Little Gifts

Most often I visit the cemetery alone. I find comfort in my little private moments at Phoebe's resting spot under the big tree with the branch perfect for a swing. All day I had wanted to get there ...and one thing after another delayed my visit. I want to plant new flowers for her, but that didn't happen today. Instead, seeing a brief window of opportunity, I clipped some of our plentiful rhododendrons, tied with a chiffon ribbon and headed off with Owen, my youngest son ...Phoebe's Godson. We were the only ones there, and as I approached I could see something low to the ground, moving, on the road. I stopped and Owen hopped out. Up ahead was a box turtle, waddling. He was thrilled. "I think Phoebe brought you a present." "She always does" he answered. We made our visit with the turtle crawling over the little plot where her body rests. He really wanted to bring it home. The funny thing was ...that turtle followed Owen all the way back to the car. So amusing. It had gone from running away from him, to following him to the car as if it would hop in and come along.
As we drove away, Owen recounted all the times he's visited Phoebe here, and all the little gifts she brings him. Among them three deer, a frog (not a toad ...a frog! ...there is no water nearby) ...and today a turtle. He is sure they are all from her. So am I.

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

Come to Jesus

Last night I heart this song for the first time ... and, it wrapped me in comfort, assurance ...even promise.
How people live this life without faith and trust in God is impossible for me to imagine.  I know where I would be if I didn't believe ...and it wouldn't be pretty.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PANiveIKVX0

Lots of people need to be washed in these words.
Thanks to my friend who led me to them ....

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

Perfect chaos

I had a thought today about these times we live in, the challenges we face. Since I jumped back into my faith with both feet many years back, I've struggled with raising our children in the faith ...and keeping them there. These are tough times! And though I know every generation of parents makes the same claim, I think its true now.
Our culture rejects God ...plain and simple. No amount or type of mockery is off limits. And yet, those of us who take our faith seriously ...twenty four hours a day ...persevere. It is a battlefield for sure. We take snatches here and there that offer promise, confirmation that we're on the right path. Being a Catholic is demanding ...it does not mimic or fold to the cultural trends, fads, whims. Catholicism is solid and timeless because it is Christ's Church.
Plenty claim to be Catholic and either out of ignorance (due to a lack of teaching the Truth) or a personal, knowing, deliberate rejection of some or all of the treasures of the Church ....are simply not Catholic. Catholics in the truest sense ....the only sense ...don't dabble. This does not claim perfection ...we are all sinners, striving for the ultimate perfection of Heaven.
So while those of us, embracing, accepting and striving to ascend to it all, and trying our best to pass this precious faith on to our kids ...we've got plenty undermining, even undoing what we teach our kids.
I wish for the days when Saturday found the Churches full of people in line for confession ... a time when sin was recognized, something we should take seriously. I wish for the days when every Mass was full and families filled the Church. I long for days when reverence was important and automatic. I long for the days when being a Catholic family didn't attract criticism, ridicule ...when we could call a Catholic organization and they wouldn't whistle when you told them how many kids you have. I long for a simpler time, a time when my kids wouldn't have to face confusions, see their friends skip Mass often because they just didn't get there and then wish it could be them. How I long for a day when God is taken seriously.
But because of all this, this drifting along, raising our children to believe, amid a tiny enclave of friends who are believers, against the backdrop of a foolish world ...because of this chaos ...I'm beginning to believe it is the perfect time to be raising our children in the faith. The grace may not be felt now ...but it is timeless and will carry the Church onward even while the attacks against her continue to grow. The struggle within our own homes to pray and serve God ...is a struggle only because it has weight and merit ....and it too is timeless.
Just a thought for today.

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

Landscape

For more than seven months now I've had rungs to cling to, pulling me along, guiding, leading.  All the benchmarks of what should have been a pivotal time in Phoebe's life.  Fixed hard on the calendar, they would have happened ...classes ended, exams, events ...graduation.  Yesterday would have been her party.  Instead, it was Owen's ...not a bad twist.  For years, Phoebe, to the good or bad, played a key role in the personality and energy of our home.  Phoebe didn't 'go along to get along'.  Phoebe just went.  Often, it coincided nicely with everyone. Often she led us, directed all of us ...where the Christmas tree should go, what time to eat, what to bring to the beach.  I don't offer that as a negative ....she was just a natural leader along with being the oldest daughter of a decent sized family.  If you've ever seen the movie "The Fighting Sullivans," recall the daughter.  She was a bit silent in the movie as I recall, but there is one scene that made us all laugh and think of Phoebe.  The boys are too slow coming down for breakfast one morning.  The mother, irritated reprimands them when they finally arrive at the stair landing.  Somewhat sheepishly the band of brothers march their way to kitchen.  With hands on her hips, their sister scowls at them for their rudeness and as the last walks by ....she gives him a really good shove.  She made her mark, took her place in the reprimand.  That was such a Phoebe move ...so endearing and reliable.  And just like the Sullivans, we too must rebuild our lives after a terrible loss.  And ...we are trying ...really, really trying.
So now, the benchmarks are gone.  We have birthdays to pass through, her one year anniversary, but really, nothing else is certain.  There were no definite plans, no trips to be taken.  I look out over this horizon and I can't see really what might have been.  Sure I can think of many, many different possibilities ...but none of them fixed.
I have to navigate through a different landscape now ....without her ....and without the things that should have been hers.  I am alone.  I miss her.  But I remember sweet moments that offer me some comfort.
One day Phoebe pressured me "Mom, tell me who your favorite child is."  I told her I didn't have a favorite, because I really don't.  I think for most moms, we appreciate different things about different kids at different times. My mother had told me her favorite child was the one giving her the least worry at that particular moment. I get that now.  But Phoebe just kept on me, we were in the car, no escape.  We were all keenly aware of our oldest's departure to the Air Force Academy.  I have a nice easy relationship with him.  We just 'get' each other, our minds work similarly ...our disagreements are not volatile, frustrating.  Phoebe and I had to work at it constantly, while with her dad ...they just clicked.  Words weren't terribly necessary between them, though they did plenty of chatting.  So I assumed, as Phoebe continued to demand I admit my favorite child, she was waiting for me to say Stephen.  Her I was, not looking forward to his leaving ...and he was pleasant, easy going.  I sensed her awareness of my vulnerability, and I assumed her annoyance with me.  Finally, "I know who it is, just tell me" she pleaded and demanded "I know who it is."  I turned to her ...:"who, Phoebe ...who do you think is my favorite child?"  A broad smile widened her face and she tilted her head ..."ME ....I know its me!"  My heart soared ...it was one of the purest moments of my life.   Here she was, my beautiful daughter, constant energy, motion, thinking.  She exhausted me ...not because of conflict, although that was there at times ...but because of her constant living at full speed.  It sounds silly to write that of course I loved her ...sounds trite.  I assumed she would think my favorite was the easiest ...but she knew the value of working hard for something, for someone ...she knew.  And in the joy of that moment, she was indeed my favorite.
I called a friend later that day, one who chases one of her own.  She 'got' my life with Phoebe and ...she simply adored her.  I heard her 'gasp' as I relay the story of the car ride.  Her mind is heading down the same path mine went earlier ..."oh no".  Not because Phoebe wasn't my favorite, but because none of my kids are.  The tapestry of all of them is my favorite.  But we know to a child, in their own minds and hearts they can create something that isn't true or good for them, they can prove to themselves how unloved they are.  I had assumed, and so did my friend, that Phoebe had decided someone particular was my most special child ...and she had.   "What did you do, what did she say?" asked my friend.   "Well,  I asked her who she thought it was,"  I offer.  "She said Stephen, right?"  "No ...she said it was her ....it's Phoebe."  We both laughed and cried long and hard.  How glorious is God to plant in this girl's heart the knowledge of my love for her ...a love that would go to the ends of the earth and back, just for her.  She knew how deeply and fully loved she was.
I have a journey ahead of me.  I am not liking that she is not physically here to be part of that.  Phoebe made a terribly impulsive decision to die.  But in my travel bag, this story is one to nourish me along the way.  I don't wonder if Phoebe knew she was loved.  She knew.  What she did isn't much different from the person who drinks and then drives ...ending up dead, or even worse killing another innocent. It was a fatal choice in a moment of despair.  We all struggle with moments of feeling unloved, alone.  Sometimes the moments are far too long.  For a teenager, far too long can be five minutes.  Scary.  That's another trail of thought to go down one day, but for today as I look out over the horizon, a husband and six kids with me, I don't see her silhouette against the sun.  But I know where she is ...and that's where I'm heading.  And I know, she knows how much I love her.  And I know, as busy as she is right now, working for God, she's waiting. 

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

Graduation

We looked ahead to this day ...her graduation ...her finish.  Phoebe hated high school.  She liked her friends, teachers, her school ...most days anyway.  But what bothered and frustrated her were the walls, the repetition, the formula she knew was repeated every year like a script with little new added each year.  She was bright, inquisitive, creative, curious, opinionated, perceptive.  Phoebe was a thinker ...a real, true thinker.  We had laughed in our living room over the necessity of high school.  She told me her party had to be really, really big.  "You're so, so close, it'll be over before you know it."  It was to be my day too.  After all, it was this girl I had home schooled, chased after, accommodated ...loved.  But today is different than I thought it would be.
Good things took its place.  Mary Claire had  her first ballet recital and in true Mary Claire form, after her group curtsied with her in the middle, she jumped high and with both hands blew wide kisses ...and then again.  Of course drawing chuckles from the audience.
Our friend's baby was baptized ....and we got to see little Grace welcomed into the Church.  These are good things.  Things that Phoebe could have been part of.  She would have laughed at Mary Claire and teased her about her stage presence.  Mary Claire had told me on the way that she was concerned she would be shy.  It was the way she said it that led me to believe no such fear existed for her ...that this was a day under the lights and she was going to get as much out of it as possible.  "Just admit it Mary Claire, you want to be a superstar, huh?" I can hear Phoebe saying to her. 
I don't have much else to say ...thoughts race through my head.  It is a day I find hard to understand God's ways. I do trust Him ...but tell me, how does someone like Phoebe die as she did.  How?
Phoebe ....of ALL people ...not her.  I wonder, does she see me cry, sob, scream for her?  Does she see Owen weep because she will not be there for him at his party for his First Communion?  We will celebrate that tomorrow, the day marked off so many months back for her graduation party.   Together we remember her and he tells me he knows she is right here with him, but he just wants to see her.  Me too.  We're just plain sad, that simple.  Phoebe didn't doddle ...she whipped through life, energy all around her.  Where are you sweet one?  Why did you leave us?  Didn't you know how sad we would be? 
I can't grasp at what I know, what I at times understand and take comfort in.  I can't find God tonight ...His whispers are absent.  Tonight, I just want to hold her, look at her diploma, smile.  Not to be. 
Tomorrow is another day ...another twist and turn in this roller coaster of grief.  For sure tomorrow will be different ....it always is.  Except she still won't be here.  Phoebe will still be gone ...and that will never change.

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

Tips

In my months of grieving, I've experienced and heard from others who've lost a child, some things people say that, really, ...are better left unsaid.  I'll share some here not as a complaint, but as a gentle reminder to all of us ...to tread lightly.  If you have not personally lost a child, don't presume you know what it would be like and how you would feel ...you have no idea ...a good reason to give lots of thanks to God for having spared you this particular burden.

 Things to NOT say or do: (this is not exhaustive!)
1. Imagine what you've been spared.  (how about what we've lost?)
2. Thank God you have other children. (they don't replace the one that's died!)
3. I know exactly how you feel! (really?)
4. I could see problems. (then why didn't you share them, oh wise one?)
5. If you teach your kids the tools to make good decisions, then when things get tough
    or questionable, they'll know what to do and be fine. (hmmm, guess there's quite a few of us
    who dropped the ball on that one!)
6. You must be over it by now.  (why, are you growing bored with my grief?)
7. God gave you this burden because you are special.
8. Well, now you don't have to worry about them.
9. Don't talk about it so much then it won't hurt as bad.
10.  My child would never do such a thing.
11. You should have gotten a second opinion.
12. There must be some serious dysfunction in your home for that to happen.
13. Don't extend an invitation and then not follow through ...that really, really stinks ...and hurts
14. Don't lower your head, or cross the street when you see us heading your way.  We notice!

Parent's who've lost a child spend the rest of their lives wrestling with guilt, no matter how or why their child (ren) died.  We hold ourselves accountable. No one needs to add to that for us ...we've already got plenty.  Hurtful or thoughtless statements only add to it.

Things you can say or do.

1. I'm thinking about you.
2. I can't pretend to know your pain, your loss.
3. Call just to say hello.
4. Share a wonderful story about our child
5. Say our child's name ...often
6. Just listen
7. Be patient ...our days will vary
8. Smile at us
9. Invite us for a cup of coffee

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

Closing the Day

Eighteen white balloons with pink ribbon found the night sky as they were let go, heading upwards to greet Phoebe. A few had notes, messages, for her. They lifted quickly, out of view, up and away. Phoebe loved the night sky ...so we let the balloons go wishing her a happy birthday. It was the final moment of a day that belonged to her in so many ways.
This morning I walked through the doors of her school, her home away from home for three years. It had been a long time since I had seen the faces of her daily companions. It was hard for me to hold back tears, it was her building, her place. She had ownership there ...claimed space. Phoebe's yearbook...ready to be signed ...after their senior breakfast, happening the same day as her birthday. These girls ...quite extraordinary really, a small group, rallied and finished the year after the devastating loss of Phoebe. They made it, through the hurt and the pain ...they finished. Phoebe's class of 2011 ...have made me so proud of them.
Do you remember a few weeks ago, I wrote the story of the dogwood? Well, the class gift to Phoebe are two trees planted in the school yard ...dogwoods. Apparently the conversations revolving around what kind of trees arrived at dogwoods a few days before my post about the one that bloomed in my yard. This is where we see the veil between Heaven and Earth lifted, ever so slightly, inviting us in and revealing the closeness we share with our beloved deceased. The trees are lovely ...truly, truly lovely.
There is simply no way humans could show things in the way God does. Really, He is extraordinary. Who would think the humble dogwood would take such a prominent place in my life.
Later, at Phoebe's Mass, with Owen preparing to receive his First Holy Communion, I kneel and ask Phoebe to watch over Owen, help him appreciate the essence and power of the Eucharist ... to never lose sight of that. Father makes it known the feast day of St. Pascal. I listen close, a bit stunned ...this is the very saint I prayed to for Phoebe for a few years. His feast day is the same as Phoebe's birthday, and I knew that before, but had forgotten. My heart lifts, knowing it is yet another bridge between Heaven and Earth ...and a message that guides me to entrusting Owen to St. Pascal ...a lover of the Eucharist. The Church Triumphant, the Communion of Saints offer so much to us ...if we only pay attention.
These are graces, bridges, revealed through the simple act of trusting in God.
Trusting God has been a choice, deliberate and cognitive. This choice has not been based on emotions ...my own. If I left decisions to my emotions, I would, quite simply, reject God. I don't offer this as an example of extraordinary behavior on my part, but rather years of guidance by the faithful ...the truly faithful, over the years, offering and guiding me to understand that faith is not an emotion. Faith is a choice, a decision that costs us and demands a compliance ...an ascent ...to laws that defy the culture.
I know the gifts I have been given are extraordinary ...are beyond what any human deserves, and yet, I have received so very many that are beyond human capability.
My daughters birthday, eighteen, should be celebrated together. I should carry the cake to her, let her blow out 18 candles. But ...it is not to be. Yet, the blessings I have been given are eternal, breaking beyond the boundaries of this world, bridging me to Heaven. I am striving to head home to Heaven one day. Even though I can see these blessings, this grace that permeates my life, I forget ...and need to be reminded.
But on this day, Phoebe's day, I am reminded once again with the dogwood, that my cross will bloom ...like the cross, made from the dogwood, with suffering and injustice firmly affixed with nails and cruelty ...it blooms ...with hope and promise ...with eternity.
And on this day too, as I watch my son receive for first time, on this day, his godmothers birthday, his first communion ....I am reminded that indeed, the saint I had prayed to for Phoebe to understand the fullness and glory of the Eucharist, is the saint for Owen too. It is as if she has passed this saint on to her brother, so clearly, with love on this very special day.
I am grateful for this bittersweet day, still missing and wishing, but the veil being lifted ever so slightly, assuring me that Phoebe is well, living in the glory of her Creator ...her Redeemer ...the hope of our salvation.

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

Happy Birthday Phoebe!

Hey Phoebe,

Could it really be your eighteenth birthday?
Yes it is! And I so wish I could see you smile as you realized
a long held dream to turn this age ...on this day.
Plans have changed however, and our day will be a bit different
So we'll spend time with you today at Mass ....

And I can tell you a few things I am so very grateful for
1. living by my side, helping out so much ...you changed a lot of diapers and started dinner far more than I can count
2. your love for the outdoors ...the sea,the air, the trees seemed to be part of you
3. jumping in the water as early in the season as possible ...early March was the record. We became more discreet after a women was arrested for letting her children splash in the water one warm April day.
4. singing your lovely songs ...and singing with your sisters ....songs from Sound of Music were my favorite.
5. skateboarding like you owned the road ...barefoot
6. your laughter
7. challenging routines and concepts that didn't challenge anyone, often challenging all the adults around you.
My all time favorite ...your refusal to answer the question "how do you think goldfish feel about their sustainability?"  You found that to be perhaps the most ridiculous question you were ever asked.  I could write so much here about that conversation ...but I laugh silently to myself.
8. sticking up for your classmate in third grade when teachers treated
    him unfairly ...that memory lingered for you
9. watching you run ...you ran all the time when you were little ..and your powerhouse body could sprint as you got older and raced across the soccer field.
10. calling me at lunchtime from school, just so I could hear you talking
     with your friends ...you never had anything particular to say or ask ...just giggles
11. teaching Owen how to ride a bike
12. napping on my bed on holidays ...its where I'd always find you snuggled up ...I loved that!
13. jumping off the cliff at World's End.
14. playing your drum ...your djembe
15. always coming out to help me with the groceries when I returned home from shopping
16. your floppy bun ...how I love the way it jiggled and swayed
17. seeing the top of your head as you came up the stairs
18. quite simply ...that for 17 years, 4 months, 21 and half days ...you were my girl here on earth

There's lots for me to say.  This day is for you ....all  my thoughts and prayers.  Happy Birthday sweet girl ...you are missed.

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

Unspoken

So much to say ...capture, remember ...and so few words that contain what wants to be said. 
We've done well, me, my husband ...my kids.  We lived on, survived.  Our bills are paid, names find themselves on honor roll, baseball is underway along with soccer, swimming, ballet and tennis.  We are living ...and life is full and busy.
It is when we stop, pause ...that we struggle for air, for words.
It has been hard for me as anger races through me, resting here and there, trying to find the blame, answer the question "why?"  There is no right place for that ...no answer.
I sit across from my husband and talk about the future, the kids, us ...  "Where to now?" he asks.
"Let's just go pick up Phoebe, and bring her home."  I sigh
How often had we done just that ...brought her home, picking her up from a friend's, an event?
How simple it all seemed then ...so, so simple.
He smiled back, crooked, pained.  His best friend, his best girl ...the girl with life abundant.  She cannot be picked up, brought home.  I have to remind myself sometimes that he must be hurting so terribly.  Both of us,
so seared by our loss we cannot help each other ...it's all we can do to survive.  What we do have goes to the other kids ...as it should.
There is so much to say and talk about, and yet we can't.  We are steeped in this grief.  It is part of us, who we are now.  It is always there, always the missing and the wishing.  I had so wanted to celebrate her eighteenth birthday with her, her graduation.  I felt as if they were mine too ....I fought to keep pace with her, to catch up.  She kept me short of breath ...she kept me living, grabbing each moment as if it were the last.
I have yet to celebrate an eighteenth birthday with one of my children.  Stephen turned that age when he was at the Air Force Academy.  He was in basic and we had very strict instructions, orders really, to send nothing that would call attention to him.  Staying below the radar was the goal.  And so, it wasn't celebrated.  Who would think I wouldn't make Phoebe's ice cream cake for her, make her Chinese food?  Its so hard to not have what I want so badly.  Things we take for granted ...so intensely important when they're gone, taken from us.
But its not always bad, this heaviness, awareness of the hurt, the big hole in our hearts.  There are moments we forget and it seems she is just out of the room.  She is, Phoebe is in the upper room ...and on her birthday, for a moment, through God's grace ...it is where we will all be ...with her.


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

Duality

There's so much I want to write about tonight. The coming week is full of milestones ...days, moments that should be cause for celebration. This Tuesday Phoebe would have tuned 18, an age she deemed somewhat magical, ushering her into adulthood. On Saturday, the 21st, she would have graduated from high school, bringing an end to her days as a schoolgirl. We could reach and almost touch these days this past early fall. She talked about her graduation party ...it had to be really, really big. She wanted to celebrate.
But now, she's not here to celebrate with us. We can only acknowledge and live these days, these moments and milestones, in our hearts ...and in a supernatural way few people will understand. In this, there is both the tremendous sorrow, and also the joy that belongs to us.
Phoebe's birthday will be celebrated, acknowledged by a Mass offered for her on her birthday. It is the very best way to bring us as close to her as possible ...be united with her through the true presence of Christ's body, blood, soul and divinity in the Eucharist. This is what it means to be Catholic ...to believe and accept this ...the absolute truth of it all, even as it remains a great mystery. What will make it even more bound to Heaven, even more special and grace-filled, is that her Godson, her brother, Owen, will make his First Holy Communion at her Mass. The Eucharist is the bridge between Heaven and earth ...the bridge between us and Phoebe ...us and Christ himself, our Redeemer, our Savior, our Creator.
This is the duality of a life in Christ, a life striving to live for God ...in all ways, at all times. The intimacy of both joy and sorrow, side by side. Humanly, I want Phoebe sitting with me, giving me orders, sharing a quick smile. I want Phoebe to be here to adjust Owen's tie, ask him what kind of cake he wants ...all those details she would claim her own responsibility. I can't have any of that, but I can look to Heaven and have something even greater than my heart's human desire. I can share in the Eucharistic, supernatural miracle and mystery of Christ's True and absolute presence in Holy Communion ...and I can witness the bridge my son crosses for the first time ...that is the tremendous gift of joy for that day, her day, her eighteenth birthday.
There is no other way God could provide a greater gift ....more significant grace. He is all generous, all good ....all we ever need. And He is where my Phoebe is ...and where we will all be, together, on her birthday.

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

Shadows

From Healing After Loss, Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief, Martha Whitmore Hickman:

Each substance of grief hath twenty shadows - William Shakespeare

"They are everywhere-the reminders of our loss.  They richochet off one another, fill the empty spaces of our lives.  My granddaughter comes to visit.  She is just the age - two and a half - my daughter was when she was flower girl in my sister's wedding.  I have saved the dress.  It fits my dark-haired granddaughter as it fit my dark-haired daughter.  My granddaughter tries it on, turns this way and that in front of the mirror.  "I like it," she says.  It is hers.
My daughter lived more than a dozen years after she wore that dress.  And yet ...the dress calls back not only the delight we all took in that wedding, but the death years later of the one who wore the dress.
Later in the visit, I read to this small, wonderful child a story that had been a favorite of my daughter's.  Behind my voice I hear my daughter's voice at two and a half, anticipating the words as we turned each page.  The reminder is a shadow.  It is also sunlight - wonderful, life-giving sunlight - that this precious child who my daughter never saw delights in her dress and in her storybook, and that I am a bridge between these two." (May 10th)

There is no shadow without sunlight behind it. - Martha Whitmore Hickman

I like these thoughts shared here.  Shadows, sunlight ...no sunlight, no shadow.  They go together, much like joy and sorrow.  We can choose the sunlight ...or the shadow ..the joy ...or the suffering.  Most of us tend toward one or the other.  It's a choice to bend towards the one holding promise, not an easy choice, but it is our choice.
Slowly, I see the sunlight emerge from the shadows that have hovered and lurked.  It hasn't been all shadows, which I am so grateful for, but its only natural with the loss of Phoebe that plenty would find there way and settle, making the rays of sun difficult to see.  Slowly, like the dawning of day, small streams of sun weave their way into our  home, our rhythm.  And I see that as this happens ...the bursts of sorrow, anger are sharper, more sudden, fleeting, not lingering ...as if the bud, full and ready to burst, will bring forth the blooms of flowers.  Are we blooming again?  I hope ...and I think, yes.  The shadows pull us back, but we are reaching for the sun.
I can see the blooming trees and wonder how they bloom while my daughter is dead ...or I can fancy my barefoot girl dancing among the blossoms ..enjoying them beyond what I could ever imagine.  And I can smile into the sunlight ...and for today, I will.

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

Another goodbye

Each first has its own personality, its own challenge.  Early this morning, before the patterns of our day began ...I drove to the place where Phoebe's body rests.  Alone, I stood there talking to her, crying, remembering her, loving her ...my oldest daughter.  I told her this was my time with her, but the rest of the day had to be for her sisters and brothers ...that its time to move on as best I can.  I have to give my heart to the living, and that includes even Phoebe, living in her new way.  Tomorrow marks seven months ...still early on in the processing of losing her, I know that.  But today, it had to have more joy than sorrow ...for her sisters, her brothers ...for me and her dad.
I could see her smile and nod ...my spitfire girl.  "Go mom, you should, go ...do that for you,"  I see her swoosh me away with her hands, as she had done many times.  Its that same wrestle moms have leaving their kids.  Some of us remember the first time we ran to the store for a stick of butter, milk ...leaving them alone for ten minutes, maybe less.  Would they survive?  What would happen while we were gone?  What if a crazy person with a gun broke in and kidnapped all of them?  ...all for a stick of butter.  Remember how hard and gut wrenching that was.  We laugh now, but those firsts were so hard.  Waiting at the bottom of the slide, no adult at the top as they totter so high above ...what if they fall off, hit their head, die ...while I'm here for catching them ...what if they never make it to the bottom.  And they do ...make it!  All those first times ...how much they drained from us.  Knowing we must hold on and protect ...and yet let go so they learn to live.  The fine balance is an art form us mothers learn ...finding a comfort zone, finding our way too.
This was my first time I told Phoebe and myself that the joy had to come first.  It didn't feel right in the morning, but tonight, I am certain it is.  The more I do this, choose the joy ...even when I don't feel like it, the more joy will become the fabric of my life, our lives ...even Phoebe's.  It's a big step for me ...a hard one.
Just moments after her death, I forced myself to trust God ...choosing to even when horror raced through me, betrayal, disbelief that a God, supposedly all loving, would allow such a nightmare. I kept choosing to trust ...when it felt completely contrary.  I have done that now for seven months, and it is no longer a choice ...it just is.  I trust God ...in all things ...even the hard things that tear me apart, dismember my soul.  I trust God.  So I know if I reach for something impossible, ridiculous even in a worldly way, and it is right and good, it will one day become part of me.  Trusting God is part of me ...most times.  So too, if I practice choosing joy over the sorrow, rather than the joy and the sorrow, as I have been doing ...then the joy will become the fabric of my life far, far more than the sorrow.  It will take time, but it will  happen ...if I keep choosing.
Phoebe twinkled her way into my life today ...joyfully!  I left her today asking her to hug the Blessed Mother for me, beg her to watch over and protect my kids. Mass concluded with a May procession to crown the Blessed Mother in the garden ...a tradition during the month of May, Mary's month. Today, it was a gift and a gentle reminder that Our Lady, Mother of Most Pure Love, radiates in my life, answers when I call, watches over my Phoebe. 
It was a good 'first'.  A 'right' first Mothers' Day ...as right as it could ever be.  Still knowing, that in God's design and generosity Phoebe was still with me and us, leading us all to brighter days.

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

Happy Mothers' Day

The Most Important Person on Earth

"The most important person on earth is a mother.  She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral.  She need not.  She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral - a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby's body ...The angels have not been blessed with such a grace.  They cannot share in God's creative miracle to bring new saints to Heaven.  Only a human mother can.  Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other creature;  God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation ...What on God's good earth is more glorious than this:  to be a mother?"

-Joseph Cardinal Mindszenty

I love this, it is just a small part of a bigger quote and what is here is so beautiful, but does not touch upon the enormous generosity, openness, readiness and fullness of love that comes in such a unique way from adoptive mothers.  God's creation of souls begins in the womb, but is loved and nurtured even beyond ...in the arms of the day to day mother.

To all the mothers I know, Happy Mothers' Day.  You are my heroes, my beacons ...my ladder!

Love to all of you,  Carolyn

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

Broken Wings

We grapple for reasons to be glad ...eek the joy out of the crevices of our hearts ...us, parent's missing and searching for their children.  Yes, we grapple with gratitude.  Afterall, the reality is we now live with a darkness we cannot shake.  Sure the sun streams in, illuminating our days.  Of course we laugh, appreciate a joke, a moment of surprise.  Pausing, we appreciate the eyes of a child as it wonders and wanders after the bumblebee, the butterfly.  No, we do not sit long-faced, dabbing our tears.  We live ...we are surviving as the tears turn inward flowing through our veins, always returning to our heart to gather oxygen,  Pouring from our eyes less and less, people are relieved, glad for the reprieve from our sorrow.  Smiles adorn our mouths, our eyes.
We are camouflaged.  Who would know, unless you knew.  Our lives are changed ...for all time.  It is not a badge we wear, not an excuse to opt out, gain a free pass ...it simply is, and will always be.
From outside, friends, family, our own surviving children champion us, sometimes annoyed and frustrated that we don't seem 'happier'.  "It is a choice," they say.  And they are right ...but like the bird with a wounded wing, we may want to fly, ever higher, touching the sky where our child now lives, soaring through the clouds, feeling the wind on our face. But try as we might ...our wounded wing, it just does not work ...we simply cannot fly.  It is not a choice ...we are grounded from take off.  And so ...we learn to fly differently, without lift, we see the things around us we wouldn't notice unless wounded.
We count the heads on pillows at night, knowing one is empty ...we force ourselves to be glad for the time when the count was higher, when our child slumbered, breathing ...living ...sleeping warm and so close to us.  Simple really, that head count parents take, at night, bedtime.  We count the missing too ...Imagine.
And so we fight for the reasons to be glad, the small details of our lives.  We find the smallest of things ...and climb, since we cannot fly, we climb, building a ladder of gratitude.  It does not come easy, forced like never before.  "Find the smallest thing" those before us say ....and we pass it on, "find the smallest of things ...start there" we say to the ones so recently hollowed.  Quick nods, "okay", we'll try anything to survive and we'll start by being grateful for the smallest of things ....shoelaces still in sneakers, the key to the car, running water, a soft pillow ...that we don't have ants.  From there, we begin a climb ....and we follow the ones before us ....and we climb.

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

A Poem

Someone handed something to me tonight ....a gentle reminder of the role we play in our children's lives.

God's Lent Child

"I'll lend for you a little while
A child of mine," God said -
"For you to love the while
she lives,
And mourn for when she's dead.

It may be one or two years
Or forty two or three;
But will you, till I call her back,
Take care of her for me?

She'll bring her charms to
gladden you
And - (should her stay be brief) -
You'll have her lovely  memories
As a solace for your grief.

I cannot promise she will stay,
Since ALL from earth return;
But the lessons taught below
I want this child to learn.

I've looked the whole world over
In search of teachers true;
And from the things that crowd
Life's lane - I have chosen you.

Will you give her all your love?
Nor think the labor vain?
Nor hate me when I come to take
This lent child back again?

I fancied that I heard them say
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done.
For joys Thy child will bring
The risk of grief will run.

We will shelter her with tenderness,
We'll love her while we may -
And for the happpiness we've known
Forever grateful stay.

But should Thy angels call her
Much sooner than we've planned,
We'll brave the grief that comes
And try to understand."

-Florence Correa

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

The Dogwood

When I was growing up one of the first flowers of spring were those on the sparse branches of the dogwood tree sitting in our front yard.  It was just off the driveway and no matter what door we went out, it would catch our eye.  I always noticed it, but really thought nothing of it.  It wasn't a very big tree and it was far less lush than the crabapple or the incredible cluster of the cherry tree.  This simple tree inspired no oohs and ahhs, but it never let us down.  It was the first to bloom.  My father was a bit of an amateur arborist, and he taught us quite a bit about the rhythms of nature, when things would bloom, heading off in search of pussy willows beyond our own yard, and cutting branch after branch of whatever was flowering at the time.  But he never cut branches of the dogwood ...the bouquet was always ready for us just outside the door.  Anyone making their First Communion would pose in front of that tree to have a picture taken, so it earned its place in our hearts and our storybooks.  It was steady, sturdy, reliable ....but not nearly as grandstanding as most flowering trees.  I hadn't thought too much of that tree until last year.  In our backyard now is a tree that for the first three springs did nothing.  It annoyed me a bit and I'd decided to cut it down.  There was more I could do with that gardening space, perhaps a lilac, a cherry ....something that made a statement ...delighted me in the spring.  Incredibly, just as I had firmed up my decision to chop down the tree ...it bloomed.  One morning, I noticed buds, tiny ...  Hmm, I thought.  The following morning it had unfurled the tiny buds and there were the flowers of the dogwood.  I was so, so excited and greatly relieved I had not taken the ax to its narrow trunk.  What a gift!  I loved the simplicity of this tree, some branches barely had leaves, never mind blossoms ...and that appealed to me even more, the starkness only augmenting the beautiful simplicity.  Phoebe arrived in the kitchen and joined me at the window.  "See that tree, I was going to cut it down." I said.  "Why?" she asked, not a fan of disturbing nature.  I told her it hadn't bloomed in all the time we had been in this house, and I was totally surprised to see those beautiful flowers now.  She listened to my excitement, knowing how much I love gardens and flowers and flowering trees.  I told her about my childhood dogwood.  She had smiled and laughed, listening to my tales and love of the dogwood.  And that was the end of that, so I thought.  But God and the dogwood had more for me, and God in the richness of His wisdom and His exquisite intimacy waited for the time when I could see the weaving of His grace ...how that day of the dogwood conversation was orchestrated so that I might understand something greater. 
I love finding comments from readers. Most people I know, but sometimes I don't. A few were  left by someone I didn't, but they were very thoughtful.  I did some research and found one of her sites offering beautiful rosaries, handmade with great faith and love. The last one struck me, deep brown beads adorned with Christ on the Crucifix of a dogwood tree.  She shared the story of the dogwood and the Crucifixion of our Savior, a story I had never heard.  I was stunned, re-reading the source, one I favor very much because of its orthodoxy, holding fast to the traditions and truths. It tells of the legend that Christ was put to death on the Cross made from the dogwood tree.  I had never heard this, but when I share this story others have ... I guess I wasn't meant to know until now.

"It is said at the time of the Crucifixion, the dogwood was comparable in size to the oak tree and other monarchs of the forest. Because of its firmness and strength it was selected as the timber for the Cross, but to be put to such a cruel use greatly distressed the tree. Sensing this, the crucified Jesus in His gentle pity for the sorrow and suffering of all said to it: "Because of your sorrow and pity for My sufferings, never again will the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used as a gibbet. Henceforth it will be slender, bent and twisted and its blossoms will be in the form of a cross -- two long and two short petals. In the center of the outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints -- brown with rust and stained with red -- and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see this will remember." - Fisheaters.com

For me, God is letting me know He understands my cross, my loss, and it is united to His own.  My cross will bloom again, redemption and salvation are found only in Cross.  Both joy and sorrow coexist in the Cross ...neither stands alone.  Phoebe and I gazed at our dogwood together, my cross just months away from being given to me ...but we held our gaze ...together, and marveled at that flowering tree ...together. I never would have had that specific conversation with my girl had the tree bloomed as it should.  There would be no excitement to share, no past to the present story, and so, no story to tell...but there was and is. For good reason that dogwood, ever faithful, waited to bloom just for me at that moment in time.
One more grace granted, one more abundant showing of His love for this sad mom, missing, so very, very much one extraordinary daughter.  He lets me know too, that she knows ...she really does, and in some way, she is helping me carry the burden.  
I held a branch in my hand today to see the rust stained tips, edged with crimson ...it blooms again.  The Cross of death became the Cross of life ...for all time, for everyone.  The humble dogwood ...

May you be blessed with the grace of Divine Mercy on this great feast day.

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