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.
There are no words that are sufficient. We read or meet and try to share your grief or dry your tears, pray - but we know it's just an umbrella in a tornado.
ReplyDeleteYou, Steve and the children are in my thoughts and prayers.