perhaps the brokenness of both, makes one that is full.  We part, us mothers, aching with the loss of our girls.  No words ...nothing that can capture this moment, this place we are.
What does God want from me?  What is He asking?  I have to listen, I know, but that is not my strong point.  It is hard to be still and listen and know what He wants.  I am so pushy and insistent ...now add to that I am frightened, uncertain,  I am alone ...totally alone.  "Jesus, I trust in you."  I think of our friend and him pointing to Christ as he approached his own death.  "Jesus, I trust in you."  That assertion never crosses my mind without this friends voice saying it. 
God has been so generous to me, undeserved generosity ...and yet, I feel it is not enough.  Nothing will be enough until I am with Phoebe.  That is why I must move forward towards Bethlehem.  My youngest is there already ...living the birth of the newborn savior.  I must go there and see what she sees.  The Nativity, I must see the Nativity.  I need the salvation, the promise, the mercy, the love.  I need my savior ... I need my heart to know my savior ...and that went missing the moment I laid eyes on my lifeless girl.  Strip me bare, bleed me dry, dear Lord, so that I may be filled with You.
Jesus, make me humble.

Litany of Humility

O Jesus! Meek and humble of heart, hear me. From the desire of being esteemed, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being loved, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being extolled, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being honored, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being praised, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being preferred, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being consulted, deliver me Jesus From the desire of being approved, deliver me Jesus. From the fear of being humiliated, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being despised, deliver me Jesus From the fear of suffering rebukes, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being calumniated, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being forgotten, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being ridiculed, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being wronged, deliver me Jesus From the fear of being suspected, deliver me Jesus That others may be loved more than I, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. That others may be esteemed more than I, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it That in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. That others may be chosen and I set aside, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. That others may be praised and I unnoticed, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. That others may be preferred to me in everything, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it. That others become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should, Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.

 Jesus, make me humble.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace.  Amen.