Goodbyes

I sat with her for the last time, filled out the paperwork, had her sign.  Our banter was typical of our visits together ...except this was our last time.  This near centurion is moving, starting a new life in another place, closer to family.  I'll miss her, but we've spoken of that for months as the move has been anticipated and arranged.  She reminds me of how my mother might have been had she lived as long ...matter of fact, quick witted, well-read, politically astute yet non-invested ...at home with who she is ...and who she will become.  Remarkable and inspiring, really. When providing care, our notes must state we followed doctor's orders and I always chuckle when I write that for her because truly, she is the one calling the shots. "You know what he wanted me to do .... Well, I went right down there and told him I didn't care what he thought, that he didn't know enough, and I refuse to follow his plan."  And so often, I danced between the two ... and she was usually right, incredibly astute about her own body ...and her doctor readily admitted it.  In fact, he had tremendous respect for this feisty woman. 
I closed her file.  I know I will miss her.  I've had a comfort level with her, a natural sort of fit.  I "get" her, have been able to help her navigate some challenging adjustments and decisions ....simply because we are "on the same wavelength," as she would say.  I thought it was because she had lived in a coastal town next to my own ...we share the New England way ...a life steeped in salty air, nor'easters and lobster. No excuses for who she was, if she told you she was royalty, you'd believe her.  I stall, not wanting to say goodbye. "When will your son arrive?" I ask.  "Soon, he's en route as we speak."  "You have one son?"  She nods "Yes, only one ...but I had another, he died."  I see ...I see where the familiarity comes from, it is not our geographic commonality ...it is this, this loss.  "I'm sorry."  She does not know of Phoebe.  She tells me her story.  "It's a wound that never heals she says ....but you know, the worst of it, the hardest part, is that people won't talk about him, as if he never was ...they think it will upset me.  Upset me?  What upsets me is to be forced into silence about him.  He lived, he walked this planet ..was part of God's plan."  She tells me more, and I see her son, hear his name.  I can see his 21 year stride, fierce independence ...I can see."  She speaks of him for a bit.  "Oh, its something you can't really know, ever, if you've never looked it in the eye.  People think other things are hard, harder even, but that's not true ..this is the biggest assault for a person, a parent."  "Your kind to listen to me speak about him, I don't really get to ...and I like to."  I hesitate ..."I lost my daughter in October" I choke out.  She strikes her chest, lurches forward towards me ..."oh no, no ...then you know ...how old, what is her name?"  I tell her and she wipes her eyes.  "And you think you failed her don't you, you think you weren't good enough, didn't do enough ...I know, I know that's what you think isn't it?"  I nod. "Yes, its true, its all so true."  "But we did the best we could ...that's all we could do."  We hold each other, me so fresh with grief ....her decades out, yet still hovering there.  And we say goodbye ...she follows me to the door.  "I will think of you and Phoebe and often, I really will."  And I tell her I will do the same for her and her son. 
I leave, heart lifted ...here she is years away, pushing nearly one hundred years of living ...and she is willing to make a change, remake her life, start afresh ...she has lived on in a good way ...knowing and loving God ...her lifeboat.  I think back to my months of caring for her, and how often I'd laughed with her ...hunted her down only to find her flirting in the library, grumbling after that "he's married ...wouldn't you know!"  Or chasing down a handsome young security guard with her walker, his panic stricken face, pleading with me to reign this old lady in as she yells "I'm a cougar, God made me that way."  Approaching her apartment each visit I could just follow the music, KISS 108 blasting in her apartment twenty four hours a day, "Oh, I love this song!" as yet another song plays that I tell my kids to turn off.  "I tell everyone here I'm moving cause I can't get anyone to dance with me ...you know, really dance, to this kind of music ...to really move."  Yes, this broken-hearted women has lived, and loved ...and made me laugh.  I will miss her ...but no doubt, I will always remember the brief joy she brought to my life.
Peaceful travels dear friend.  And when the time comes ...safe home.

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

Knitting II

I have a friend I've always thought most resembled the Blessed Mother in both looks and manner.  She, of course, giggles and thinks that's preposterous to draw such a comparison ...and that, no doubt, reinforces the comparison.  Like most faithful women I know, she's bears a heavy burden she never asked for, not of her own doing in any way ...and yet, if you know her, you grow to cherish the joy  radiating from her very being ....always.  Another faith filled woman shared with me recently that 'happiness comes from circumstance, while joy comes from God.'  That makes sense to me.  Joy is my friends hallmark quality ...constant.  My friend could complain a lot ....all day ...every day ...and few would fault her, most would understand ...even expect it.  But this incredible woman does not complain usually ...and when she does it is of her own imperfection ...her own reluctance to trust God in all areas at all times.  She does not whine or question her circumstance.  She is, quite simply, an incredible witness of grace ...and faith.  She is pure courage in the face of adversity ...the face of broken dreams and broken promises.  I can not imagine anything less than God's pure delight in her way ....her life, her witness.
She loved Phoebe ...every inch and ounce ....every smile and frown ...she simply loved my daughter who gave me the run of my life.  Often times she would run along beside me, panting, telling me I would catch my breath one day, but for now ...just keep going and chasing ...and we would laugh and laugh at how great this girl, my Phoebe, was and how she drained every bit of life out of every bit of living.  And now my friend tends to me like a bird with a broken wing, soothing and encouraging, telling me how high I will fly again.  We've walked some difficult miles together, learned to love God together ...and in ways she scoffs at, she has been a lifeline ...a promise to me.  No weight she bears, clouds her gaze of God's beauty and gifts.
Because of all this, and far, far more ...she reminds me of the Blessed Mother.
A few nights ago I had a dream about her ... I had been searching for her, needing to ask something.  Finding her, she was standing, knitting needles in hand.  I couldn't see them at first, all I could see was this beautiful garment of some sort draping from her hands. It was all shades of beige and gold.  "What are you making, this is gorgeous?"  I said.  "Oh, this ...I just figured it would be good for anything really ...I could wear it to work, to a football game ..anywhere.  It's long enough to keep me warm."  I was staring at it as she spoke and realized it was made of translucent gold, capturing the light, but in a very subtle way.  I was fixated on it as it literally took away my breath.  Her hands continued to work fast and I could see tiny knitting needles that darted about as she spoke to me, humored by my compliments.  "Oh, come on, its so simple."  "Will you teach me ...?"  I asked.  "Of course, but I really don't even need to you can do this without my help."  I laughed "No, I have no idea where to even begin."  She told me she would, and I was so pleased, but she thought it ridiculous.
This woman has no idea the beautiful life she has 'knit', teaching us how to make a pleasing robe,fitting to wear before God ...That's what I saw in this dream ...that she is in my life to teach me this craft, this craft of knitting a life for God.
I told her of that dream and we both cried ...her refusing to see herself as she was in that dream.  I am so blessed with knowing her for that ...and blessed for knowing how she loves Phoebe ...making her feel special whenever she saw her ...as she does for each of my children.
That dream makes me wonder what kind of life I am knitting for God.  How much do I complain and rage at what He has offered me ...I think I am knitting a poncho of an ugly color filled with burrs ...you know those nasty things of nature you can't get off your clothes?  Do I have the courage to lay down the needles and yarn I've been using, and pick up the ones that will knit for me a translucent stole of gold?  Do I have the courage to stop counting my loss and begin counting the miraculous blessings that begin with each and every breath of living?  Do I have the courage to be a daughter of God by silencing my tongue and following His way ...even when it is the way of the Cross?  Like my friend?
Do I have the courage to smile and open my heart to the cleansing balm of loss ....so that I might gain, not just for me ...but for everyone around me?  I pray for that .... for that courage to truly be His daughter ...to truly live in His way ...and not the way of the world.

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

Baby Grace

Baby Grace was born at 12:15 AM today, 8lbs, 12 oz.  Mom and baby are healthy.
All is well.
Thank you for all your prayers!

How Great Thou Art

I think Carrie Underwood just sang this song for me ...Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLLMzr3PFgk

Yeah, He's pretty great!
The pain of losing Phoebe ...the missing, I know will pale in comparison to the glory of eternity and my reunion with her.  God's generosity will NEVER be outdone.

Welcome

Please pray for our friend who is laboring as I type.  Katie is a wonderful young mother whose fourth child will likely be born today.  Please pray for a safe, comfortable deliver ...for the doctors and nurses who will care for her and for Mike, Katie's husband.  Keep their whole family in your prayers today as they welcome another wee one into the fold.  They are among the most generous, compassionate people walking this planet, and while they are always giving without ceasing to others, I beg everyone to pause for a moment and say a prayer that all goes well.  I'll keep you posted!

Easter Sunday

The candle is lit on the mantle, a reminder of who is missing ...as if any of us in this house need one.
A physical sign of her presence among us in a totally new way ...for God makes all things new ...even good in His extraordinary way.  I long to touch her, long to have her help me with Easter dinner, find her in my bed as she steals away for a nap, snuggled in my blankets mid morning ...how much I wish for that.  That was her way on Christmas and Easter, after the early morning rousing by the littles, she would steal away, not to her bed, but to mine ...staying close by.  She knew I would find her there, sit next to her, tuck blankets tightly around her, under her chin.  I have to find her in other places now.  Easter Sunday, the promise of the Resurrection, the promise of redemption ...Phoebe lives that now.

The Vigil of Easter restores me.  The darkness gives way to the light of Christ's defeat over death.  I listen to the words, the promise, the happening.  I listen to the ancient words, responses ...songs.  The music swirls in this Church, one hundred years old, the incense burns and I think I hear her voice, singing with the choir, giving praise and thanks ....and in my mind I can see her ....and she is smiling.  "The blink of an eye Mom ....the blink of an eye."  Yes, Phoebe, I believe that, but it feels so different here.
I've struggled to make sense of how His birth is connected to His death.  My walk at Christmas, less painful than this time ...these holiest of days.  I can't grab hold of anything that calms me ....until I am in a darkened Church ...and the fire is lit, the candles illuminate and Christ is proclaimed risen.  I need to believe and I do, with all my soul I know this to be true.  But still, how does Calvary relate to Bethlehem?  My thoughts are garbled.  A friend prods me on, her gentle way again, never demanding, insisting ...and I pick up the author she points me to, Abbot Gueranger, O.S.B., The Liturgical Year, volume 7, Pascal Time, Book 1, ...from long ago.  And I read ...

"No man taketh away my life from me:  I lay it down of myself:  I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again" (John, 18)  Thus spoke our Redeemer to the Jews before his Passion; now is the hour for the fulfilment of his words, and death shall feel their whole force.  The day of light, Sunday, has begun, and its early dawn is struggling with the gloom.  The Soul of Jesus immediately darts from the prison of limbo, followed by the whole multitude of the holy souls that are around him.  In the twinkling of an eye, it reaches and enters the sepulcher, and reunites itself with that Body which, three days before, it had quitted amidst an agony of suffering.  The sacred Body returns to life, raises itself up, and throws aside the winding-sheet, the spices, and the bands.  The bruises have disappeared, the Blood has been brought back to the veins; and from these limbs that had been torn by the scouring, from this head that had been mangled by the thorns, from these hands and feet that had been pierced with nails,  there darts forth a dazzling light that fills the cave.  The holy angles had clustered round the stable and adored the Babe of Bethlehem; they are now around the sepulchre, adoring the conqueror of death.  They take the shrouds, and reverently folding them up, place them on the slab whereon the Body had been laid by Joseph and Nicodemus.  
But Jesus is not to tarry in the gloomy sepulchre. Quicker than a ray of light through a crystal, he passes through the stone that closes the entrance of the cave and a guard of soldiers is there to see that no one touches it.  Untouched it is and unmoved; and yet Jesus is free!  Thus, as the holy Fathers unanimously teach us, was it as his birth:  he appeared to the gaze of Mary, maternal womb.  The birth and the Resurrection, the commencement and the end of Jesus' mission, these two mysteries bear on them the seal of resemblance: in the first, it is the Virgin Mother; in the last, it is a sealed tomb giving forth its captive God.

And so I see the story unfold, I see the beginning of His life in Bethlehem, and the beginning of new life on Easter Sunday.  Christ passes through ...disturbing no one, no thing ...only bringing goodness and light, using the simplest of people, the most humble ...the shepherds.  "When born in Bethlehem he would have for his first worshippers a few simple-minded shepherds, whose power to herald the great event was confined to their own village: and yet the birthday of this little Child is now the era of every civilized nation.  For the first witnesses of  his Resurrection he chose three weak women; and yet the whole earth is now, at this very moment celebrating the anniversary of this Resurrection.  There is in it a mysterious feeling of joy unlike that of any other day throughout the year: no one can resist it, not even the coldest heart.  The infidel who scoffs at the believer knows at least that this is Easter Sunday." (p. 111)

The story, the truth lives on, bringing promise and hope to hearts that have been wounded, to lives that have been ravaged by sin, pain, suffering ...loss.  What can this world offer my wounded heart, my brokenness, our brokenness?  Temporary distraction ...at best.  Christ can offer wholeness ...new life ....joy ...even in the suffering, the pain, the loss.  It costs us to follow Him, sometimes we lose in a very worldly way, and that can be extraordinarily hard ...and lonely.  But the gain, the promise, the fulfillment of following Him ...and His ways, the promise of shedding our old selves, our temporal selves ...is pure glory, for all eternity.  Imagine. 
Happy Easter!

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

Holy Saturday

Christ had died on the Cross ...the Cross of our salvation ...the cross of eternity.  I accept all this, believe all this ....but feel none of it.  Still, I know it to be true.  It is this day, the day after, the apostles mourned, aghast at what had happened to to the One they believed to be the Savior.  I know I would have been huddled with them, if I had not fled.  I know I would believe all was lost, that Christ lost in the end ...and so did all of us.  Only one, just one, believed and trusted all her Son had taught ...after three days He would rise again ...He would defeat death, claim victory for all ages ...for anyone willing to follow Him.  It was the one "full of grace," the one I lamented just days ago ...the first tabernacle of our beloved Christ, Blessed Mother who believed ...still ...on this dark day, the day of confirmed defeat, her son entombed, lifeless ...she still held to all the promises and with joyful anticipation rejoiced in His rising from the dead ...even before He rose. 
Today, I stand with her .... ride the wave of her belief, her trust, her love ...because alone, I am not there ...I need her mantle to hold on to, I need her to lead me, pave the way so that I might catch a glimpse of the Resurrection.  And I trust she will lead me there ....she always leads me to her Son.

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

Visiting Graces

Just as I finished my previous post I clicked on my email.  I good friend had just sent out this link to Youtube ...fitting and timely for my own struggle ...helping me make sense.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkpLB_wwIHg&feature=player_embedded#at=279

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

Home again

We are back after a long drive home, far away from Neenie and Poppa.  Nourished a bit from being with them ...loved and nurtured in their special way.  It felt good to be there.  I didn't feel sad.  Phoebe was part of our conversation, our memories we replayed ...those first times and then all those years of getting to know each other.  "Did you ever see anything Neenie?  ever think?"  Her eyes fill, "No, I always thought she would command anything she ever did."  It was a hard question for me to ask ...because always lurking just beneath the surface is that overwhelming sense I should have known ...I had missed something so terribly obvious, and yet I had missed.  But Neenie and Poppa didn't see anything either ...and that gives me some peace ...for now anyway.  I'm glad to have been with them, around their table, the birds ...the love.
It was only ascending the hill leaving their house, heading home that the pain unfurled its ugly fingers.  Phoebe's hill, where she would skate her heart out, delighting Neenie ....and scaring me.  And then heading the other way, further down, heading out.  We have that on video, Phoebe, barefoot ..the elegance of her on the longboard ....long, long before it became popular.  I asked her to guide me home, keep us safe. We returned home, and still ...she was not here, the nightmare still did not end.  The wee hours of our return gave way to the rising sun of Holy Thursday.  And I am flat ...disengaged from the  atrocities set in motion this night. These days of Christ's passion hold no emotion for me ...I can't wrap my head around it all.  These days of the great sacrifice hold no outstretched hand for me, at least one I care to grab hold of.  I step to the side, looking on, but not joining.  I cover my heart, lower my eyes ...I don't want more pain.  Christmas held hope and anticipation for me ...and I was overwhelmed with grace.  The infant savior was born, and it was in that manger I could leave Phoebe.  And I found peace.
But now ...I have nowhere to go.  I am empty, bled dry from sorrow and hurting.  You think it will get better, the pain will lessen and the missing won't quite be so much.  But there are times, when it comes on like a raging storm ...and I rage against Heaven.  Graces?  What grace is there in Phoebe's death?  Show me!  It's not that I don't believe God uses all for the good ...I do.  I know somewhere in this design is a plan for eternity.  But I am not "full of grace" as Blessed Mother is.  How can she know the agony of a pathetic, loud-mouthed mother, like me ...when she was created pure ...free from sin, created to be our Savior's mother?  She is FULL OF GRACE ...while I am full of failing.  She was created to trust God ...but I must fight with every ounce I have to choose that trusting.  How could she possibly know my battle?  And why ...why, if He died for our sins in such a horrible, barbaric way ...if He died to free us from our sin ...then why do we still sin ....and why did that cost me my daughter's life?  How can I celebrate the Resurrection, when that place across from me at the table is EMPTY still?  The Blessed Mother saw her son again ...after he died.  She was consoled.  I have pictures, her things, memories, but not her to grab hold of ...to hear her voice.  I don't think I have the strength to keep believing when I have been so robbed.  And I am very, very angry ...and terribly confused. 
People tell me that He sees my pain and weeps with me ...that I am at the foot of the cross.  All these things before would console me now sound garbled ...unfamiliar.  I am not at the foot of the cross ...I am running as far away as I can.  I don't want this pain, I just want Phoebe.  I don't want any of this part of the story ....I don't want anymore horror.  I don't want any more missing and loneliness ...I don't want to be away from my girl.  She did not have to die ...and yet she did.  There is no sense in nonsense.  There is no sense in the death of a seventeen year old girl, full of life and spirit, adventure and daring ...there is no sense in losing a lifetime with Phoebe ...and I am broken and hurting ...but even that will not change that she is gone from me. 
This will wash over, the grace will flow again ..and I will understand His love again.  I will.  But for now, I shake my head and hold my heart, broken from grief ...wondering what kind of father would allow someone whose tried to love Him as best she can to be robbed of one her own children.  How could He have let this happen?  And why?


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

Reunion

After processing in those first moments that Phoebe was indeed dead, and after imploring God to make sense of this disaster before me, my thoughts instantly went to Phoebe's soul literally falling into the arms of the Blessed Mother.  I could not shake this image, in fact, it is the image that plays in my mind far more often than the other, painful, dreadful image of finding Phoebe. 
Years ago, thirteen actually, this month on the 15th, is the reason that image plays over and over in my mind.
My husband had headed off to a two week conference to a fairly quiet area of Maryland ...Emmitsburg.  It is the home of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, which bears significance for our family since we have home schooled for several years.  He found the area so beautiful, rich in faith, that he wanted the rest of us to visit too, tying it into a trip to D.C. So we made the plans, sent a letter off to the nun he had met, along with a picture of the kids ...the three we had at the time, just asking about places we might stay. Days later we received a call from woman who told us we were staying with her and her husband. I couldn't imagine how this had all happened ....but would later discover this kindly nun had shown the picture to Neenie. "Oh what darling children" Neenie had said. "Aren't they" sister had replied, "such a shame, they want to visit ...but ...have no place to stay.". Neenie took the bait, and our number and called us to stay with them. And here we are, years later.
Phoebe did not go to other people ...period. She would tell them not to look at her ....they couldn't resist those big blue eyes. But when we pulled into Neenie and Poppa's driveway that first time, Phoebe leapt from the car and into Neenie's arms. We were stunned. It was so unlike our girl and yet there she perched, nestled into the arms of this perfect stranger ...beaming. We would come to learn so much about the love of Blessed Mother through these two faith filled, generous souls who welcomed our growing family into their hearts and home ...and never let go.
Its this memory, this image of Phoebe, in the arms of Neenie that led me, and continues to lead me to seeing and knowing the embrace of Phoebe into the arms of the Blessed Mother. For me, it is a comfort beyond words. Always, she leads us to her son, Jesus Christ. To see my daughter there, and knowing where she would be led ...keeps me going and believing.
So tomorrow we will be back in that place of many years ago. We will be there without Phoebe, for the first time. That will be hard for me ...a necessary reunion though ...another first, one more passage.

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

Holy Week

I'm wondering about this march through Holy Week.  Its always a pensive time, somber, yet expectant.  It's really the holiest time of year ....awaiting the fulfillment of the redemption ...our salvation.  This year, its a struggle for me to wrap my head and heart around the goodness of all this.  It feels like its all happening around me.  I can't quite find the right place to jump in and participate.  Suffering is part of life, I know that.  I guess I'm still struggling with suffering as a path to redemption ...to eternal salvation.  There have been times when I've really understood in a much fuller way what this meant ...certainly not in its entirety, but at least I caught a shadowy glimmer. 
My path to Bethlehem at Christmas ended in a profound grace that is difficult to share in words.  Some witnessed, being players themselves in what would be revealed.  Others watched on, praying for me, fearful that I might find only emptiness, lost promise.  But mostly, those who love me just let me be ...and trusted for me.  Maybe Easter will be like that too.  Every time I anticipate a day that will be hard, some milestone, holiday shared ...the grace and gift come back stronger, firmer than any emotional intensity spilling from my heart.  Why should I expect less now from God ...even if the grace is solely an interior conversion of my heart lifting higher towards Him.
Gone six months, and yet my life with her has only begun in many, many ways.  Friends generously gathered roses from Phoebe's flowers the day she was buried and had them made into a Rosary for me.  These women I've prayed and laughed with over the years so many times.  Slowly I am learning I might have had this gift before Christmas, they were anxious to bring it to me.  Paths don't always cross easily, and a gift meant for earlier was delayed for the perfect time.  Last Friday, I had a brief moment with two women I rarely see, but I consider central to my life in many ways.  Both of them loved, even adored Phoebe.  One told me she had been trying to get hold of me, give me a gift.  Turned out she would see another friend later that night, the eve of Phoebe's sixth month anniversary ..."give it to Kathleen, she'll be here and she'll bring it to me." I had told her.   And so the exchange was made with this watchful woman of my daughter, the girl who played in her kitchen so many times.  She handed it to me ..."wait till tomorrow" she said.  And so I did, and on that morning of that day, I woke with the sharp reminder that it was six months ...six months ...gone, my Phoebe gone.  But the treasure was the Rosary ...and no other day would be more fitting than that day ....when it felt all was lost, their would be no more physical connection to my girl ...and yet here it was ....a Rosary of roses.
The beads are beautiful.  How many times had I said the Rosary with Phoebe?  Hundreds ...more.  And it is still to be shared ...for a lifetime.  What a gift.
Days later I cradle them in my hand in the early morning ...that time that was all hers, and I begin to pray. I pray for her ...that she be safe.  Instantly I am enveloped in her perfume ...Phoebe's perfume ...here it is all around me ...no question.  God does not give us our children to love, and then tear them from us.  God changes our relationship ...He changes us.  This is all so new to me still, but I know it to be true.  And her perfume is a signal grace that elevates my heart and mind to trust Him ...and open my heart to receive.
A good friend of ours, Godfather to our youngest, died over three years ago.  He was a man of incredible faith, filled with love and joy ...made everyone feel like they were THE  most important person to him.  Phoebe loved him, and it wrestled her faith that we prayed so hard for a miracle and it was never granted as we desired.  Dick exuded the love of God, his own love for God was contagious.  I've often thought Phoebe is with him ...and happy to be.  I hadn't been thinking of Dick at all ...but after receiving the Eucharist a few days ago, I knelt down to pray and wanted to recite a prayer ...Anima Christi.  I couldn't think of it ...suddenly, his voice, Dick's voice so crystal clear in my head "I'll say it for you!"  He had loved that prayer.  Peace filled me, knowing he was so close to us ...that veil so thin. 
Anima Christi
Soul of Christ, sanctify me
Body of Christ, save me
Blood of Christ, inebriate me
Water from Christ's side, wash me
Passion of Christ, strengthen me
O good Jesus, hear me
Within Thy wounds hide me
Suffer me not to be separated from Thee
From the malicious enemy defend me
In the hour of my death call me
And bid me come unto Thee
That I may praise Thee with Thy saints
and with Thy angels
Forever and ever
Amen



The Church is one with the Church Suffering (holy souls in Purgatory), the Church Militant (those on Earth living the faith) and the Church Triumphant (holy souls in Heaven).  Thinking of that gives me great comfort ...because it keeps us all together, all so close, praying for each other ...all of us striving to live in God's presence for all eternity.
Rosary beads made of roses, perfume, and good friends guiding me in prayer when my own mind fails me ...these are promises and confirmation that our relationships as we know them change ...but they do not end ....they are eternal.  
This is where I will begin this Holy Week.


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

---

Raw

Passing six months has put me in a different place. I don't know that anyone 'heals' from losing a daughter, but things do change ...or you just grow accustomed to this feeling taking residence in your cells. Either way, you move along, albeit far differently than you would ever want to ...and life changes.
Approaching Holy Week, I think of the apostles ....and believe me, I am not comparing myself to them. I think about the rawness they would feel looking at their teacher, their friend, their Savior, they knew to be the Christ ...the one waited for so long, hanging on the Cross, seemingly powerless. That utter despair that seeps in ...beyond imagination. Aghast ...looking on. Horrified ....trying to make sense of the nonsense of it all. I wonder if it felt like it felt for me for so long ...an open gaping wound, raw and burning, unrelenting. That's how it was ...and yet, the day to day of life, of other children, hid that so well, even from myself at times ...as I lived the silent scream of despair and desperation in losing Phoebe.
I would tell anyone, share the moment of emotion ...it was so new in those first months. And it still is ...will always be for me. My path now is always towards Heaven, towards finding my girl again, laying eyes on my first daughter. But it is different now, six months later. We've had so many people praying for us ....those prayers have held us, kept us literally alive. I am so so grateful. We are living.
But what was once so public, so readily shared, begins to turn inward. The rawness has us begging for anyone with a bandage, a salve ...anything that will ease the pain, offer a reason, a meaning for this agony. Open wounds heal, hopefully. And the healing takes a lifetime ...I don't need bandages right now, I just need to protect my wound. It changes my interface with the world. So many feel the raw pain of loss ...the loss of a girl who sparkled the world. And that is real and painful. The pain of loss is shared with so many who love her, but the pain of living ...becomes more personal, not as easily shared.
For a long time I've leaned into God, knowing only through Him will I ever find true rest. But this is a different place than before ...I am different. Even knowing God is the only answer, I haven't been able to look God in the eye ...Haven't been able to rely on the Blessed Mother like I had before. My heart has been really hurt, wounded, pierced. And I think that only now I'll be able to ask for the real healing to begin. I think the rawness felt like it was keeping me close to Phoebe. But I'm too far out now, its just not as fresh. Everything's changed. All the people that were here, that were meant to be a full part of her life, our lives ....are still here. And all of us will keep Phoebe close ...always. She wasn't just a part of our life before ...she still very much is.
I had the great sense that Phoebe and I were holding hands and ....she just let go. I wish you could all have a tiny glimpse of her ...see what I'm missing. I've been silently screaming for her return ...but that won't be.
Maybe now I need to extend my hand and grab hold of hers in a new way ...and trust my heart will be healing for a long, long time ...until that final day when I get to see her again.

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

Star Magnolia

Among the very first signs of spring is the beautiful star magnolia. The branches are stark and bare ...but from them blooms a magnificent flower ...pure white, like a star. I've always been so happy when I see the beginning of it's bloom. It's a promise of what is to come ...even when the branches are so bare, seemingly without hope, without life.
I hope that even in a small way, we can bloom again ....one day.

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

Graces

The day nearly done, tears and heartache at rest.  Six months behind me, six months closer ...many many graces came my way on this day.  Many, many things to say thank you  ...
1. A kind pastor who offered the Mass for Phoebe this morning ...thank you, thank you.
2. Beautiful tulips, bright pink and alert on my counter upon my return from Mass with a beautiful spiritual bouquet from a kind friend ...always sensing the way to my heart. ...thank you
3. A set of rosary beads  made from Phoebe's roses ...hand delivered on this day from a group of wonderful women who have graced my life for many years ...sharing laughter and tears ...and hope.  You all gave me a foundation in faith I never would have found on my own.  thank you.
4. Pansies planted for Phoebe, anchored by the Blessed Mother, a statue that stood watch at my parent's site for many years and brought to Phoebe by one of my sisters ...thank you!
5. Phoebe's long lost bracelet, searched and given up lost, long before she died ...found among her common things ...just waiting for today, now gracing my own wrist ...sharing molecules of her with molecules of me. I think this one was Phoebe's own gift ...her own little appearance for me today ...thank you, Phoebe
6. My late night friend who has a way of delivering things in the stillness (though tonight she arrived as the last agonies of the day were being eeked out) ...a gift of great proportion, so wonderful ...thank you.

We had a topsy turvey day ...lots of emotion and tears ...remembering ...and oh so missing our beloved.  But we laughed too ...and remembered.

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

Six Months

I've lived six months without this girl.  How have I survived?  Truly,  how have I?  Pure grace ..that's the only answer.  So many thoughts race through my head, steam through my veins, pounding and pounding.  How does life get ripped so instantly from us?  What is the purpose ...the plan?
Six months is a turning point.  Means I'm not new at this anymore, should have moved on a bit by now.  That's what the world says anyway.  In the world of parents missing a child ...your considered newly grieving for two years.   A bit more forgiving, realistic, I'd say.  And in the world of parents losing a child by suicide ...even longer.
I'm not looking for a pass.  The only thing I'm looking for really, is Phoebe.  Just trying to make my way home to her.  I don't mean that in the sense that I don't see the now as worth living.  I do, I just see it worth living in a way that will bring me closer to her ...in the here and now ...and in the hereafter.  I want my life to be real, ordered towards God.  The closer I grow to Him, the more I let Him into my life ...the closer I will be to Phoebe.  Some days its not so easy ...I lose my patience, my way.  Some days none of it makes any sense.  It seems radically wrong, in fact.  But my thoughts, my feelings are never constant ...only God is.  God never changes.  I trust in that and I ask Him to draw me close in whatever way He sees fit. 
when you lose a child, it feels like there is nothing that could be worse ...the fear leaves, except the fear of losing another ...or of losing my ways so much, losing sight of God ...that I will never see Phoebe again.  Some people say that could never happen, God would never do that.  I know God would never do that ...that is never His choice.  But by my own free will, I could choose that, turn away, choose the dark over the light ...I pray that never happens to me. 
Six months ...who would have thought I could have survived ...and by His grace, I have.


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

Funny Story

Yesterday I left one of my patients and told her I'd owe her two hugs the next time I saw her. She told me she was writing that in her book and would make sure she got her due. I was careful with her and extra diligent with hand washing. I didn't want to bring the stomach bug home. Confident I had done everything to prevent catching it ....I woke in the middle of last night slammed with an unrelenting upset stomach. Sometimes, right before I go to bed, my husband will make me hot chocolate. It helps me sleep and it reminds of my mother who had a nighttime ritual of a cup of cocoa with a scoop of cool whip. Some nights I just need that little extra TLC, that connection to times past, people gone. It was not the hot chocolate that made me sick ...it was the stomach bug. It kept me in bed all day with my head slitting in two. Often, when I was sick, it would be Phoebe who would come and climb in with me. I'd wake up to find her there ....keeping tabs on me. I miss her.
But as I lay here not being able to move, I remembered a funny story from years ago. It s funny story now, but at the time it had me tied up in knots. A friend had asked me to watch her three children for a couple of hours, which was fine and fun since our kids all played together. In they came,sharing toys, cups, snacks! When the pickup time came, my friend told me she had failed to mention that one of the kids had been sick that morning. My heart sank. One thing with larger families and illness is that it races through the house ...if your lucky, only once, but usually at least twice, and often three times. At least that has been my experience. I was homeschooling everyone except my son who needed to be driven to and from school, and my husband's job is such that he couldn't help with that. So I knew I was in for something.
I spent a week washing laundry, changing beds, serving ginger ale, sherbert, rubbing tummies, holding and rocking. I was exhausted, not having slept for many nights. My husband came home and reminded me that one of the local stations was coming to interview us about smoke detectors. "Today?" I asked. "No, not today, I think next week" he responded. The phone rang, he answered. "Okay, so you think you'll be here in about twenty minutes." I panicked, my house was trashed ...there wasn't a clean surface, I was a mess, my kids were a mess and here we were preparing to have reporter and camera crew to come in and interview us. Twenty minutes wasn't nearly enough time to straighten out the house. We tidied and cleaned best we could, but the spot we hadn't touched at all was where the best lighting was for the camera crew. I was so embarrassed and offered the excuse that we had been battling the stomach bug. They were all very nice, but inside you know their sizing up the condition of this homeschooling moms home. They left that day with the plan to come back in two weeks at 10 PM where they would turn on the alarm and film our children waking ...seeing how quickly they responded. I was determined my house would be tip top. But oh no ...the unrelenting stomach bug never left and my house never restored to order, nor had I slept very much since their previous visit. The bug had gained momentum. I wanted to cancel ...they promised they wouldn't interview me and that it would all be fine. Making it worse for me was that another family was being interviewed and tested as well ....and their house was perfectly decorated with matching comforters and curtains ...nice and tidy ...pretty for the cameras.
I had given up ....that night my children were sleeping on bare mattresses, bare. Some of them were sleeping with old, stained army sleeping bags because that was a all we had left. I had not been able to keep up with the laundry. ON our patio, the entry way to our house, comforters, blankets, sheets were strewn all over, slimy with the remnants of stomach goo. It was a very very bad scene. Again they assured me it didn't matter, no one would notice, and in fact they didn't notice it either. I had on bad clothes, my hair was filthy and all askew, I was exhausted and in a nasty mood. They promised they would ask me no questions. They set off the alarms and filmed the bare mattresses, the kids climbing out of bed in bizarre pajama clothing. They looked strained and drained after weeks of upset stomachs. All of a sudden, the microphone is stuffed in my face. Like a lunatic, I answer questions I find silly. I just want to clean my house and settle my kids. They packed up and left. I don't know if I've ever been happier to see someone leave my house. So, that episode aired on the local news, exposing my home to the local world. Years later, someone called to say they found it on the internet by accident. Yeah!
This stomach bug wasn't as dramatic, but if you know one of your kids have it ...don't silently spread it. Its hard on us moms of many ...keeps going round and round. My kids were too young to really remember that story ..they have some vague memories. But Phoebe would have laughed with me today, she was a big part of that story. My helper in so many ways.
We ended up being sent to Florida to film an infomercial about this smoke detector. That was nearly as grueling, but not quite. One of our daughters had a small bit escaaping from a house, while we waited for her in the driveway. I think we spent 30 to 40 minutes on retakes because my husband wasn't looking at his watch the right way ....which turned out to be rather awkward and unnatural.
Its hard to remember when I can't share it with Phoebe. She's still supposed to be part of my day. I want to remember my times with her, but I want to remember them with her, laughing with her.
Two days marks six months of life without her by my side. Hey Pheebs, I miss you girlie, more than I can say! Love, Mom

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

Knitting

My kids giggle over my tendency to follow a trail of something. When I get bitten with interest or sense there is a reason why I am being called to attention, I'll pursue a topic, issue, hobby. Climbing Mt. Everest is one of my son's favorites.  Though most of my knowledge about climbing Mt. Everest is not immediately accessible in my brain, for a long time I could tell you all the details you needed to know if you were considering or preparing to climb.  Best possible time to increase your odds of reaching the summit, areas that were of unsuspecting risk, equipment, famous climbers, length and appropriate type of training to prepare for the climb ...and much, much more.  I never had any interest in climbing myself ...but should I suddenly develop the interest, I had all the information at the ready.  Same with whaling ...another topic I am teased about.  I think it was a way for my brain to remain fit while hanging with mostly little people for days on end.  There have been other areas I've explored too, but these are the one's my family likes to reflect on the most.
  Lately a theme keeps popping up.  Knitting.  I learned to knit around the age of eight.  My first completed project was a rust colored pocketbook that I fashioned myself.  It was the ugliest thing ...even then I thought so.  Over the years I've knit plenty of scarves, but never developed any talent much beyond that fairly simple project.  My girls knit too, and made themselves plenty of scarves for themselves and their dolls.  A knitting basket is always full in our house. It hasn't been touched in our house for a while, maybe a year.
  I don't spend much time on the computer ...I have a few sites I check regularly, but only for a few moments.  I don't spend a long time dissecting articles, following trails.  Two sites I visit a few times a week, sometimes daily, are by home schooling moms with several kids, striving to live their lives for God.  I get lots of inspiration from these women ...and their is an obvious connection between the two.  http://www.aholyexperience.com/ and http://ebeth.typepad.com/
They have a friend, who also blogs, who is terminal with cancer.  http://keeponspinning.wordpress.com/ I pray for this woman ... who seems to be quite extraordinary in many ways, with a tender, but enormous faith.  She knits.  She has children, she battles her illness, oversees her own children's physical hurdles ...and knits ....and teaches others to as well.  And now she has taught my two blogging mothers how to knit as well.  So knitting has become a bit of a theme for these blogs over the past several weeks.  Its been fun ...and simple to read about.  Though I enjoyed it, it didn't inspire me to pick up the needles and create. Coincidentally ...?....
One of my support group ladies handed me a book from the lending library.  "Have you read this?  I think you'd like it" Looking at the title, The Knitting Circle, by Anne Hood, I giggled saying "seems to be  all the rage these days ...knitting."  Later, with my book, I sit at my daughter's tennis lesson and next to me another friend sits, pulls out her knitting project.  Clackety clack ...someone's trying to tell me something.  I read the book and with every stitch they say 'I love you' to whomever.  The main character knits each stitch for her daughter ...who's died.  She knits to remember and she knits to forget.  She just knits and knits and knits ...and creates, re-creates her life. 
  The book begins just shy of her daughters sixth month anniversary, right where I am.  There is no mistake here ...this story coming into my life at this time.  Showing me the beauty a series of knots can create ...all sorts of beautiful things that can be shared.  Knots. Life has knots ....some really big, complicated knots ...just like knitting.  And these knots can be quite beautiful.  My big knot ...Phoebe's death, her suicide is very, very complicated ...and I don't like it one bit. But that doesn't mean that somehow, in this big twisted mess, life can't still be made beautiful.  God does that.  He takes the ugly, the unwanted, the mess ...and if we let Him, He will make it beautiful ....because He makes all things new.
All this knitting ....hasn't made me pick up the needles, but it has helped me see something, my life, my loss, in a different way ....a more beautiful, more hopeful way.

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

Medicine

" A faithful friend is the medicine of life." - The Apocrypha

"... They were emotional times, of course, filled with articulated pain. But each day as she dropped me off at my house,I felt better, able to go on. The pressure was released once more - as steam is released when the lid is lifted from a boiling pot. It was as elemental, as simple, as incontrovertible, as that."
Taken from "Healing After Lost; Daily meditations for working through grief." by Martha Whitmore Hickman

I've been unusually blessed with friendships that sustain, uplift, nurture. Some friends I get to spend time with more regularly than others ...and I am so glad for the regularity of those. Others are far away, living busy lives in different circles. And sometimes those far away, busy life people come together ...and I get to spend time with them. Today was one of those days.
When I was in high school, my sophomore year brought two friends into my life that have stayed. They're fixtures in my life, making us a trio. We're all different. We don't need to talk a lot ...but there is a togetherness that has weathered the years. Our perspectives on faith are different ...the way we live it, express it ...are quite different. Yet, there is a respect between us ....not a walking on eggshells, formal respect ...but a genuine, ask some questions, give some answers. There is no "agree to disagree" between us. There is just this trio of us. From proms, to grad school, boyfriends, husbands, babies, houses, moves, jobs ...and deaths, we've shared the storms of each other's lives. We've gone from chinos and fair isle sweaters, to finding clothes that hide our flabby arms. We've grown up together.
By extension, the sisters and aunts have become part of my life's fabric. Its an amazing thing, really, to be part of these women ...these amazing women.
All but one I hadn't seen since Phoebe died, so this was the first time I got to see the third of our trio, and the extension that comes along with her in the form of a sister and aunts. Why am I writing about this? Because this part of my fabric was very much a part of Phoebe's too, and it is a sweet memory to know that these cheerleaders of her loved her so much for who she was ...enjoyed every moment they had with her ...and miss her ... They know Phoebe, and they know what I miss. This girl was no wallflower. Phoebe lived!
Often, people, meaning well will say that Phoebe is out of her struggle, out of her pain. That always bothers me a bit because Phoebe, though she certainly struggled to find her way, figure out the path to adulthood, was not "struggling". Phoebe was on the cusp of some great things. People want to believe that suicide only happens to people who are obviously sad, depressed. But that's not true ...not because I want to stick my head in the sand, ignore reality ...but because that's how the teenage mind works ...more and more these days, as the world continues to offer chaos and confusion. Sad. The people who really knew Phoebe know that about her. These women know. That makes me feel better.
And so Phoebe is missing from my life ...in an obvious way, physically. But today I was really struck with another person I really loved deeply, who was missing. Anne's been gone a long time. The mother of one of my trio friends died when we were in college. I loved her so much. She was always very kind to me ...and patient. I see her face in others, big and round with eyes that drew you into them. I simply loved her like I hadn't any other friend's mother. Today, as one of the aunts was talking to me, she mentioned her sister ...Anne. I barely heard anything she said after she mentioned her name. For the first time I thought and knew that Phoebe had finally met this woman. So often I had shared stories with Phoebe about her, how I loved her, how kind and generous, patient she was. Phoebe had listened, sensing the missing that took hold when I thought of her. And now, she knows her.
As I walk these dark days towards what should have been ...I can see what is instead. What is is good. It hurts, makes me sad and lonely ...but it is good.
These women in my life ...this extension I've been brought into by sheer grace of His hand, His design does not end here. Phoebe remains part of that ...even fuller. I don't want to be separate from Phoebe. I want to be with her ...but the missing heals ever so slightly when it becomes clear to me that someone else I've loved long ago, is part of her new life.
I keep praying to trust, praying to understand what I can, praying to accept ...just praying in the garbled, jumble of words that move from my heart towards Heaven. Even throughout the chaos of my grief, He hears me and sends someone to assure me. Today, it was Anne. If only for a little while ...that's enough.

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

Last day!

Today would have been Phoebe's last official day of high school.  It weighted me today, wore me down.  I'm tired, sad.  Grief really isn't about the person who died.  It's about the person, the people trying to heal ...the lonely, the left behind.  I look at my husband ...we have no words, just sighs, sadness that passes between us.  This would have been a fun day.  The conversations, the comments and reflections that would buzz around our kitchen ...her observations were usually so interesting and sharp.  Her view was unique ...and often times highly developed and sophisticated, making us consider a different perspective that made much more sense than the typical.  Brigid and Deirdre are home to see their new niece ...so no doubt there would have been a late night rendez vous, celebratory trip to get a movie, snacks.  Probably, Brigid would have said something like "see Phoebe, I told you it was important to finish.  Aren't you glad I made you?"  And Phoebe might have said  "you had nothing to do with me going to or finishing high school ...I still say it's ridiculous, a method to mold the minds of citizens who don't think for themselves."  And the comments would bounce back and forth ...a twinkle in both pairs of eyes ...giggling.  Deirdre would stand with her hands together held to her chest, slightly bouncing, smiling .."Phoebe ...you finished ...I'm so happy for you."  "See Brigid, why can't you just be happy for me instead of trying to take credit for my education."  They would move ... this trio, through my house, stirring my heart.  I miss that ...a lot.
I cleaned out our attic, emptied it of all the baby clothes stored away.  Washed and bagged they have been sent off for others.  A few items from each child tucked away for them, for later.  They marvel at the smallness they once were.  I save my favorite for last before the cover goes on the one bin holding everything.  About eight inches long, pink with roses, the belly with three layers of ruffles.  Phoebe's first bathing suit.  I hold it up, her sisters look, silent.  They know it's hers.  If Phoebe ever had a logo for herself ...it could have been a bathing suit.  For years she lived for the ocean, the water.  As early as she could, she would jump in the Atlantic.  Early March was her record.  Half the year she wore her bathing suit under her clothes ...always ready.  When  she was in school those early  years it was under her uniform. 
A hard day ....so much lost it seems.  Sometimes its the sadness ...other times its the ache, the knawing ache like a hunger that can't be satiated.  Sometimes its both, the sadness and the ache ....today it is this.  So many people are so good, so kind.  But there's a bridge they just can't cross.  There is nothing to say ...this little day I've kept quiet about.  In our home we know ...we know what this day would have been for this girl, our Phoebe.  She didn't let us finish the story and I like to finish stories.  But it wasn't, isn't mine to tell, I guess.
God teaches me so many things.  I must be a tough learner since he has to be fairly extreme to get me to pay attention.  Nothing ever really is ours ...except the moments ...the little moments of our lives.  Life is a series of moments that make memories and tell tales, teach wisdom.  I think God wants me in the moment, but I want to be in moments that might have been.  I chase the day for Phoebe while my little one makes castles and twirls.  The moment to be caught is the twirling castle maker.  I pause, and see that.  Did I pause enough for Phoebe's moments?  I doubt I'll ever feel I did that enough ...maybe if I had paused just one more time she'd be here now. 
I'll never know those answers.  But I do know this.  There was a moment when I held a tiny baby in a ruffly bathing suit at Nantasket Beach.  This tiny baby fell in love with the sea ...and with her life she wrote a love story about the ocean and the magic it held for her.  Phoebe may never be a high school graduate ...but she knew the power of the ocean, the joy of each wave, the kiss of the salty spray.  Phoebe was queen of the sea ...and those moments of her life wrote a story far greater than I ever could for her.  Those are treasures, those moments.  They burned bright and fast ...and I got to watch.  I'm glad for that ...for the girls she was.

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