Walking Alone

Each day I find ways to ask each one of my kids how things are ...see how they're doing.  For years Phoebe's sisters, and youngest brother sat side by side, played, sang, fought as we homeschooled our way through the days, weeks, years.  Homeschooling forges a special bond, a tie, an intimacy that cannot be replaced.  The essence of education is in the essence of the family ...and the faith.  Education does not exist without the family ...and the family does not exist without the faith ...the education.  Unless you've homeschooled, this probably makes no sense, but the point is ...these kids had a unique bond with their big sister.  Of course I worry about them every day.  Everyone seems to be doing okay ...thankfully.  It's quite unusual we would all be doing as well as we are.  It doesn't mean there isn't sorrow, missing, pain, confusion ...all sorts of emotions, but I think what it means is when we root ourselves in faith ... as difficult as our culture makes that ...we have a life boat, a safety net ...a rescue.  Compound with friendships, expanded by friendships creating a web of prayer that keeps us safe ...whole.  We are rebuilding, retooling, revising ...all by the grace of God. 
I wish we weren't in this place.  I wish we were planning for Phoebe ...for her transition from high school  to adulthood ...from seventeen to eighteen.  She always wanted to be eighteen.  Maybe she thought she would be sad when she turned that age she so desired.  Kind of like when the Red Sox finally won the World Series after decades of loss.  The victory, the arrival was sweet ...but truly something was lost.  The chase was over.  I think Phoebe loved the chase for freedom, independence ...eighteen.  Maybe she wanted the eternal chase ...she'll never reach eighteen. 
But for us ...the days that approach remind us of her mission, and we carry that forward for her.  It's one of the ways we make it through, reaching for the milestones meant for Phoebe.  Yesterday I sent off pictures for her yearbook.  She will still be part of her high school's history ...part of what made the graduating class the fine young women they've become.  It was painful, heartbreaking for me to pull together the one's I thought best.  Only a few, but one's that attempt to capture the essence of her life with us ...her life.  Those pages pay tribute to a girl meant to be with us now, still.  The sorrow is deep and abiding ...adjacent is a sense of peace, a joy emerging day by day as a new life, a new normal, a new way of being emerges.
Joy has become part of my life, once again.  In a very different way, I live "up there" with her.  She comes along with me everywhere ...even in the shower I talk to her and I hear her say "Mom, you're not even dressed, I'll talk to you when your covered"  and together we giggle.  I can't explain these conversations.  I don't feel crazy, I don't sense that I'm living in another world, inside my own head.  There is no sense of her physical presence, just the funny little dialogues that belonged to just us.  She would often sit on my bed when I showered and when I came from the bathroom in a towel she would scold me for immodesty, aghast  at my behavior and I would remind her she was in my room without an invitation.  Often she would storm out in complete disgust.  She had promised me, actually I had made her promise, that when I am old and wild hair begins sprouting from unusual areas on my face she would be in charge.  Sadly, I reminded her, told her I was on my own.  I don't know if my other girls would be as honest with me.  She giggled in my head and said she would still help me, make sure the sun shone on them when I could see.  "Always carry tweezers with you Mawma." she laughed.  I am texting on her phone since mine broke; clearly I lack the dexterity she had.  Over my shoulder, I see her sighing at my inability to navigate the miniscule keyboard.  Her breath falls on my neck as she leans in close and watches me send messages to her best friends, checking in, staying close.  I see her names for them in her contact list, oddly merged with mine when I switched sim cards.  Her names for cherished ones. 
I shop and she is there, pointing out colors, things for the house ...she still has a say, and she knows it.  I walk this life without her, yet so much a part of her.  Phoebe follows me from room to room, certain places, spaces provoke me, bring out the anger ...and I scold her, let her see the rawness she has left me with, the open wound that will never heal.  I sit by the fire and she eases in, stays with me.  Her life is still ...will never die. The body is gone, the molecules that made her visibile, touchable are gone ...but she is still.  There are no words that can describe it ...this thing, this companionship I have.  Reminds me of a book I read a few years back, Peace Like a River,  I forget the author.  The father in the book is often seen conversing with someone, unseen.  Seems like he's gone mad.  But he's sensible, responsible ...at peace.  He is talking to God.  It feels like that in a way ...she's right here. Is that because I choose her to be here, make her be here when she isn't, or is it real ...is this some grace to get me through?  Someone asked recently of those of us who've lost a child when you stop feeling their presence, forget the smell of them, their movement, expressions ...when does that go?  The answer came back ...never.  Eight, sixteen, twenty years later, parents haven't forgotten the essence of their child.  It never fades, it stays as strong as the last time you were with that child.  Thank God!  To hear that soothes so much.  One of the greatest fears is they will be forgotten ...by their own parent.  I don't fear that so much now.  I know she is here, with us.  My littles blow kisses to her and know she blows them back.  She collects our prayers for us, making them a bouquet for when we greet her again. 
Still, there are moments of such loss, such emptiness as I see her yearbook pages take shape, telling a bit of her story ...that is finished, here anyway.  Plop down next to me on the couch dear girl and please, please, please tell me how much you need a new pair of jeans because you only have 57 pairs.  Please!? 
I sit alone, I walk alone, without my Phoebe.  I miss her.  And as I write these words a package has come, delivered from the only one whose arms Phoebe flew into before even knowing her.  Neenie. Phoebe would not let people look at her, never mind hold her, if she didn't know you.  But before words were exchanged between Phoebe and Neenie, they enveloped each other ...and loved each other for a very long time.   Two open it up, knowing the love of the two that sent it.  Please, please, they beg me.  Okay I mouth, quietly.   I hear crinkles.  Something yummy, I suspect.  My battery begins to die and demands to be plugged in, so I go to the kitchen and there on the counter is a box of heart shaped cookies frosted in pink buttercream ...Phoebe's favorite kind of cookie.  Here she is again!  Letting me know ...and you know too, she still claims her space here ...still is so much a part of us.  And how fitting for her and us they would come from Neenie and Poppa.    I ask her to sit on the couch and ask me for jeans ...she brings a box of her favorite cookies in the shape of a heart.  Am I reading into things ...maybe!  I don't think so, Phoebe just keeps the bonds strong. Seeing with the eyes of faith is the reward of trusting in Him, having confidence in our creator.
Cookies from Neenie and Poppa ...a little bit of Heaven on earth!  Phoebe's favorite cookie ...a little bit of earth in Heaven.


Tonight I will pray the first joyful mystery,  The Annunciation, for all of you fine reader and your intentions, join me if you care to, and let us know your prayer requests by posting them in the comments.  We can pray for those posted later, in the next decade offered.

Annunciation: Luke 1:31-32
Behold thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and shalt bring forth a son; and thou shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the most High; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of David his father; and he shall reign in the house of Jacob for ever.

Picture the scene of the Annunciation. God proposes the mystery of the Incarnation which He will accomplish in the Virgin Mary--but not until she has given her consent. The accomplishment of the mystery is held in suspense awaiting the free acceptance of Mary. At this moment Mary represents all of us in her own person; it is as if God is waiting for the response of the humanity to which He longs to unite Himself. What a solemn moment this is! For upon this moment depends the decision of the most vital mystery of Christianity.

But see how Mary gives her answer. Full of faith and confidence in the heavenly message and entirely submissive to the Divine Will, the Virgin Mary replies in a spirit of complete and absolute abandonment: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to Thy word." This "Fiat" is Mary's consent to the Divine Plan of Redemption. It is like an echo of the "Fiat" of the creation of the world. But this is a new world, a world infinitely superior, a world of grace, which God will cause to arise in consequence of Mary's consent, for at that moment the Divine Word, the second Person of the Blessed Trinity, becomes Man in Mary: "And the Word was made Flesh and dwelt among us."

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