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