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.

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