Assurance

As I stood over my daughter, stroking her lifeless body, someone tapped me.  "Your friend is here, she'd like to see you." said the nurse.  Who? Who had come to join these four weeping souls.  Of course.  I made my way out the door, through the corridor, weaving myself between stretchers, the comings and goings of a busy emergency room.  I could see her, hand over her mouth, the brokenness of her, the loss she carried.  She had come for me, for us, for Phoebe.  She saw me and her hands left her face and reached for me ...the sorrow on her face reflected my own.  Just hours ago, we had delighted in being together on the soccer field.  Laughing and planning with the littles scurrying about our feet.  Just hours before this horrible reunion, we had relished in our time together.  Phoebe was not quite five when we met ...and it was as if we had always known each other.  Both of us took on nursing school and the demands of our time left barely any to be together.  We had spent Friday night together as our girls went to club and then had the immediate morning open wide.  Our friendship shares the ups and downs, the uncertainties, the challenge of raising children for God in this time and place.  She had listened to me so many times ...and on that day, without a reason to be worried, without a reason to think twice,  I told her, on that soccer field, as our daughters' teams played each other ...that if I had to stand before God at this very moment and account for my mothering of Phoebe, I could say with great confidence and certainty that I had done my very best, given it my all, had done all that I could for her.  Why was I prompted to say that very thing ...at that very time ...while unknown to me, my daughter was dying?   Was that a grace, a gift from Heaven ...was that, indeed, my accounting before God for my daughter?  I think so.  And I will tell you, the assurance from that, the gift of that, has been balm to my soul.  Meg witnessed this, heard these words come from me.
So now we stood side by side over her ...this girl, gone from us ...my accounting done.  Deep breath in, "Goodbye my lovely."  We walk past the somber faces, wet eyes and make our way back to the"family room."  I know I will find my son and daughter there, waiting.  Another broken heart is there too!  Lisa, had come.  She just came.  No words, just the tears that stream down the beautiful face and the sobs that heave from her.  Another deep breath, another moan moves through me.  These women, my women, confirm this is true.  There is no haze here, no sense of dreaming, this is real ...they are here, were there to usher me into reality ...to confirm that Phoebe is gone.
In my dreams, I turn and run from the soccer field.  This isn't right, something is wrong, why am I saying these things now ...where is she ...where is Phoebe?  I can make it in time ...make things right ...like a mother should.
But while I thought she was home, enjoying the quiet, playing her music, singing her songs ...she was dying from the inside out.  Her view of her world, our world went askew in moments.  How could I have possibly known?  How could I have possibly known I would be accounting for her? 
Is there some small comfort here?  Yes there is.  Had I not said those words aloud, how could I say them now without doubt.  Because they were freely and honestly given ...I know they are true.  They are the bench I can sit on when I am weary and full of doubt.  They are the rest needed before I continue on.  Meg is my witness.
Months later, I still race back to that moment, when I uttered those words ...not with bravado, but a knowledge that though I am imperfect, could have done some things better, I had indeed done my best.
These women, two dear friends, listened to me, walked with me for years now, as we've raised our children, reaching beyond the typical, reaching for God. 
And now they wait, patiently, as I rebuild, restore, refresh ...retreat.  That is the gift of friendship ...a sisterhood that silently, patiently waits.  God gifts us, blesses us with each other ...I will never forget those moments.  And there are others, the people I love, the women I've been blessed with.  They have kept me alive, loved me in my broken imperfection.  They too mourn, weep at the loss of my child, a child they loved too.    Thank you, dear friends.