Morning

It was still dark when the alarm went off.  The cloud lay thick around me and it was hard to push myself up towards the day.  I couldn't, wouldn't lift my face ...the heaviness made me so angry.  I averted my eyes so I didn't have to see Him, look at Him.  The missing is heavy today.  My intellect knows one thing, my heart another.  This morning I cannot reconcile how a loving God would take Phoebe from me.  My friends remind me of the extraordinary graces I have been blessed with.  I know.  And how I wish the rescue they offer me would stay fixed, would not let me fall again ...away from her ...away from Him.  Why this heaviness? If I were alone, I would scream loud and long ...I would smash, tear, run ...as far away as I could.  But I am here, thankfully, with other lovelies looking on, wanting and needing me, needing our family to be whole, to be new, fresh in a way we have never been. 
I make my way, waking those who need waking, stumble towards the kitchen and begin the routine of our day. Heavy ...the day feels heavy.  I want to go wake Phoebe, want to get her week going, help her find her missing pants, socks.  I miss those errands, the little tasks I would do for her to get her out the door.  But while I see the missing of her ...who else am I missing?.  I can brood in the loss, the emptiness her absence brings.  And it is deep.  Or, I can see, experience the three living milling about, beginning their days.  Am I so lost in sadness ...that I offer them only my emptiness?  While I lament the abandonment ...do I offer them a hollow wife, an absent mother?  I go about the tasks, the practical motion of setting them off ...but what worth is that if it is empty of heart?  The very thing that makes me angry, sad, confused ...the loss of my daughter ...is indeed what I am offering them ...unless...I lift my faith, raise it towards Heaven.  I look up, I will look for Him now, toward Him.  I will choose Him once again, for today.  As if fitting glasses to weak eyes, I begin to see something more clearly.  He, my Heavenly father, adjusts my sight. My vision changes.   I see now, the swing of ponytails through my kitchen.  I make the hot chocolate to keep warm at bus stops.  I cover books so teachers won't "scream" (allegedly, though I doubt it!) at them.  I make tea.  I am in the midst of them, these two lovelies, their bustling, giggling ...complaining.  And there it is, the settling of blue as the day begins to lighten.  Outside, the snow, the enormous pine tree, the pink pastel of the low sky ...all shrouded in blue ...that color of Heaven.  "Look outside girls!" I say.  They come and stand by me ...and we are quiet ...her mother, and the two sisters right behind her in our line-up.  My smile is bittersweet ...but their smiles are free, wide ...knowing.  The color of Heaven is blue ...and we all see it, know it.  Yes, Phoebe is here.  God let's me know ...let's this extraordinarily impatient momma know that my Phoebe, His Phoebe is here, right in the mix. 
I pray for the eyes of Heaven.  I pray for a heart that always ascends to God ...that I may follow His ways, His commands.  I pray that for today I will give thanks in all I do ...and that I will see Him in the living, the swinging of the ponytails, the bouncing of the curls.  I pray my heart will empty so He may fill it with His grace.  And I pray, that one day ...when my time comes, that Phoebe will be right there waiting ...and that then ...the missing will end.

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

Think about!

Have you ever noticed when something changes in your life you seem to meet so many others who've experienced the same thing?  Before, you wouldn't think much about it.  It can be very simple to catastrophic, a lovely change or devastating.  A family buys a boat ...and suddenly, a whole new world opens up to them ...boat world.  Conversation about makes and models, to trailer or moore, gas prices ...the whole bit bring people together, put the antennae up.  Or, a child dies, tragically by suicide ...and suddenly you hear about the frequency of suicide among teens.  The search for understanding ...the literal search to survive introduces us to a world we may not have seen before.  Now, we, my husband and I ...and oldest, are keenly aware of this happening.  There will never be an answer for us, we will always grapple with why and how.  Sure, we have some thoughts.  I know for me, I will write a pretty solid story that makes sense to me, I'll revise it along the way, tweak it here and there, but I'll make it fit in my life, give me a sense of understanding so I can go on.  But as I do, I'll meet people along the way, read things, hear some more ...and sadly learn of others who, for no understandable reason, no forewarning, ended their life.  We've just learned of another young man, everything going for him ...a family who loved him, good student, great activities ...happy.  From nowhere, no signs, no depression, no obvious struggle, no "maybe" struggle ...nothing ...ended his life.  I hear this and my chest caves in as far as it can.  I know the heart crushing struggle to survive those early days ...trying to breath, wondering if you will be able to live on.
Teen suicide is happening more and more ....and we need to ask why.  There's a few, but incredibly powerful,  reasons creating a world which offers overbearing pressure, unreasonable expectations, and very little hope for living one's life in an original, healthy passionate way.  Bottom line, no one is exempt from this risk.  I don't want to scare people, but we all should be on high alert ...I'm just hearing too many stories.  Our world, our culture is destroying our young.  Most, of course, will go on to live lives that seemingly mimic our own ...but with a backdrop far more morbid than ours.
Those who know me well, know there is one issue that I believe is causing the greatest strife our nation, our children and even ourselves have or will ever see ...abortion.  It is an undeniable evil.   It is a single issue.  Many try to blend it with poverty, immigration, education ....etc.  It is a single issue.  The single most important issue of our day.  Killing  our own future ...and calling it "choice" is a deceptive and outrageous acceptance of murder.  I'm sure there are many who cringe at these words I write.  I wish you could have sat at my kitchen counter and listened to my own daughter speak about this.  Understandably, she couldn't wrap her head around why, how this could have happened in our world.  It made her question God.  How could a good God allow innocent babies to be slaughtered at a rate of over 4000 a day.  We are now facing a world where babies are being killed after being born.  Remember when partial birth abortion was only for the "most necessary" cases, where the mother could die?  It couldn't go further, right?  Wrong!  It has.  And how do you think our own national treasures, our children, see this?  As Catholics, we have an obligation to speak out about this atrocity.  Too many have been silent.  Too many proudly parade around, campaigning, endorsing, contributing to politicians who have the most pro-abortion stands to come our way.  When a Catholic does that, with reckless abandon, they step outside of their faith and are no longer Catholic, regardless of how involved they are in their local parish.  It is a scandal to our faith.  This is not my opinion.  It is the plain, sad truth.  If someone steps outside, and no priest corrects them ...then another has stepped outside the faith.  Too often, we smooth over the rough, raw edges of this issue, ignoring the true brutality it is, ignoring a culture with blood on its hands.  I know this sounds angry ...who do I think I am to call others on this?  I have an obligation as a baptized and confirmed Catholic to make the truth known.  Now you know!  I am sharing the truth of our faith, that is swept under the rug ...while babies die and our children look on.  The message to our kids is that they are disposable, expendable ...only have value if they add to their parent's lives.  Today, the definition of adding to their parents' lives is by performing ...being exceptional in some way.  Look at how we groom our kids to have at least one accomplishment to make them stand apart.  Some of this is good, cultivating talents is good ...but look at the pressure, look at the cost to our children.  Watch our kids as they try to cultivate genuine friendships that are mutually encouraging and supportive.  Usually, we can see kids undermining, racing their friends ...those are not the friendships I have ...and I certainly don't want that kind for my children.  We've been blessed, thankfully, with long-time friendships that care about the true well-being of each. 
What does this have to do with suicide ...with Phoebe?  Plenty.  The world is a dark cold place, that kills its young and calls that a good.  We need to wake up!  When our helpless babies are destroyed ....what message does that send to our children?  Tell me.  Do you really think they are immune to the message?  If you do, look long and hard, pray deeply for God to lead you to the truth ...because it already cost me one of my own. Phoebe couldn't make sense of a world that kills its own babies.  You cannot tell me this did not help skew her thoughts in a moment of darkness.   I don't want any other person to ever go through the dark agony that has become part of my life.  Abortion is the hinge issue ...the most important, critical issue of our time.  Ignore it if you want ...but that's just what you're doing ...ignoring it.  But it will still be true, will still be gutting our nation of our future.  Just like abortion paved the way for euthanasia ...it has paved the way for teen suicide ...watch the numbers climb.  I'd rather lower the numbers ...get rid of them.  I'd like to see an end to suicide.  I believe if more of us speak out and recognize the evil abortion is ...both abortion and teen suicide numbers will fall.  With all the "sex ed", abortion numbers are now on the rise and for sure, teen suicide is taking on a momentum that should make us all shiver.
God is asking us to be courageous, to treasure his creations, to protect the sanctity of all human life from the moment of conception to natural death.  I pray for that courage, for myself ...and the rest of us.  I've included two links.  They are worth watching and listening too ...do yourselves, your children, your nation a favor, pay attention. It will take about six minutes of your time ...but it could literally save a life ...I'd say that would be worth the precious six minutes you invest here.

Personhood
http://www.lifesitenews.com/blog/must-watch-abortion-speech-by-ronald-reagan

Race to Nowhere
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uem73imvn9Y

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

I Wonder

I'm still enjoying yesterdays gift of accepting Phoebe's invitation to walk with her in the light of Christ, to join her in peace ...and allow life to move on in a rich and meaningful way.  Yes, I like this idea ...rather than trying to take her along ...I will let her take me, lead me.
It's funny how life reveals itself, exposes it purpose and plan for some part of a life.  Most things we'll never understand, but some, we get a bit of a glimpse.  I've cried so many times to God, telling Him that if I could just understand a tiny bit, I could go on, I could trust Him again.  Of course I have the exact method He should use, which He has declined.  Yet, continually He answers me in some incredible ways ...not of this world, not of human comprehension.  With a sprinkle of grace, He offers the glimpse I so need and desire.  God has blessed me over and over ...the simple fact I get out of bed each day is a miracle.  That we have laughed together, cried together, eat dinner together ...play ...is a miracle.  That we have gone on, that our kids are well, loving each other, us, their lives ...all this is nothing short of a miracle.  It's all because of the prayers offered for us by so many.  Who knew we would have such an army storming Heaven for this family of ours?  For everyone that has hung in there and begged for the aid of the angels, saints and Christ Himself to soothe and heal this family ...there simply are no words.  Not a day goes by when I don't think about that, pause and give thanks and say a prayer for everyone. 
Tonight I drove my girls to their club meeting ...gathering with a gaggle of giggly girls, many we've known since before school age.  Spilling out of cars, they embrace as if they've just made it to the end of the Oregon Trail ...so grateful to have made it to each other.  After, they hold each other tight, as if setting off on the Mayflower, knowing they may never see each other again.  There is always laughter, always joy among them. To watch that as a mother, see the love and joy that wraps these girls ....thank you, God.  The drive found me winding my way down the back roads of the south shore, two days after our last storm, with just the headlights.  I was stunned by the beauty of the trees, decorated in snow ...each branch exquisitely outlined.  Again, I think, this must be the beauty of Heaven ...man could never come close to designing, creating such a sight.  And of course, thinking of Heaven, I think of Phoebe and what she must see and know.  Just a few days ago, I shared my mother's presence ...a prompting to be comforted.  I thought of the two, my two powerful women gone before me, and was struck by a thought of something they shared, perhaps.
When my father died, quite unexpectedly, more than a decade ago, my mother stated rather matter of factly that she had five years left.  Now, for those of you who knew my mother, you know that seemed like the most ridiculous statement ever made.  My mother was indestructible. Period.  Nothing took this women down, and so, her comment was dismissed.  I didn't think of it again until seven months later when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  Those of us who lived locally sat in the waiting room while she underwent surgery.  We had all seen her just prior and she instructed all of us to let the anesthesiologist know that she did not want him to knock her teeth out.  He came by while most of us were there and she made it quite clear to him that she would be furious if she woke to any missing teeth.  That kept us chuckling and managing our worry as we waited for the outcome. When her surgeon finished, he spoke with us about his findings.  I think its fair to say we were all stunned, but really, we knew this woman ...and I certainly didn't think there was anything that could stop her, not even an aggressive cancer.
As she woke from her drowsiness, before her eyes fluttered open, her hand came from under the sheet, one finger extended as she reached towards her mouth and tapped her teeth.  When she determined they were still there ....she opened her eyes, and smiled.
This cancer thing was just a little blip along the way.  Honestly, had she desired it, she would still be driving around, finding the best deal on butter, seeing her patients ...doing her thing.  She had rounds of chemo, good days and bad, times when it seemed to be gone.  But just ten days shy of my father's fifth anniversary, and five weeks after my sixth child was born, she died.  Everything she had wanted to complete was finished.  Her kids were settled, all of them married, all of them homeowners ...two things that were very important to her.  So within a couple of months of these things happening, she faded, slipped into a downhill slide and grew weaker and sicker as the summer days passed.  And she was gone.  I believe my mother made the decision that her work here was finished, she said she had lived a good life, that we shouldn't mourn her, but rather the young mothers diagnosed with such a terrible disease who likely would never see their children grown.  Still, I couldn't believe she had died ...she just wasn't the type to succumb.  She would be the little old lady living alone till she was 98.  Instead she died at 76.  But I really think she knew her time had come.  She had her children where she wanted them ...and that was enough.  And though her death has become a part of my life, her absence still seems unnecessary.  She had a lot more to give, more life to live. 
As I thought about her tonight, I thought of Phoebe.  She died far, far too young.  But I wonder if she felt her work was done.  It wasn't, but did she think that?  She had given me, in particular, a good run, but she had also passionately supported me in much of what I did with my life.  Phoebe was proud of me.  She would speak to me as if I were her child ...that often struck me.  A complex mix of maturity and youthful unawareness, she seemed an old soul ...as many had commented over her life.  She had wanted me to pursue nursing and find a job I liked ...I had done both.  She had wanted her sisters to ease into school from homeschooling, and Owen too.  They had, quite successfully.  Did she think then her work here was done?  If she did, she was mistaken, confused .... I could think of a few more things I'd like her to do ...finish up.  So like my mother ....and their deaths are very, very different, for sure ....did Phoebe decide her work was done?  I wonder.
The thing is, that's God's call, not ours.  We just never know the work, the tasks, the blessings ...the joys, God has in store for us ....it's not our call.  I'm not accusing my mother of making the decision to die ....she died of natural causes.  I just know that had she wanted to beat her cancer ...she would have ...that's just who she was.  But, she let God take her ...in His time.  Had she asked, He may have let her stay a bit longer.  But, we'll never know.  Phoebe ...she took the control away from God.  Never a good thing.  I do wonder though, if she thought her work was done.  She had heard me say that about my own mother ....Had she taken it deeply to heart, considered it to be choice she too could determine on her own?  She was wrong if she did. 
But we live in a world that claims we decide, have the right to decide, not only our own end, but also the beginning and end of others' lives ...we live in a culture of death ...that makes suicide an option.  And that ...is just plain wrong and not of God. 
Pray for our children, our young that they see the value, the purpose of life ...always ...in all ways.

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

Sunshine

Right about now Phoebe should be heading into the kitchen, checking on dinner, taking lids off pots, picking at the menu, shooing others away and calling her sisters to set the table.  She came to me now a different way that brought sobs of both sadness and joy.  And I know that for now, she is holding my shoulders and staring me right in the face and letting me know she is here ...she really is here, my Phoebe ...and I am so, so grateful.
How do I lose my faith in God and His generosity?  How?
I have someone "coaching" me along this path of grief.  Today we talked about moving on, and why that feels so cold and empty to me.  I understand the reality, that I will never leave Phoebe behind, but my heart wrestles with that.  A mother never leaves.  Having listened to me since the early days of despair, the good and the bad times, the hurdles, the laughter, the love ...she asked me a question today I had never considered.  She knows my faith, that it is my compass, my lifeboat, my rescue.  She knows I believe that everlasting life is real, and that my Phoebe is living that now.  She knows I believe, know, Phoebe is at peace, resting in God's arms, comforted by an intense joy and awareness of His love.  Why don't you join her there? she asked me.  If that is indeed where Phoebe is, wouldn't Phoebe want my heart to be in that place too ...not physically, but spiritually, emotionally.  So rather than thinking I am either leaving Phoebe, or taking her with me ....why not let her take me with her, take my heart with her, so that I can find some of that peace she lives with now.  That made sense to me.  So, as the day moved on I remembered a song I had found a few weeks before Phoebe died.  I played it a lot on you tube ...no one else liked it, but I did.  Phoebe would either role her eyes or say "not again."  It had reminded me of her ...because she pushed me so much, so often, that the moments of really seeing her in her entirety, literally would take my breath away.  She was my sunshine ....I believe God gave her to me, and took her from me, so that I would find him ever more closely and so that I would form my heart for Him.  It was rough going at times, but deep down I knew it was all a blessing to be realized when I passed into the next life.  Never did I think she would go before me.  She knew this song was hers for me.  Today I came home and played it ...and listened hard to the lyrics.  It's a love song meant for a man and woman, but the lyrics speak to me of her.  Each morning I would wake her ...and her dark hair would lay across her pillow, and she would be tangled in her big down comforter ...winter or summer ...and for a few moments I would just watch her sleep and breath, until I shook her toes to wake her.
After I played this song, the mail came with a card.  It is from one her school friends she had grown close to over the past year.  Inside is a radiant picture of Phoebe sitting at World's End, one of her favorite spots, with the late day sun radiant behind her.  Her face aglow with her beautiful smile, her floppy bun atop her head, and her hands gesturing some command to her friend ...so Phoebe ....so much Phoebe.  Little did her friend know how much it would mean to all of us.  Or maybe she did ...she knew how special Phoebe was.  One by one, it's been picked up ..."where did this come from?" they ask.  I tell them about my prayer today, the song they all know I love ...and the picture.  And I say, "see how God hears my prayer and let's me know ...gives me a huge gift only He could."  And they nod, smile, yes, through all the doubt, all the questioning, all the sadness, they smile and see ...that God loves us, hears us.  Here is the picture so you can see her and hear the song at the same time, and feel for just a moment what I am missing.  Not to make you sad, but for you to feel her rays shining on you too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CkCPyrfkSI
Every time God goes missing on me ...He lets me know loud and clear ...it's not Him, or even Phoebe that's gone missing, but me.  With a big bear hug, He brings me face to face with her, breath to breath ...and I know that she is here ...and that she loves me ...and I love her.

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

Census

Yesterday in the mail was a form for the town census.  Listed are the names of everyone in the household.  Phoebe's name is not there.  I read over and over in disbelief, searching.  Someone just hit a key ...delete!  That was tough for me to read.  The number 8 sits at the bottom of the form. Eight people in our household.  Poof!  She's gone.  Once it read we were nine.  No longer.  Life marches on, numbers ebb and flow, people move on ... even us, simply because the sun continues to rise and set, rise and set. 
I can't really figure out what place I am in right now.  A bit at sea, I guess ...trying to make sense of this world.  I am big on things making sense.  Spontaneity is not one of my characteristics, so the script I had for a long time is being rewritten, needs revision ...but I don't have too many ideas.  I'm familiar with talking my kids through revisions, rewrites ...something they've all thought to be ridiculous, unnecessary.  Why isn't the first draft good enough?  they ask.  Well, the key to good writing is rewriting.   Ideas develop, particular words emerge, an essence begins to take over ....what you write takes on life, as you work with it and yourself and how you express your thoughts, ideas.  For many years I taught college students, encouraged, sometimes demanded they rewrite their work ...producing something better, stronger, original. 
But, life can't be rewritten, there's no first draft, not even a second.  You can't even write in the margins.  One shot.  We get one shot with each moment, day ...child.  One.  I feel like I missed my shot with Phoebe.  I lost. I can't say I struggle with guilt, right now anyway.  Maybe one day.  And I can't say anything would have made a difference ...ever.  But I wonder.  I see things in myself, parts of me that are less than ideal.  My mothering, though I give it my all, could use some polishing, finesse.  Even if Phoebe would have died anyway, I wish I had given her a better piece of me in every moment.  Maybe she would have stayed.  Maybe not.
Lazy and hazy ...that defines where I am right now.  I don't have any ideas for rewrites. 
I talk to God, but its more like sputtering. Fleeting moments of conversation with Him, trying to trust Him, accept His will.  Mumbles spill out, not quite sure what to say, what to ask.  I say my prayers, keep my routine, but it feels weak.  Bead by bead, I think.  I emerge from this bead by bead ...my rosary, always my rescue.  If I didn't truly believe the promises of the rosary ...I would have stopped saying it.  But I do and did, plenty with Phoebe over the years.
It's like I'm walking through a forest.  All around me is incredible beauty.  Stare at a piece of bark on a tree for a minute ...and see the intricacies of design, the perfection.  Underfoot, a beautiful green moss, bunches of fern, the soft noises of wood life, sun rays shining through a dense canopy of leaves.  Of course it is all beautiful, and I want to take it all in, but I have to find my campsite, my fellow travelers before dark, before I get lost even more.   I've lost base camp.  Others are depending on me to find it, to lead us to safety.  The burden's not all on me, thankfully.  I have a husband fully invested ...and a big son ...fully invested ...and all my other cherubs following along.  Together, we'll find a new base camp ...a "new normal" as the professionals say.  But the truth is ...that stinks!  I don't want to find a "new normal."  I want my old normal.
 If I were more spontaneous, I might say "hey, this is great, we'll find a new site in a place we wouldn't have even considered before.  We can make this a great adventure."  But I am neither spontaneous nor patient.  Bad combination for the particular situation I'm in.  Is God saying "lighten up ...relax!"  Or, is He just asking me to trust Him ...to wait.  Just trying to make sense.
Too many late nights, what if conversations have my mind hazy.  I'm trying to grab hold of Phoebe, keep her close.  Moving on feels like leaving her.  They say that's the problem for many ...they feel like they are abandoning, somehow rejecting their loved one's.  Yeah!  That's true.  It does feel like that.  I would never leave my daughter behind.  How can I now?  Even knowing she is safe, where she was created to be,  I just can't leave her.  So how do I move on without leaving her behind?  I guess that's where I am, why I have no ideas for my rewrite.  The census bureau can just highlight her name and hit the delete button. Not so easy for momma here.  And don't have to delete her, but to make her a part of my everyday will take time, patience ...and trust. It will take me a lifetime, but its what I do along the way that will make the difference.  Martha Whitmore Hickman, author of Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working through Grief, reflects on Anne Morrow Lindbergh's passage I mentioned a few days ago. 
It is over shaky ground - this journey between the relationship we had when the person was alive and the relationship we come to have with the dead.  We don't know what to expect, don't even know what we're looking for.  Are we fooling ourselves, conjuring up the possibility that we can have a relationship with someone who's died?
Perhaps it is a little like a first time parent who, anxious that something may go wrong, has to keep going back and checking on the baby.  Is the baby all right?  Still breathing? Still peacefully sleeping?
After a while the parent becomes more confident.  The baby really is there, and safe, but as with other miracles, this miracle of birth takes getting used to.  Perhaps in like manner comes the slowly dawning confidence that in the mystery of living, it is possible to have an ongoing relationship with the dead.
I get all that.  I really do.  But it has yet to settle in my heart. 
When I look at our Catholic Faith, it becomes even richer.  All the souls living and past that have found their way to Heaven - the Church Triumphant, or have the promise of Heaven - the Church Suffering, as they spend time in Purgatory, along with those on earth who strive to live the faith and share it, the Church Militant, are bound together.  I know Phoebe is part of this ...she is part of the Church. 
I am blind to so many treasures like this all too often these days.  But once again, God's generosity puts the people in my life with the right words in the right moments ...and I am somehow, not so alone anymore. Treasured words hear and feel over the phone as a dear friend listens to me tell her that Phoebe wasn't on my family's list of names from the census.  She knows ...because it confirms for her too, that our Phoebe won't be sitting at the counter in her kitchen, won't be on her patio eating ice cream and giggling with her two daughters, two of her three best friends.  And my friend knows that with each visit home, her girls are missing their companion, a bit at sea themselves without the girl so much shorter than them, but so tall in personality and character.  Phoebe won't go to their camp, ever again ...because she is no longer counted.  And as much as I don't want anyone to be hurt, it helps me to hear the tears, the sadness, the missing ...because I don't feel so alone ...or so afraid. And I know, we are not alone in rebuilding our lives. 

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

Senseless

How is it that one moment, one day I seem to understand, grasp a picture that paints big and wide.  Yes! I say to the plan spread before me, around me, after me. It all seems to make sense.  There is no certainty, full awareness, comprehension ...just a veil of grace that lifts the shade just enough for me to think, to feel  ....I see.
I can see how this all makes some sense when woven into the grand tapestry of my family's life.  Phoebe's death is not wasted ...not without purpose ...without some redemption ...some gift.  God is a good, generous, wise God ...a Father in the fullest, truest sense of the word ...after all ...He is the Word.  Yes! I say ...trusting, resting, at peace.
And then the veil is whisked away ...and what a I saw, understood for moments ...is now senseless, offensive, horrible ...inflicted upon us by an absent, uncaring God whom I have struggled to love in every dark corner and cluttered cavern of my life and soul.  How does that happen?  How does the fog, the questioning roll in full and dense ...seeking to destroy any peace I may have found.
I talk to my women of deep, deep, abiding faith and I hear the words ...the Truth, but I cannot hold on.  It simply does not make sense that my daughter, at seventeen, is dead ...never to return to me.  How does that ever make sense?  Again the questions ...for what am I being punished?  What did I do that offended God so deeply?   What did my child do, my child, do to warrant a departure, a horrific death such as this?  And why do my children warrant such a horror, such a 'fact' of their lives?  Tell me, please.  Help me make sense of this.  If the answer is that I am a horrible person, deserving of this ...so be it.  If Phoebe's life would have wreaked havoc, chaos, pain on others ...and this way she can bring peace, calm and joy ...so be it.  If my children will be able to manage their way through difficult challenges of life with ease and assurance, confidence in God ...so be it.   But it is the fact there will never ever be an answer ...ever ..until our own time comes.
Suicide is a horrible, horrible death.  It takes people right into the darkness.  Phoebe could not have known the depth of pain she would inflict by her senseless, ridiculously drastic act.  Our culture, frowns on suicide, as it should.  But what it shouldn't frown on is the discussion of it.  Suicide is real and is tearing apart, destroying the lives of many young people.  We need to start asking some hard questions.  It's time we looked hard at this world we are raising our children in ...where the options are claimed to be wide open, limitless, when in fact ...the lives before them are stifling, demanding, narrow.  We teach our kids they must succeed and that definition of success is quite slim.  Wear the right clothes, be part of the right activities, hang with the right people, drive the right car, have money in your pocket, be thin, beautiful, get braces, highlight your hair, buy a new outfit every week ...act as if you could live on your own and your parents don't matter ...don't take God so seriously ...He's actually rather silly.  The list goes on and on.  Our kids are under assault ...just turn on the TV for a few moments and see what they're offered.  "Desperate Housewives"?  Try "Desperate Teenagers". Take a look at the prom.  Limos, nails, hairdos ...all these things came at marriage, a mark of adulthood, a passage.  Now it's expected younger and younger ...and the kids don't come up with this on their own ...its the grown-ups, the parents ...it's us! 
Elementary kids are "social networking".  What's wrong with old fashioned friendship?  What's wrong with just being with your family  Drive down the street and look in the cars ...everyone has their own headset in their ears.  What's the point of family life at all if we can all just excuse ourselves from each other ...be off in our own little worlds?  Does peace come from it?  Of course, momentary peace, but lasting ...no.  We are raising our children to adulthood without teaching them that through boredom and frustration, creativity is born, imagination cultivated ...independent thinking, real independent thinking is nurtured.  How many children do we know who actually, really and truly go without ....are forced to make do?  I don't know many at all.  We see that as necessary for raising our children to healthy adulthood, yet we are surrounded by children who get essentially anything they want.  Oh, maybe they wait a month, maybe they don't get two ...but they get what they want.  Our children look at us as if we are mean, cruel, poor, stupid, ignorant.  We could use a little help.  We are not alone, we have a fine, robust actually, network of friends and families who see the value of larger families, the value of making do, going without ...why some of them don't even have a flat screen TV.  Imagine!  But we are spread out, not gathered enough to make a difference. 
Look around, pay attention when you hear of quick illnesses, single car accidents, alcohol poisoning.  In all likelihood they are suicides ...not accidents ...they are intended.  And it is all hushed.  Understandably. When, when will we begin to look seriously at what we inflict on our kids? Talk to the professionals ...many shake their heads, horrified at what our children are becoming, what they are being offered, the lies they are being told.
When will our priests, our church start speaking out about what is happening?  Those of us striving to live the faith, embrace all of it, which is quite contrary to the culture, are pushed to the fringe.  Lay people in positions of leadership disregard their baptismal commitments to their faith, teaching our own kids things that are not true, are not in line with Christ.  We walk so gingerly around these people and things, for fear of offending.  But what about us, this small group, who says yes to all of God's ways, doesn't pick and choose, but ascends to it all, accepts it all ...no one walks around us gingerly.  And this is where I begin to feel senseless.  I want to scream at God and say ...Oh is it because I take my family to Mass every Sunday ...and don't skip it if I feel like skiing instead?  I see God,  I'm just a tad bit ....tooooo Catholic.  Or when I speak out about abortion, the killing of our own young,  shhhh, does it make people feel a wee bit uncomfortable ...even though it is part of what a Catholic is obligated to believe?  Or is it because, in some freakish way, us large family folks are open to life, accepting the souls God sends our way without interfering in His will?  Or is it because I get a bit annoyed while people are texting during the Mass, or that the band sets up in front of the Tabernacle?  I, we, are the wack jobs ...the one's seeking reverence for God.  It's simply wrong.  Things are not right. And it distances our children from the Truth, from their families, from each other in the most essential ways. 
One of our own lay leaders in this diocese died recently.  A high profile gentlemen committed suicide.  It hasn't been hidden, but it hasn't been spoken of either.  Today, we listened to our own cardinal talk about the program this man developed to bring Catholics back ...not a mention of the man who devoted so much of his life for good ...not a mention of his life, or his death.  Odd.  Seems like it should have been mentioned ...but, we're on to other things, I guess.  Why?  Pope John Paul II spoke of  a culture of death ...abortion, euthanasia, suicide ...why can we not mention it, why are our priests silent.  This is a real issue.  Sure, it affected my family personally, but not just us.  This has affected so many more than can be counted ...don't you think this makes the future look bleak for many?  But we cannot speak of it.  Something was terribly wrong with that family ...terribly.  No, something is terribly wrong with this culture.  I for one, do not want to be part of the problem, but part of what raises us above and beyond the "R" rated world our kids live in.  I want to embrace all that God has left us, His true presence with us now ...but I cannot do it alone.  And I wonder when His grace will remove the scales from all the ever so confident church goers who buy 20% of what the Church teaches and scoff at the rest.  "God doesn't actually mean me to follow His ways. I get to choose ...he allows me to massage my own conscience to make my dissent palatable."  How can I possibly raise children in the faith when not even our own priests are courageous enough to speak the truth?  How? 
This is where the senseless rests.  Over 4000 unborn babies are killed every day ...what makes us think that this horror show doesn't confuse our children, not so far away from their own unborn days?  We should be outraged ...the Catholic Church should be a force to be reckoned with. Instead, where I live anyway, we have priests smoothing it over ...making it okay ...and if they're challenged by a lay faithful ...watch out.  They are not corrected or silenced ...they are promoted, given even more power.  They watch over the CCD programs making sure its all politically correct ...tasty for everyone. 
An athlete does not get to the Olympics by doing all things comfortable, pleasing to the senses.  They push themselves, cultivate habits that, while gruelling, develop abilities that are beyond most.  Why do we as Catholics not see that to get to Heaven ...our own path must cultivate habits that don't please the senses ..that aren't easy, happy for all.  We're talking about eternity.  We don't just all get a free pass.  But we live in an area where that's the feel good message.  Every one is great.  Every one is right ...but really,  only God is right. Right?  Phoebe saw this unfold before her and it wreaked havoc on her faith ...She watched as her friends were confirmed, never going to Mass, not believing most of what the Catholic faith teaches ...and she refused to be part of that ...refused because it meant nothing if one didn't fully embrace and strive to live what they were confirming, attesting to live.  Her courage to take a stand was and is far greater than so many of our own priests ...who wither and cowardly hide, refusing to put themselves on the line, when in fact that is there call ....their vocation.  She saw the lie ...and walked away.  She saw priests, laity seek popularity, acceptance far before standing for the Truth ...and she walked away. 
These things are not easy for me to write.  I would rather hide myself and not speak out, but I know this is all a big part of what led Phoebe to those moments of extreme darkness and despair.  I don't like the position I find myself in far too often. On the outside ...with my posse of friends near and far.  We are alone.  The silly one's who actually believe all that mumbo jumbo.
I follow you Lord in all Your ways ...and I would like You to show up, back me up, give me a little help.  Or, could you impart some wisdom on the priests and lay people who actually instruct with error.  Enough!  Please, give me a hand, give us a hand here.  Put things back in order.  So that for at least a little while, things will make sense again.

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

Messages

Listening is a gift ...for both listened to and the listener, don't you think?  So often, I've reflected back to something said or shared years earlier that resonates today, in this very moment.  Such a gift to have seeds planted in your heart to be pulled later for sowing, growing.  I've learned now that when I listen to something, I may  not actually hear it, understand ...yet.  I've learned it may be a treasure planted for later days, months or years.  How God works!  Amazing.
The other night I lay in bed, in the dark, thinking about Phoebe, talking to her.  There are times when I sense her talking right back ...when it is still, at night, at Mass, most times.  My good night chats can be short or long, depending on where my head and heart rest.  When I look back to those earlier days, I cried myself to sleep, the full sense of her absence washing over me like crashing waves.  I know more waves will come crashing in.  For now, the tide is out, I'm just taking her all in ...being with her in my own way, my own time.
I asked her the other night about my mother ...a simple nod, but nothing more than that.  I can't dissect what that means, I'm not supposed to ...this is about me and my girl.  I just asked her to hug my mom, another simple nod,  Seems that Phoebe mostly will be present for her siblings, dad and mom ...and her friends ...their moms, too.  I ask her lots of questions about her life, choices she made.  Her answers are always simple, short.  It's fleeting, those moments.  Are they real, I wonder?  I ask God to let me know, see clearly, don't dally in the unknown, the unreal, anything that is not from Him.  Phoebe always tells me to pray, assures me it is all real, He is all real. Every answer falls to prayer ...without ceasing.  And isn't that what St. Paul tells us ...to 'pray without ceasing.'  Our lives should be a prayer, should be centered on Christ ...always our foundation, our ladder, our summit ...always.  We can hang on to each other, hang on to our loved ones gone, but unless we hang on, cling to God ...it makes no sense ...leads us nowhere.
If Phoebe really is with me at moments, I know it is only to point to God ...to assure me the path I'm on ...heading towards Christ, following His ways ...is the right one.  'Stay there, keep going, He is here.'  This is a crazy place and time, Godless in so many ways ...hard to hang on, hard to survive the trial ...making the effort, the pain even more exquisite, worthwhile.  As quickly as I sense her, she is gone  ...to adore and praise her creator, I think.  I sleep ...and she never comes in my sleep.  I wish she would.
I pray hard, weary from the sadness, the missing, the adjusting to new ways, new life.  Everything is changed.  The order of our life has a new pattern, still groping to find a rhythm ...a different life.  I cannot do this, but God can.  I am more dependent now, more needy.  I have been broken, not jaded, but broken.
And I think that is how He has meant me to be ...broken.  Through the breaking, I lean on Him, I need His hands, His arms to lift me, raise me, hold me.  Broken so that I might be whole, live a fuller life in Christ.
I guess I needed to be strong enough to break in the first place.  Isn't that a twist on the worldly view?  We need to ask that question ...for whom, for what do I bend?  For whom am I willing to break?  I always want my answer to be Christ.  That's what Phoebe was taught, lived for most of her life ...and the world, in her short experience out there in the world, told her that was folly ...and it confused her, disoriented her ...she lost her bearings, her way ...and still ...the world would say that was folly.  Am I still willing, even in the depths of loss, pain, suffering, to still ask those hard questions about who I serve, who comes first in my life ...no matter what?  Am I still willing to answer it is Christ I seek?  Yes, I am.  I am willing to still trust ....always trust.
If ever I break or bend for the world, the culture ...may He pull me, yank me back.  Phoebe whispers this to me ...to stay with Christ.  I'll listen to this girl of mine and trust she is  here.
Those treasures I mentioned earlier, the planting of seeds meant for later ...and Phoebe only  nodding about  my mother ...nothing more, come back.  I open my Daily Meditation for Working Through Grief and read a passage, as if hand delivered by this woman who raised me. "Part of the process (of rebirth) is  the growth of a new relationship with the dead ...that veritable ami mort  Saint Exupery speaks of.  Like all gestation it is a slow, dark, wordless process.  While it is taking place it is painfully vulnerable.  One must guard and protect the new life growing within - like a child."  Anne Morrow Lindbergh. My mother was forever urging me to read the words of this woman ...a woman whose own child went missing.

She had given me a copy of Lindbergh's book, A Gift From the Sea.  I had finally read it, because my mother was so insistent. The book was a fairly light read, written while taking a break from family life, centering herself, regaining her equilibrium.  Lindbergh had lost a child.  Her 20 month old kidnapped, killed.  Silence ...words are not easy ....even when you share the same hardship.  I know her heart, the unanswerable questions, the guilt, the questioning, the pain.  Had my mother been so insistent with others about this book?  What had she sensed ....known for me so many years?  I understand, Phoebe had softly nodded revealing nothing so that my mother could, herself, reveal to me her nearness ...open this book that would show me her heart, her hand in my life ...still.  My mother had a certain agitation, frustration about my life that often baffled and disturbed me.  I never understood her worry.  I was perfectly happy in my busy household.  Now I know, she knew ...not the details, not the horror ...but she knew something.  She brings this book back to me.  "Read it, Carolyn ...see her survival ...the gift ...even after the loss."  I hear her.  Yes mom, I will.  I will find that book again and read it and see what you wanted me to see ...what you led me to see.  I will see it now, because you will show me. 

I will read A Gift From the Sea, because it is a gift God has allowed my mother to bring to me, once again.
The veil is thin, whisper thin, between us.  My mother and daughter are near ...guiding me, urging me onward.  Thank you.



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









 

Hush

It's late and the house has finally quieted.  Another snow day ...more forts to build, hot chocolate to make, mittens to dry.  All the fun and joy of this time of year, the thrill of school canceled ...freedom.  We are toasty warm, snuggled and at peace.  I look for her, my Phoebe, my missing girl ...this is her kind of day.  The snow, the bright clean white, the chill, the smell, the wood, the fire ...elements.  She loved the elements ...real freedom, things that didn't cost, but are freely given us by our Creator.  But the end of the day ...the late hour, the long settling ...that she didn't like.  Outrage could consume her if the littles were still up waaaaaaaaay past their bed time.  No, that she wouldn't like.  I look to the night sky with storm passed and see the bright stars, an almost full moon, her moon, and I ask her, "are you dancing on the moon Phoebe?"  And I can see her smiling.  Because those are the things that could befuddle her ...why couldn't she dance on the moon?  why were we so limited, confined by our bodies, our culture?  It's quiet so I can linger over those thoughts, about where she might choose to spend her time now ...on the moon, the tops of the trees, at the edge of the highest cliff ...that's where she'd likely be, taking in the exhileration of that different view, breathing in the air.  My Phoebe.
And today, it doesn't quite hurt so much ...brings a smile and a tug of admiration for this girl who so hated the boundaries of this fallen world.  If she could be anyplace it would be those places I just mentioned.  But if she could live at any time ....it would be when people bartered for goods ...helped each other out ...made do.  Don't get me wrong ...Phoebe was not terribly altruistic, but she saw the folly of consumerism, the mad race to gain possessions as definers of one's success.  I wish I had spent more time talking to her about that, letting her know how good I thought it was that at her age she could see the materialistic race as a dead end.  Maybe I didn't let her know that enough.  But I don't lament that now, for now.  Phoebe is where she is supposed to be. Big sister, watching over the others.
There was a good spread of three years between my first, second and third child.  But two more girls quickly came along giving us a trio that moved as one for years.  They snuggled, always.  Three beds in one room and only one bed was ever occupied.  Now they have more space, they've grown bigger, want more independence, freedom, privacy ....and still, they snuggle.  I'll go to give the final tuck in to find beds empty and others full ...with girls ...my trio ...with littlest fitting herself in, making four.  I listen to them late at night, hear them giggle.  I want them to be quiet, hushed ...and then I think "no, this is good."  They squabble, insult, tease and complain ...but in the quiet...they comfort and soothe, settle and calm the aching hearts these sisters carry.  I know the ache of a mother, but not the ache of a sister ...they do ...and together they will heal.  The moonlight shines in their room ...and I know Phoebe is with them ...her sisters. 
"Blessed are those who mourn for they shall be comforted."  I think, yes, this is true.  We are hurting,  but God allows us the comfort of each other ...the comfort of snow days, laughter, remembering, knowing.  He reaches out to us through each other, works His wisdom, His love into our lives in the most curious of ways. I miss her, want her with me ...but I think she is.  In some peaceful way, I know she is.  And so I talk to her and walk with her through my day, like I did before.  She was a teenager, so before wasn't always peaceful.  There was lots of drama, worry, frustration ...but there were more and more sweet moments that bound our hearts together ...and it is there that I live again, remembering her smile, her laugh, encouragement.
One of my friends talks to her all the time too.  "You better be with your mother Phoebe."  She hears her back, "I am"  Good friends, love their friends' children in a very special way.  Phoebe knows this now, how much she was loved by so many wonderful, faithful women.  She knows ...that my own struggle to hang on to my faith and live it in this crazy, hostile world, is worth the fight ...always has been.
I like the quiet hush in the late night ...my time, to write, to pray and to be with one of the loveliest young ladies you could ever know.  Released from her struggle, free from the weight that dragged her down, buoyant in her new life ...she is lovely.  She really is. Peace is mine for now ...and I'll take that as a gift, a grace from the One who truly loves us as we are. 

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

New Things

I walked through Barnes and Nobles today looking for a date book.  There's a particular brand I like that I've used for a few years now.  I went searching;  I had delayed buying. Acknowledging the turning of time ...a new year without my girl wasn't something that interested me all that much.  All over were books about changing your life ...breaking old habits, establishing new, gaining influence, power, success, peace, money ...all sorts of things.  Whatever your mission for this year, there's a book out there offering a road map.  Once you've decided to make a change, there's plenty hoping it will be there book you choose to get you started.  But what about when life changes and you haven't chosen to transform, head down a different path.  We all know life is not linear ...things happen all the time to change our morning, our day, our week ...that's not surprising.  Dealing with curve balls is just part of life.  But sometimes there are things that are out of orbit ...not the usual, outrageous in fact.  I wasn't looking for a book to help me change my life.  I was just looking for a book to chronicle our first year without Phoebe.  I found it ... a horrible color.  That's what happens when you wait too long ...choices become limited.
So, I filled in some of the squares ...what I know for this month, the birthdays.  I wrote Phoebe's 18th birthday in and noticed her day, her night is a full moon.  Phoebe had written quite a bit about the moon.  She loved the moon ...loved that she could always count on it hanging up there in the sky.  She wrote beautiful words about the light of the moon, its loveliness.  I smiled when I saw that full moon day, on her birthday.  I probably wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't died.  There would be lots of things that same week, her sports banquet, senior breakfast, graduation.  Those don't get filled in now ...they won't happen.  A change I didn't want.  Hmmm!  I don't understand why God would give me something so extreme, so painful to help me change. And I know I am changing, but into what?  If I had planned on some kind of change I could buy a book.  But there are no books for this ...just time, patience and a whole lot of faith ...and trust. Life will go on, and there will be good things that happen along the way ...even without her.  Again, not by choice ...it just will be.
For Christmas my husband gave me the gift of drawing lessons.  I've wanted to take an art class for a long time, but like most moms ...couldn't figure out how to fit something in just for me.  Its a great gift, and I jumped on it ...with a little reservation.  I started last week, and tomorrow I'll go again.  A drawing class ...we draw lines.  When our teacher told us we would spend six weeks drawing lines I was perplexed ...six weeks, how about six minutes, I thought to myself.  As she explained and demonstrated I began to see that everything is a line.  Line meeting line meeting line transforms into all sorts of things, bringing texture, dimension and interest to the world.  My eyes saw something new.  My eyes saw in a different way carrying my mind along too.  She gave us a simple picture to copy.  I looked at it hard wanting to please her.  My "drawing tool" ready (art terminology) I planned my approach.  "Turn it upside down ...and just draw the lines that you see." I thought that odd.  Just draw the lines?  So, I did.  "Now turn it around." she told us.  As the papers turned, the image came into view ...and there was a near perfect copy of the original ...with a few variations.  I was startled.  She explained our natural desire to focus on one little element as we begin, hoping to perfect each little piece of the whole ...hoping to capture the whole.  It doesn't work that way.  We must begin with the whole ...using line, sweeping lines that capture movement, a state of being ...a gesture line. From that move to contour line ...the outline,  a sort-of simple mold that suggests definition, but does not impose it.  Construction line gives the object(s) their name.  We know what we are looking at.  Had she given us the picture right side up ...we would have been far less successful at capturing the image ...its beauty.
Our teacher had gone around the room asking us why we were there.  Five of us, different reasons ...most of them to further cultivate their artistic pursuit.  I wanted to cry ...I wanted to say "I'm here because my daughter died and I can think of nothing else ...and I'm hoping this will distract me for a bit."  But instead, I told her it was a gift from my husband and I wanted to learn something I could share with my kids.
She had looked at me squarely, right into me.  "It is a gift far greater than you know that will go beyond the time you spend here."  At the time it had sounded prophetic, but I thought it was just me ...feeling sensitive, raw.  As the class went on ....and after, I thought about how much these lessons applied to life, my life.
So many times I've thought ...what am I to do now?  Of course, I have these wonderful children with lives to live and embrace ...but what about this gaping hole in my life.  My world had been turned upside down ...life cannot be lived that way.  I thought of the picture we drew upside down ...who would ever draw upside down?  Yet when we turned it around, the image made by our simple lines, had transformed into a beautiful swan.  This life lived upside down is creating a beautiful image ...a beautiful life.  Phoebe turned my world upside down when she impulsively chose to leave it ...but what beauty may come from it ...I don't know. 
God works on me in mysterious ways.  I can see how He works simply by learning to draw.  Imagine.  I'm taken by this new approach, way of thinking ...way of seeing.  I know God is offering me a new perspective ...a new way to trust.  "I know it seems crazy Carolyn, painful, outrageous ...but there is beauty and definition ....purpose in this plan."  He seems to say to me.  I don't mean Phoebe dying ...that wasn't His plan.  But for me now, this life I have ...He is bringing purpose, beauty, definition through the upside downness of my life.
I pray I can trust and be open to His ways ...follow His lead.  I pray I can.

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

Worth Watching

One of my favorite blogs for several years now is this:  http://www.aholyexperience.com/  Today, Ann has a beautiful, challenging video ...that speaks to all of us struggling to find meaning, purpose and Truth in this crazy world.  Life is but a moment ...and our story is what we do with them.  And if life really is, just moments strung together ...then I take heart.  Because, though fleeting ...I still have moments with Phoebe ...just moments where I catch a glimmer, hear her voice in my head and heart ...moments of remembering ...and my heart swells.  I still have a life with her ...if I just take hold of the moments.

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

Promise

I don't really know what to expect as life goes on.  I've never done this before.  I don't know what life will look like in the spring, summer, next year. That's true for everyone ...we just never know where life will take us.  We can make all the plans we want ...but nothing is certain.  There are moments when I see the promise of life ahead.  These kids around me have full lives ahead of them ...so many reasons to look to the future and expect good things.  It is in them that I find the reason to move on.  Will there be bumps?  For sure.  Fine tuning to do? Yup!  More worry, sleepless nights over their own struggles?  I'm pretty sure.  But those are even more reasons to live as fully as I can.  Just as Phoebe had every opportunity to fully embrace and live this life she was given ...and every reason to, so do the rest of her siblings.  I owe that to them ...and even to her, to show her that life is full of promise. 
I have a full, rich life before me.  It is mine for the taking ...and I include the bumps and bruises all along the way.
Sometimes those moments of friction discourage me, find me questioning, but then something so incredible happens as the harmony of home life, of family life sets in and hums along in a rhythm only built through perseverance, fortitude ...trust.  I believe Phoebe's parting will lead us to a place where we will find a sweet rhythm ...and I believe she will take part in guiding us there.  She loved her brothers, her sisters ...she loved me, a lot ...she told me so.  More than anything, or anyone ...she loved her dad.  He was her best friend. They understood each other without words ...they had  rhythm ...a good one.  So I know that from where she is ...she'll help us find that again.  Whether it's by direct action or insistent prayer for us ...she will beg God to restore us to a better place. 
Tonight I was able to talk about her with people who never knew her.  They know, as few do, what it is like to miss a child who's died ...who will never come back.  I told them about her and how she would boss me around. "Oh no, you get back in that room" she would say, "You are NOT leaving the house wearing that."  I would think I looked pretty snazzy only to be reprimanded.  She would close my door behind her, exasperated.  "Where did you get those pants?  They do nothing for you.  Wear these, they look much better, but not with those shoes."  And on and on, and I would go along, laughing with her.  "Seriously Mom" she would say "you are a pretty woman, believe that when you get dressed."  I don't consider myself especially pretty, but it made my heart sing to hear her say that to me.
I told some more little vignettes of her day to day, the energy she brought to this house.  After, a few people came to me and said that to hear me speak of her ...they could see her, feel her ...would I tell them more.  "I wish I knew her." one said to me.  "Yes, you would have liked Phoebe very much."  And to hear them say these things to me, I saw how God reassured me that Phoebe is indeed alive and well, as if to say "Carolyn, you lived with this girl and you knew deeply the enormous, uncontainable energy for life she has ...how could you ever think, that such a soul could ever extinguish?  She is all around you, with you ...still laughing with you, loving you, holding you.  Phoebe is your girl, I would never take her away from you ...trust me."  Is it all in my head ...I don't think so,  I believe all this ...I believe she is here.
My lovely ...if you can hear and see all I have to say to you ...listen close.  I miss you ....and all you are.  I don't have nearly as much laundry to do now!!!  I miss your bun coming up the stairs ...I miss finding you on my bed when I come out of the shower ...I miss you calling me from lunch just so I could hear you talking to your friends.  I miss you telling me not to take the big van to school because everyone at your school thinks it smells like Cheezits and breast milk .  I miss you telling me at 10pm the school supplies you need to buy for the next day ...I just plain miss you.
I love you Phoebe ..."I know"  you would always say.  Do you still know?  I'm afraid I'll lose you, your ways, your mannerisms, your patterns.  They tell me I never will ...that it will always stay fresh, right there for me to visit.  I hope. 
God promised us eternal life ...follow Him and His ways and we will find it.  That's where I'll be with her again.  She may be all around me now, but I can't sense it or feel it.  I can't touch her or hold her ...but in eternity I can.  To get there, I must follow Christ ...it's not a given that Heaven will just happen.  I pray that all of us, her family can stay in His grace so we may find our way there when our own earthly end comes.  I'm on my way Phoebe ...help me stay close to Him ...to know Him ...to love Him  ...to serve Him.  That's my map to Phoebe ...and even more importantly my map to eternal life with Christ.

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

Sharing

"Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell the story.  That is his duty."  Elie Wiesel

Surviving the loss of a loved one is its own kind of test.  What does it mean, that its our duty to tell our story?  To tell our story is a way of affirming the life of the one we have lost - the experiences we had together, the favorite family stories.  To tell the story is also a way of moving our grief along, and so contributes to our own healing.
  But is is also a gift to others - to tell not only the shared story of the life that has passed, but our own story in relation to this event - how we got through it.  What were our fears, our panics?  What helped us?  What saved the day?  If there was a moment when we felt light break through, what was that like?
  Our friends will come to their crises of loss soon enough.  Perhaps we can ease the way for them.  So - it's all right to cry.  It's all right to rely on other people,  It's all right to be confused and not know what to do.   And if there are moments of light and hope, of wonderful support and faith - why, we need to tell those stories, too.


In the telling of my story, I share what is most precious to me.

Taken from Healing After Loss:  Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief, by Martha Whitmore Hickman, January 16th entry

We all have a story to tell.  This is mine.  I hope it helps someone.  It certainly helps me to sit at this keyboard, usually late at night when all has settled, or in the wee hours, after sending two off and the others still slumber.  Telling my story, one I never wanted to tell ...experience, gives me the release to focus on me and my grief.  All day, I tend to my kids, my husband ...gauge their strain, their pain ...their healing.  All day.  It has been an enormous task ...that leaves very little time for me and focusing on how I am doing.  I know, deeply, that my healing is important for me, but critically important for the health and wholeness ...the healing of this entire family.  So when I write here, it gives me a lens that does just that ...focuses on me and my walk through this darkness, searching for the light.  If no one reads here ...that's okay.  If one does ...great.  More ...even better.  I believe fully that in this terrible journey, I will ultimately find joy ...share that with my family, and with everyone else.  God has a tremendous plan here.  I know that.  Sometimes, often, actually, I am foggy, caught in a haze that leaves me confused, afraid and angry.  Always ...when I find my way back to God, some of that fog lifts and I can see there will be light once again in this burdened life.  But, it is a very arduous, painful walk that will get me there ...and it will be a while. Telling my story is like a walking stick that aids me along the way.  I can swing it around or I can lean on it, letting it bear the weight, hold me up. 
To tell a story, there has to be a listener.  I can't say enough about my listeners ...I have many ...and I am so grateful.  Thank you for listening to my story.  Thank you for loving me, most especially for loving and appreciating Phoebe.  Thank you for not letting her life be defined by a terribly senseless, irrational, impulsive decision.  Her life is so much more than that ...and still is.  Her life is part of my story.  It will always be part of my story ...and she lives on, forever in many hearts.
  One day, when your own burden overwhelms and distorts, pulls you away from the truth, remember something from here ...that we are meant to survive, to grow, to trust, to endure the heaviest of burdens ...so that one day, in the joy of eternity, we will rest and be glad for what had been given to us.  He loves us.  We are living in a fallen world where terrible things can happen ...like a child ending their own life.  One day, we won't live here anymore ...we will live where it is not fallen, where it is all good, all pure, all truth, all love.  Prepare yourselves for that ...strive to live in Him today, now.  It will remove you from this world, cause strain in many, many ways.  People will call you mean, judgmental, harsh, ignorant ...hold fast and remember how they treated Christ.  He has told us that to follow Him we would bear the persecution, the rejection, the accusation just as He did.  In so many ways, those things are the mark of the followers of Christ. The world will tell us we are fools.  Yes, we are if we play by the rules of the world.  But if we play by the gift of God's plan we will live with Him forever.  I'll take the heat now to avoid it later. We are all destined to Him, created by and for Him.  Every night,  I must ask myself,  have I chosen His way, or mine?  I want to be with Him in all eternity.  It is not a smooth, comfortable worldly ride ...it costs us dearly in this life.  Am I willing to pay the price?  I hope so.

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

Sorrowful Mother

Its funny how God works ...how patient He is, always, with me.  He knows I arrive at something quickly, a conclusion, an awareness ...but too often, it leaves me with less than He offers me.  So He waits, and builds my awareness gradually.  It is not my nature to pause ...to wait.  He knows that, works with it.  Its how he is with all of us ...always.  He knows each of us as intimately as possible ...and loves us, and waits ...always.
Soon after Phoebe died, I arrived home one day to find a gift bag waiting for me.  My friend had left it for me.  At that point I was so overwhelmed with the generosity that kept coming and coming, that it was getting difficult to receive ...I just didn't feel worthy.  Inside was an incredibly beautiful rosary like I had never seen.  It was  a rosary for the Seven Sorrows of Mary ...a beautiful soft pink that felt like lotion in my hands.  My friend had found this and wrote that she knew immediately that it was meant for me ...a beautiful note.  This treasure was an antique, probably well worn with prayers.  I knew the sorrows of the Blessed Mother, but had never heard of this rosary.  Enclosed with the rosary was a description and guide that led me in saying this devotion as I recalled all of Our Lady's sorrows that caused her great suffering in her life and mother of Christ.  I say the rosary every day, have for many years now ...so I've held this new set of beads many times and felt the grace of their molecules, but have actually said the sorrowful rosary only a few times.  I've thought about that, but have thought about many things over these past months.  One thing that has tugged at me of late as I am so hammered by this inability to move past the anxiety is,  what in fact, is the best way for me to pray now.  I feel like all I do is complain and whine at God.  Like a child, I am angry things haven't gone my way ...angry, sad, confused, afraid that He, this Heavenly Father has taken a dearest treasure of mine.  Just how do I pray?
I believe He sees me, watches me ...and is forming me for Him in all eternity.  And I believe that the joy of my reunion with Phoebe, the pure ecstasy of that ...will only pale as I come face to face with Him.  I know this. Yet, I feel completely alone and abandoned by Him.  Not only Him, but the Blessed Mother as well, whose presence I have not felt at all since Phoebe died.   Yesterday as I was driving I spoke to her and told her how sad I was, that I had thought she would be there for me during my sorrow.  It was her I had begged and pleaded with, commissioned to go to Phoebe's aid, as I raced home to what I thought might be a tragedy.  I had told her the whole way there that I trusted her and her son and I knew they would be with us in our hour of need.  And I know they were.  But though there are times when I know in my heart she has been there, He has been there ....I have not actually felt them there.  Where have they gone?  Where is God?  Where is the Blessed Mother?  So I told her all this in the car yesterday, along with the fact that she was created pure and immaculate ...so she had the special grace to  bear her suffering that I don't.  I was just being honest.  "Hey, where are you now.  I've been devoted to your son, trusted in your intercession for years ...and this ...this is how I'm treated?"  No answer.
Later, I get a text message from a friend who almost nightly says goodnight and lets me know she is praying for me.  This time she leaves a message , "are you familiar with Our Lady of Sorrows and her rosary."  Yes, I am, I think looking at the beautiful set of beads on my bureau.  "Tell me more"  I write back.  Today she does. She tells me I need to learn more about her sorrows and that I  need to start this devotion.  Very matter of fact, she tells me "You need to say it ...its for you."  She tells me about the suffering of the Blessed Mother that began with St. Simeon's prophecy ...that from that point on, she suffered ...knowing what was to come.
She knew it all.  Immediately I am humbled.  Here, I had accused her, silently of not knowing, understanding, caring about my pain, my loss ...because she was holy, how could she.  I knew she wept at His suffering, but she wept too as He grew, knowing full well  what He was growing to accomplish.  Had I known ...I would have left.  Had I known from the time Phoebe was a tiny baby that she would die as she did ...I would have left.  I would have left everyone behind.  Had I known the intensity, the degree of this suffering, I would have found a way ...and bolted.  The Blessed Mother had the grace to carry that suffering, that waiting her whole life ...she is far strong, far more faithful, a far better servant than I can ever hope to be.  She knows my pain, my anguish.  She knows what it is to live what I live.  How dare I question that?  But I believe it is in the questioning that God has allowed it all to be revealed to me ...to allow me to fully understand the great mystery of suffering ...the redemption of suffering.  Though I do not see her, feel her, she stands beside me, behind me often to keep me upright.  Our Lady of Sorrows ...she lived sorrow.  She is my respite.  Through a friend, an obedient, faithful friend ...she has shown herself ...and God has once again, patiently waited until I was ready ...until I would and could see ...and embrace the grace He offers for me.  I will grab hold and trust that by meditating on the seven sorrows I will be pulled back from the fear, the anguish, the bitterness.  Holding on I will survive.  One day, I will begin to count the joys of the day, rather than the loss of the day.  One day, once again I will choose to embrace the day, the moment. One day I will give thanks for another day to live and love and witness the grace all around me.  One day.  I am not there yet.  I am trying ...and He has heard me yet again, and offered me the heart of a mother that knows full well the heart of this mother.  I am thankful ...and hopeful, that one day, I can be a channel of grace, an instrument of the Holy Spirit as so many of my dear friends have been to me.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us!

MOST HOLY and afflicted Virgin,
Queen of Martyrs,
You stood beneath the Cross,
Witnessing the agony of your dying Son.

Look down with a mother’s tenderness
And have pity on me,
Who kneels before you to venerate your
Sufferings and to place my request
With filial confidence in the sanctuary
Of your wounded heart.

Present them, I beseech you,
On my behalf, to Jesus Christ,
Through the merits of his own
Most sacred Passion and Death,
Together with your sufferings
At the foot of the Cross;

And through the united efficacy of both,
Obtain the grant of my present petition.
To whom shall I have recourse
In my wants and miseries
If not to you, O Mother of Mercy,
Who, having so deeply drunk
Of the chalice of your Son,
An console with the sorrows
Of those who still sigh in the land of exile?

O Holy Mary,
Whose soul was pierced by a sword of sorrow
At the sight of the Passion
Of your Divine Son,
Intercede for me and obtain for me from Jesus

(mention the request)

If it be for His Honor and Glory
And the good of my soul.
Amen

The seven dolors (sorrows) of the Blessed Mother

1. The Prophecy of Simeon
2. The Flight into Egypt
3. The Loss of the Holy Child at Jerusalem
4. Mary meets Jesus Carrying the Cross
5. Mary witnesses the Crucifixion and Death of Jesus
6. Mary Receives the Dead Body of Her Son
7. The Burial of Her Son and Closing of the Tomb.

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

Aghast

Everywhere I turn, everything I read, people I speak to who know these things have said I am doing well, remarkably well.  Am I?  I have days, moments, seconds that take me to a darkness I have never known, until now.  I listen, hear the stories of girls her age, their successes, their plans all taking form ...their lives stretched out before them.  I love those stories, I really do.  There is a joke in my house and with some of my friends that I think I'm applying to college, making plans for my future.  I love the whole process ...it's an adventure, a great time of discovery, exploration.  Phoebe and I were having fun with it.
If Phoebe had been locked in her room, refusing to share her life with us ...if, if, if.  I can't make sense of this today.  I've examined so many things, reasons.  They hold me for a while, give me sure footing ...and then it shifts.  I have NO idea why.  No one does.  Why is she dead?  How did this happen?  I wipe the tears away and more come ...I want to scratch my face until it burns with pain ...it would be far less than the sorrow that squeezes my heart.  I want to scream it all away ...I feel like an animal, caught in a trap.  Let me out of this nightmare.  In a book "No Time To Say Goodbye" by Carla Fine she shares that survivors of suicide experience the degree of horror those in concentration camps survived ...if they were lucky enough.  I am no expert on the Holocaust, but I can't imagine a fear, a sorrow, a suffering much worse than this.  The thing now is that it comes and goes.  I know that now.  But when it descends, the fog lifts and I see her absence.  Do you know what that's like?  "Oh, you don't know what she's been spared, what you've been spared"  People say in kindness.  Perhaps, I think.  But what about what I've lost ...the now, the her, my floppy bun girl, my singing girl, my boss me around girl, my fashion police girl ...my future with her, my Phoebe.  It can't be sugarcoated, sweetened.  Oh, its so much better this way.  Really?  Walk with me for a bit?  Then decide.  Should I wake in the morning, "Oh, thank goodness Phoebe's dead, my day will be much better now."  People don't know what to say ...they shouldn't, this is beyond what should happen.  Everyone has their own struggles, their own degree of suffering.  Should I say, "really, the cross you carry is so much better than life without it, you've been spared something so much worse."  I think people would look at me as cruel. 
We don't often think about words and their power.  I've thought of words I've said to people thinking they would bring comfort, but realizing later, they were like a dagger cutting a fresh wound, hurting them even more. I feel schizophrenic, all over the map with my emotions.  This is the life of agony.  I am horrified and stunned.  My daughter ended her life.  It could have been five minutes of desperation.  Phoebe is gone from me for as long as I walk the earth ...she is gone.  It will never be okay ....ever. 
I smile, I laugh, I sing, I play ...I do all those things ...with a broken heart pulling me down.  It is a fight to stay up, a battle worth fighting for my other kids ...my husband, myself.  It is the practice of rising up, of smiling, laughing, singing, playing ...the practice, day to day, that will make me stronger, allow me to live on.  I am growing stronger, I feel it already.  But I am not less sad, less lonely, less wanting of her.  I am just growing the strength to bare the weight of it all.
One of my ladies I care for who lost her own daughter many years ago said to me.  "It never gets easier, you just grow accustomed to it, that's all."  Yes, I see that's how it is.  I will grow accustomed to the constant companionship of sadness, sorrow.  It is a new way for me, not one I would choose.  I want her back, I want my Phoebe back....plain and simple. She occupies my heart and mind.  I cannot grasp her, hold her, hear her.
Around me are the living, the loving, the memory makers ...my source of joy, gratitude ...hope.  Why do they not consume most of me ...why am I stuck in the land of the lost.  I want to pass over.  Cross the bridge that will lead me to  the life around me.  Where is God's hand to help me?  Why has He left me alone?  To cross over is to leave her behind ...to admit her life here is over.  How can I leave her behind?  I have left her at the manger, and yet I want her back.  That longing, the emptiness escapes words ...it is bathed in emotion of a different kind ...undefinable ... it just is.  I look in the mirror and catch the glimpse of a woman aged, bags under eyes ....never there before.  I have aged ...life has drained from me.  Where is God? Where is the source of all life.
His hand comes in the form of friends.  First one, early on, a call.  I hold tight, a question asked, a forced smile ...the spilling of tears... the anger.  Why? Tender words ...words that confirm my struggle, my questions, my fears ...words I can hear ...echoes back to me that what is done is a nightmare.  Yes, tell me that, please don't tell me it is a gift, a blessing.  Please don't.
His hand comes again, another early call ...I sob, desperate, pleading for a reason to love this life.  Words.  Words given up from the heart.  Confirmation of my pain ...my struggle.  Words that say I hear you, I see you are in pain.  Words that say, "I want to take it for you ...if only I could."  "No ...not this,  you don't want this." I say. 
His hand comes again.  "I know I sound like a broken record ...you'll have to listen for at least a year."  "We'll listen for a lifetime" she says, the other nods.  No pressure ...no answers ...no advice ....just an open heart, willing to watch me struggle to live on.
These are the words I need ...the words a parent needs when their child has died so unnecessarily.  No pressure, no answers, no advice ...just an open heart willing to watch me struggle to live on ....and on.

Shoes

The other day, I readied myself for work.  I don't work a lot, which has been a blessing and grace for now.  I like what I do, but I don't like leaving the nest too much.  Still, little tender hearts are here.  I went to school last year so that I could work in a way that would pay me, but also, let me give back to others.  Early in my search, literally days into it,  a friend found me a job within twenty four hours.  I still need to show her in a special way how grateful I am.  It puts me in a place with people of a different generation, tucked away from the abundance and chaos of the techno frenzy we live in.  It gives me the chance to remember my parents, how they might be today, what they might say.  I see their faces too ...the smiles, the strain of years raising and worrying about kids, well grown.  I had started there grateful for the chance to serve ...visit some who are lonely, share a bit of time with them, let them know they are loved, appreciated, wanted, needed.  Yet, it is me who is being served, who has been offered a tender hand, an open heart, the wisdom of love.
I was thinking of all that as I dressed and prepared for the day ahead.  Leaving early I didn't want to wake the sleeping.  Sleeping is something we've all struggled with since Phoebe died ...so if someone is resting ...let them.
I dressed in the dark.  As I walked into my place ...I looked down ...two different shoes!  I laughed to myself, thought what to do.  What would I do?  Nothing, I decided.  I would make do ...and enjoy the silliness.  I thought maybe Phoebe was giggling herself.  She had liked the job I found.  When I first began, she had started back to summer soccer practices just prior to school opening.  She would drop me off and then pick me up.  There is a long glassed in bridge that I walk over, and I could see here there, watch her for a moment, take her in.  I remember the skip of my heart when I would see her, my girl, so grown up, picking her mother up at work, asking me about my day.  It was easy between us, had grown that way.  I loved that time with her, loved seeing her there.  I still cross that bridge ...and every time see her there, the familiar profile, the floppy bun ...my girl.  Those are the moments that crush me ...there were so many more waiting for us.  The simple little pleasure of her picking me up ...gone.
Two days before she died I had seen some of my people.  These older women, with there wisdom, had begun to set me up for what was to come.  In I walked, past the familiar shelf with St. Padre Pio ....only this day there were four of him.  I had called a friend, commented, wondered what he had in store, what he knew?  We had giggled ...yes, fasten your seat belt.  The innocence, the ignorance of that moment.  If I had only known, had a sense, a glimmer. 
That day I had brought a small gift for one of them.  She was an old friend of my mothers, my oldest sister's Godmother.  She had come under my care quite by surprise.  I thought about God and the kindness he extends.  My mother's oldest friend, I hadn't had contact with since the funeral, and here she was in my life in a very solid way.  It would be her first anniversary without her husband and I knew she was sad.  I had wrapped a thimble of my mothers to bring to her, offer her the thought of an old friend who would care, would know her sadness.  She met me at the door and I had given her the small package.  "I think my mother wanted you to know she was thinking of you."  She held the thimble and cried, so much of her own needlework in the background.  How many times I have thought of that moment ...my mother making her presence known for her friend ...but for me too, perhaps knowing what was to come ...what I would lose.  I had left there happy to have reached out, shared something with her that reminded her of her friend, my mother.
I haven't been back since ...couldn't go back, asked to be off that assignment. I don't think I could hold it together.
Later, I visited a woman who spoke with me that very day of the loss of her daughter.  "You never forget, you never recover, but life goes on."  "I think that must be the worst a mother could suffer ...to lose a child."  "Yes, it is"  she had said, "but somehow, you go on."  I had left her, both of us smiling.  I would return only once, share with her.  She had simply nodded, tears running the length of her face. "You will go on, you have to."  I simply nodded ...and moved on.
I will once again visit these women today.  I am anxious, concerned that my emotions will take over.  I am there to care for them, please God let me hold together and serve them as I should.  These women prepared me, unsuspecting, for what was to come just hours from those moments I shared with them.  It is part of moving on, part of rebuilding, weaving a good life.  The pain, the struggle makes me want to retreat ...stay away.  I see those graces, God's hand in all this.  He will not let me fall.  Turn to Him, trust in Him ...He will not let me fall.  I will visit these women, the same age as my own mother ...and I will see they have survived, lived past pain, loss ...still present, but they have lived.  They are my lamp post for now, for today.  Guiding me, they show me the shoes to wear ...and it doesn't matter so much if they match.  Thank you God for yet another beacon, another light to lead me on.

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

Snowy Day

Lots of thoughts race through my head today.  It was a good day ...a memory day ...a feeling close to Phoebe day.  I didn't feel close to her in the sense that I felt her near, but in the sense that I remembered her and the things she would have liked about the day ...and of course what she would not have liked about the day.  We had a blizzard.  To be honest, it wasn't nearly as threatening as I had anticipated.  Some of the kids were insulted at the small inches that accumulated.  But we live on the coast, we'll usually have less.  Still, school was canceled and everyone was home.  Most of us know "cabin fever" crankiness that sets in after too much time in the house.  We all had it before we even woke up ...not good.  The only answer ...outside!  So, for me, it was largely an outside day.  Shoveling than gathering wood for a fire.  Those are two of the many things Phoebe and I did together on snowy days.  For the past two winters I was often home alone during snowstorms. My son away and my husband usually at work ...often held over because of the storm, Phoebe helped me run the show.  She always knew far more than me about shoveling, moving cars.  I remember one morning she stood at the window, shook her head, laughed and said "Mom, why did you park the car like that ...sometimes, I really worry about you."  I looked out, assuming she was just playing with me ...but sure enough ...our big van was perpendicular to the driveway, on our front lawn.  I had put the emergency brake on and turned the tires just in case it did this, so that it wouldn't go into the street.  Being the teenage girl she was, she assumed I had purposely done this, thinking it a good idea.  It had snowed enough after it slid to cover the proof of my innocence.  I remember how we had laughed, then gone outside to shovel ....and move the car. 
It was fun to remember her time in the snow ...always well bundled, ready to work.
Phoebe was an outdoor girl, so walking through the woods, gathering wood brought soothing thoughts of her time there.  This past summer she had spent time in the White Mountains.  There is a picture of her standing on a cliff, looking toward the great expanse ...more mountains far off in the distance.  It is a view of her from the back, relaxed, taking it in, wool hat, jacket ...in July.  I wonder what she was thinking as she stood there.  Another picture from that time is a similar view ...just of her hand, palm up, the mountain range off in the distance, the valley below.  What did her eyes see?  What did she think, looking out there?  I had picked her up, she was happy, relaxed ...thinking of going back towards the end of the summer.  She would have worked hard with me today.  But she wasn't here for that, will never be again.  Somehow, just for today, it didn't stab me.  Instead it felt like I was doing something she would have loved ...and that was enough.
I don't usually spend that much time outside ...working.  It felt good, pushed me, stretched me in a physical way.  I could see what I had done, measure my day by snow piles, wood piles.  There is that expression, "work smart, not hard."  I've always thought of that in a positive way, but I wonder ...without the physical work of day, without the physical effort to survive, have we lost something?  Phoebe had visited a farm this summer, in a valley between mountains.  It was a small house, a barn, some sheep, a cow, gardens ...solar power.  This small family lives "off the grid."  Self sustaining, Phoebe was intrigued by how they live ...how well they live.  They worked hard to survive, but they were happy.  She liked that, the contrast between our comforts we claim necessary and the real work of making life sustainable.  How I wish we had talked more about that.  I thought we had ...talked about so many different ways to make a life ...live well.  Our kids are so pressured to go through the formula ...a formula that works well for a few, but stresses many.  Graduate high school, then right to college, take out loans, get a job, pay off loans ...move to a cul de sac.  There's lots of pressure in that.  I have a few kids that would work really well for, but others, Phoebe among them ...don't see the long term value of that template for life.   Life just isn't formulaic.  That's been made quite clear in this home.
The fresh air, the snow, the work ...had nourished me, given me some time alone with Phoebe ...in my own way.  I am often there in my head and heart, but amidst the activity of everyone.  This was nice to just be thinking of her, the things she loved, doing them ...just remembering.  I had asked God this morning to help me make this day the best it could be.  I knew I was cranky, on edge ...so He whisked me outside ...answered my plea.  By the time I came back in, there was plenty to do.  Each of my kids had me one on one for a bit.  I've been trying to do that all along, but its been hard.  My heart yearns to find Phoebe.  Around me are the living ...and they need me, want me.  I think having done what I did, spending that time outside with her freed me, let me go ...so that I could be with them, heart and soul, taking each one in, the wonder of them.  I cooked, painted, played, sang, snuggled, laughed ...a full cup, I would say.   New memories to be made, a life to live.  When I see her ... and I know I will one day, I want lots to tell her.  I want her to know we are okay.  It's a gift, this day.  I'll remember it when tougher days come, the ones that don't let me see beyond the loss, the missing,  the pain.  It is the pattern of life, the sowing, the growing, the harvest, lying fallow.  I won't fight it, it will just be.  It will be well ...even in sorrow, sadness, suffering ...life will be well.

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