I like it when the cloud lifts ...even just a little. I wish I could stay in the moments of peace, the bliss of happy remembering. Seems once you take them in, appreciate their worth ..they go. Perhaps those moments wouldn't have the weight, intensity, the joy ...if they stayed too long. Those rest posts along the way ...are just that, resting posts. Beacons that light the way ahead, forward, onward, assurance there is a path ...a destination. Some day we'll arrive. We all need some time to rest, gather our thoughts, take in the view, take stock. I don't know if we could sustain the measure of this grief if rest never came. Those moments grow a bit longer each time they come now. We're told as life goes on that will happen ...and the times of sorrow, deep, searing pain, lessen. I hope so. Thinking back on just a few days ago, I try to regain my desire to join Phoebe, let her lead me and accept her invitation to live in peace ...in the fullness of the peace she is in now. It is far more appealing than trying to chisel out my own sense of peace. I think about so many things that are supposed to be happening now. Loose ends beginning to come together as her life takes shape ...leading towards a future. And it is here I find myself stuck. Caught between what was supposed to be ...who she was supposed to become over this year and the coming months ....and now, who she is and what she has become. Our ultimate goal as parents is to get our children to Heaven. How often do we stop and consider all the stuff in between their birth ...and their death? Our children are not supposed to die before us ...long after, so most of what we do is plan, guide and assist them in entering adulthood, forming a life of their own. For many years our goal has been to get our kids to Heaven ...but it takes a new meaning, grows heftier when their lives are jettisoned towards that goal far sooner than anticipated.
I believe God has blessed me deeply with a knowledge and assurance that Phoebe is indeed in Heaven. I hesitate to say that because I don't want to mislead or misconstrue what our faith teaches. Our culture, even those within the Church, tend to send people immediately to Heaven. But we know as Catholics that Christ taught us differently ...and most of us will go to Purgatory for a time, while others will end up in Hell. I know the notion of Hell isn't popular and that plenty suggest vehemently it does not exist ...but, it does. Not my opinion, just a fact. Christ spoke quite clearly about its existence and the reality of souls going there. I wrestled with where my Phoebe had gone ...I didn't assume anything, but certainly struggled with the not knowing ...But God is kind, and knows this mother's heart. He gave me peace.
So, we have attained our goal for our daughter. Why then, does that not settle the heart? It is a tough, tough thing to accept ...because I'm human, stubborn ...a mother. I want to call the shots. I never really could though with Phoebe. Always fiercely independent, there was a part of mothering her that was unattainable. Some kids are just like that ...and I don't know why?
One of my favorite books is A Prayer for Owen Meany. The life of Owen Meany comes down to one defining moment ...his purpose in this life was to accomplish a very specific goal. He does. I think most of us are meant for many different things. Some of us are the teachers ...our lives are largely meant to shape, lead, guide and form others. Some of us are meant to learn. Most of us are a mix of the two, crossing paths with others, learning and teaching ...showing each other the way. I've thought so much about Phoebe since she died. Truth be told, I've always thought quite a bit about her. Her life was so terribly short ...for what purpose? Could God have swooped in, surrounding her with angels, rescuing her from her darkest moment? Of course ...so why didn't He? For starters, no one respects our free will more than God. He lets us make our own choices ...even bad ones. I wonder though too ...what He knew would come from this ...could come from this horror. Did Phoebe, like Owen Meany, have a very particular goal to accomplish? And if yes, then what?
I could be wrong, but I'm beginning to see something emerge from the haze. No person challenged me more, asked me more questions, posed more contrary thoughts, looked me in the eye and made me swear I believed what I said I believed, than my own flesh and blood ...my Phoebe. She would come at me with kindness, pity, condescension, anger, mockery ...challenging every single aspect of my faith, my faith as a Roman, not American, but Roman Catholic. Sometimes the assault was covert, silly ...at times hostile. I cannot think of one area she did examine. For sure it was her way of examining, discovering her own faith ...figuring out what she actually believed. Often too tired to battle, I would mumble something, struggle to find words to make myself sound intelligent, well reasoned. Weary, I would often respond with "I just accept it Phoebe, and the more I do just that, the more it makes sense to me, the more understanding I seem to have."
Faith is the promise of things hoped for, the promise of things unseen. This reality is hard to grasp, can't be pinned down. Phoebe entered a world that needed to make sense on an individual level. That world doesn't ascend to the sense of God ...to His ultimate plan for all of us. How confusing that must have been for her. So headstrong, she resisted the hand holding that could have ushered her in with a smoother transition. Confident she could handle all of it, she forgot to ask for help, wouldn't admit she needed some. I wonder now if those challenges with me about my faith, were in fact a round about way of just saying "hey mom, this doesn't make any sense to me, can you help me figure it all out." Makes me so sad to think that now ...her fortress was impenetrable for most, if not all, of us.
It seems selfish to write this, but her struggle, her challenge ...her death, the unbearable nature and fact of her death ...all of it, solidified my faith, made me lean into God even more. Rather than reject my faith as a Catholic, even in little ways making it more palatable for me, I've clung tighter. And the clinging isn't out of desperation, but out of a surrendered love for Christ. Phoebe broke me ...when no one else, nothing else could. She, my daughter, broke me. It is only in our brokenness that we can be made whole in Christ, in His love.
In no way do I want to romanticize suicide. Phoebe's suicide is NOT okay. It does NOT have any beautiful, sacrificial element to it. It was wrong ...the worst possible choice she could have made. In her impulsive act, she rejected God, she rejected us ...but ...she was in an extraordinarily dark place, and did not know what she was doing. I know that.
My point is ...that from the horror, the absurdity, the pain ...God makes things new. I've mentioned many times that above Phoebe when she died was a plaque. "All things work for the good of those who love Him." Romans 8. I saw that right away and clung to it, trusted Him from the very instant ...and I believe when we trust Him, He allows horrible things to work for the good. He allowed my daughter to challenge me, purify, solidify my faith ...stand firm with it in a culture that mocks His truth in every way possible, over and over. He took her life and made it an instrument to bring my soul closer to Him. And I still have a very, very long way to go. Always keeping my gaze fixed on my redeemer, I often see my girl skipping along beside me. Her challenge gives way to confirmation, her struggle gives way to assurance ...confidence ...certainty that He is all real, all loving ...all hers. When I stumble, she doesn't question ...she extends a hand, lifts me up ...and I see the familiar shaking of her hand "c'mon mom, let's go." Moving forward ...I'm moving forward with my favorite and eternal seventeen year old. No one could design such a way to bring me closer. Only God, the creator of all things ...could make "all things work for the good of those who love Him." ...even such a nightmare of losing Phoebe. I've said and thought many times the only thing that I want is to have Phoebe back. He has done that for me, for me, for now. Certainly not in the way I meant ...but in a way that is eternal.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
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