Empathy

Last night I wept.  Not for me, not for my pain, my loss.  I wept for my husband.  His heartache.
We have been extraordinarily blessed to walk through this loss, this nightmare hand in hand.  The hard facts show that 75 - 80% of couples dissolve after the loss of a child.  I'm sure it unfolds over time, but we seem to be steady, strong ...together.  I am eternally grateful for that.  I can understand how the unraveling can happen.  We all grieve differently, experience the loss from so many angles, which can isolate and distort ...even alienate loved ones from each other.  My loss of Phoebe is different than my husband's. 
At first, you just hang on for dear life.  Sure, you do your day to day ...smile, laugh, seemingly navigate life successfully.  But inside, it is hollow, empty, dark ...alone ...so very alone.  So worried about the kids, their well-being, letting them know we're here, we love them, that the attentiveness to ourselves is minimal, never mind each other. 
Gradually, in tiny ways, for fleeting moments our bearings are coming back.  Glimmer enough to offer us a promise of the future ...a hope that one day, life will feel whole again.  We'll always miss our girl, but we will feel whole in a new way.  Right now, we're still groping in the dark,  hoping for an opening.
So as I listened to my husband ...the life behind us washed over me and I was overwhelmed at his loss ...of her.  Phoebe and her dad were best friends.  Two adventurers, they talked all the time, and often didn't need words.  Nor'easter ...check the tide chart, "c'mon, let's take a ride."  Off they would go to check the surf.  Wet suits, surf boards piled in the car after figuring out when the tide and wind would be right.  And so it would begin, another season of surfing.  While people were bringing in the lawn furniture, preparing for a storm ...Dad and Phoebe were tracking the eye of the storm ...when it hit Bermuda, North Carolina ...we'd get the swell, the waves would be high with clean sets coming in, ready to ride.  Nantasket Beach. 
Cliff jumping, snow boarding, hiking, rock climbing, snorkeling ...they did it all ...time and again.  Belly laughs, sunburned noses and cheeks.  Life was swell for these two.  And while I was saying do your homework, put your laundry away, don't talk back ...my heart always skipped a beat when I'd see him wink at her "do what your mom tells you!"  She loved her dad ...in a very special, tangible way ...she just really enjoyed who he was and what he was all about.
Just after she died, two of her friends were giggling recalling how she would rattle off facts with tremendous confidence.  "How do you know that Phoebe?"  they would ask.  And for those of you who know Phoebe, you can picture, the quick jerk of her head, the scornful look, and the quick flip of the palm upward .."Cuz, my dad said so!"  As if that was all that was needed.  And for much of her life ...that was all that she needed. 
He really loved her ...like any dad does their daughter.  He could sit back and  observe, enjoy her pontifications about life.  Where I worried about preparing her for the world, raising her to be a capable, confident young woman of character and faith ...He just knew she would be okay.  She was Phoebe.  But, she wasn't okay ...and she didn't make it ...and we lost.
So I look at this man now, reaching for her still, and I know it hurts.  I don't want him to hurt, to feel the loss quite so bad.  And that is hard to watch, to know ...that this very strong man, has lost his best friend. 
We're both still reaching for God, trusting Him, shaking our heads at the audacity of losing Phoebe.
I miss Phoebe so much,  I still want to hear her footsteps creaking on the stairs.  What's hard now is to watch someone else miss her as much as I do ...and know the depth of pain and sorrow that can't be eased, lessened.  I wish I could take it away for him, take it on for him.  I wish I could bring her back so they could surf again, cliff jump ...I just plain wish I could make it different.  But I can't. 
I think one day, when his own time comes, he'll be greeted by her walking towards him, Harlequin surfboard under her arm.  "Hey dad, here give it a try, it's a little rough making it past the break, but once you do ...it's smooth as glass." 
"Yeah?," he'll say, "you think the Harley's the best ride."  "C'mon Dad!" she'll laugh "you know its the best ride ...what, you want one of those sissy shorty boards ...I don't think so Dad ...ride the Harley."
I wish ...and I hope ...thank God for hope.

 Tonight I'll pray the fifth joyful mystery, The Finding in the Temple, for all of your intentions.

Finding in the Temple: Luke 2:46-47
And it came to pass, that, after three days, they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, hearing them, and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his wisdom and his answers.

"How is it that you sought Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father's business?" This is the answer that Jesus gave to His Mother when, after three days' search she had the joy of finding Him in the Temple.

These are the first words coming from the lips of the Word Incarnate to be recorded in the Gospel.

In these words Jesus sums up His whole person, His whole life, His whole mission. They reveal His Divine Sonship; they testify to His supernatural mission. Christ's whole life will only be a clarifying and magnificent exposition of the meaning of these words.

St. Luke goes on to tell us that Mary "did not understand the word that He spoke." But even if Mary did not grasp the full significance of these words, she did not doubt that Jesus was the Son of God. This is why she submitted in silence to that Divine Will which had demanded such a sacrifice of her love.

"Mary kept these words of Jesus carefully in her heart." She kept them in her heart, for there was the tabernacle in which she adored the mystery concealed in the words of he Son, waiting until the full light of understanding would be granted her.
 

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