Our oldest turned twenty one today. Tomorrow, our youngest son turns eight. Kids keep growing, no matter what's happened ...life bumps along. We celebrate without her, and the thought of her is always in my heart and mind. I see here giggle at the silly things that happen and she's been dispatched tonight to trail her brother his first night out as an official adult.
Someone asked me yesterday if I feel her around me. When I answered no, they stared in disbelief "she is all around you ...you really don't feel her?". No I do not. I wish I did. Maybe that's how God wants it for me now, and thats okay ...even though I don't like it. I have to choose God and trust Him and believe in his mercy ...without feeling it, without that confirmation. And believe me, that is a daily struggle. I see God's hand everywhere ...and I believe. But ...I do not feel Him, or her, my girl. I wonder sometimes why others feel her, sense her around them ...certain she is by their side. Why would they get that privilege, that grace, and I don't ...I'm her mother after all ...wouldn't it make sense that I be the one to sense her. In our world, that seems logical, but God transcends logic and asks us, invites us to trust Him even when He seems untrustworthy. I'm trying.
And thought I don't have that grace I so strongly want ...He gives me others.
Tonight, I look at my 6'2" son and marvel at life with him for twenty one years. He calls me "madre" and jokingly bosses me around. He's a pleasant person ...easy to be around ...likable. All he wanted for his birthday was gum ...seriously. Easy enough. Every child brings certain challenges to their parents ...but he's been a fairly simple kid. Had he a different temperament ...I'm not so sure there be as many others under this roof. God's mercy. He knows me well ...He exercised great patience with this reluctant believer.
And as the day passes to give way to another, we begin the celebration of our other son, Owen.
He turns eight. Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal is on the counter for him. We never buy that kind of cereal, so its a real treat for him. He'll be excited when he rises to see that on the counter ...and he will run to me to hurriedly ask if he can have some. Simple pleasures. He's always loved Lucky Charms ...another treat he enjoys when he visits Neenie and Poppa. I thought for sure that would be his request, but I think he only wants that to be their treat ...keep me out of it. He's another easy temperament ...and he survives life
with the girls just fine. But he misses his biggest sister ...he tells me. They were pals. He would run to her whenever she came home. Last year she picked out the bike we gave him for his birthday. I thought it was too sophisticated, but she argued he would grow into it, that he would love it. And she was right ...Outside I heard her encouraging him, giving him tips, assuring him he could master handling this bike ...and he did. I stood at the window watching, marveling at her way with him. Owen had a special spot in her heart. I imagine she keeps a close eye, still, on him. Funny how looking back, I see so many key moments that led us to today ...to life without her. She left some tangible, poignant gifts in the months before her death. Phoebe left her mark.
Tonight I said goodbye to my first nurse boss. She's leaving for a new job that will use her gifts and talents in a very special way. I'll miss her. We talk about God every time I see her. Not too many people can say that about their boss. Not two months into starting my new career as a nurse, Phoebe died. I had to tell her I wasn't coming in to work. It was a hard call to make ...as they all were. I've believed for a while now that her purpose at this place was for me ...and my family. No other place, no other person in her position would have given me the care she gave to me ...and has continued to over these many months. Whatever I needed she gave to me. She's recognized the hole left in my life and the struggle to survive, while others around me so often seem to have forgotten ...or assume this loss has healed, or should have anyway. This woman owed me nothing ....and yet her sensitivity has been offered over and above what I ever would have expected. I needed to take time off from my already small schedule ...but I needed to hang on to it, for the simple distraction ...to give back, and care for others outside of my immediate life ...to see others struggling and hurting ...and help them. I've come to know first hand the way to bear my own wound is to help another's. Some won't let you help them ...there is always a reason why they can't be helped, or the help isn't quite right, or its not the right time or place ...a thousand reasons why no one could ever help them. But those that do let you, know they are helping you too. It's an amazing thing really ...and this woman who hired me knew this somehow, and choreographed a routine that helped us all ...an amazing gift.
So though I recognize God in all these moments ...I don't feel Him. Much like I don't feel or sense Phoebe. Just like the Eucharist ...I don't feel or sense Jesus is present ...but He is ...truly present ...body, blood, soul and divinity. And I don't need to feel Him or sense Him to believe ...to know its true.
All these little things, are big things really ....tender mercies from God. I see and believe ...even though I don't feel it. Believing isn't feeling, and feeling isn't believing. God is there whether I choose to believe or not ...it's the choosing that matters ...choosing God. And when I do ...choose God ...the tender mercies become obvious.
Happy Birthday to my boys ...the two finest I know!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Empty
How do I give everything to God, when I feel like I've got nothing to give?
I'm trying hard to be grateful, to smile, to be kind.
What I would really like to do is shrivel up in a ball and cry.
This doesn't get easier, it only gets different.
I'm holding on ...and counting on God holding on tight to me.
I know He is ...even though it doesn't feel like it, but He is.
Today, I give Him my weakness, my sadness, my broken heart.
Today, I ask Him to hold Phoebe for me and let her know how much
I love her and miss her.
Today, I give Him all my confusion and frustration.
Today, I give Him this pathetic mother, who feels so lost and incapable of raising
her children, but trusting He will guide her.
Today, I beg for the day to pass so the sun might burn brighter tomorrow.
Today, I say thank you even though I don't feel thankful.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I'm trying hard to be grateful, to smile, to be kind.
What I would really like to do is shrivel up in a ball and cry.
This doesn't get easier, it only gets different.
I'm holding on ...and counting on God holding on tight to me.
I know He is ...even though it doesn't feel like it, but He is.
Today, I give Him my weakness, my sadness, my broken heart.
Today, I ask Him to hold Phoebe for me and let her know how much
I love her and miss her.
Today, I give Him all my confusion and frustration.
Today, I give Him this pathetic mother, who feels so lost and incapable of raising
her children, but trusting He will guide her.
Today, I beg for the day to pass so the sun might burn brighter tomorrow.
Today, I say thank you even though I don't feel thankful.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Kick-off
My friend barely lands at Logan and we are packed and on our way. Falmouth Heights ...our first summer expedition every year ...for many. First, it was just me and two little ones ...and now more. My friend lives in Colorado ... but many of her roots are here. I've known her a good long time ...back when I had pimples and crushes, back when fair isles sweaters, clogs and 'chinos' were the fashion ...way back. We were fifteen when I met her and three of us became fast, lifelong friends. Kelly moved more than a decade ago ...and we were sad. Life changes, relocations, separations of friends, mix things up ...force us to find our way, unbalanced at first. It was hard when she left. I remember Phoebe, Olivia and Hannah with me to say goodbye to them in their living room. Similar temperaments, we chatted. laughed ...and when the eyes filled ...she simply left. It was too much, this life change. But what we knew and what held it together for me was 'the cottage.' Her parents bought this well loved, cozy (read between the lines) little house across from the common when we were in high school ...and now, married with her own family, it was hers. Every summer she would come back ...and every summer, I pack my car with clothes and kids, food and a beach chair ...and we go. For years, Phoebe has been with me. This summer she wasn't. Years ago, the cottage was renovated. A new kitchen, bedroom and bathroom replaced the part of the house that was sloping. The astro-turf from the 40 yard line was ripped up, hardwood floors gleam now. The pantry no longer opens to the outside. We all loved the change ...except Phoebe. "Why did you change it ...it was so perfect the other way." We'd all laugh, tell her she was crazy. She didn't like the familiar to change ...and she had so many memories in the mold infested part of that house. She was too little to have experienced having to walk sideways past the shower to get to the toilet, as an adult. We had to move carefully in that space.
Phoebe loved this friend ...a lot. They laughed all the time together. She knew she was well loved ....no phoniness between them. Her oldest daughter and Phoebe are the same age. While Phoebe would perform for everyone, come up with the next best adventure ...Annie would laugh and go along, her quiet demeanor excited by her friends non-stop enthusiastic exploration. It was Phoebe who led.
The weather forecast was not promising ...still bathing suits, beach chairs are packed. It is Kelly ...we go to the beach rain or shine ...and we did. Thunder rumbles in the distance ...the kids scream and run out, grabbing towels, twizzlers, laughing at past times. "This always happens with you ...we get caught in a monsoon EVERY time" they say to my friend. We look out at the water, knowing that if Phoebe were here, she would still be in the water ...."I laugh at thunder! See if it dares to approach!" she might yell laughing from the water. I'm counting heads ....she is missing. I am missing her.
We laugh ...silly things happen ...we are here in this place with our friends ...a good place. Annie remembers last time she and Phoebe rented a tandem bike and rode into town ...Phoebe leading them through the MacDonald's drive thru, ordering, pulling up to the window ...laughing hysterically, pleased with her humor, her daring. I hadn't heard that story and somehow now revel in the delight I know Phoebe found in their adventure. I'm glad we can talk about her ...she is still part of our conversation.
Time to go ....our turn here done for now. Lots of hugs ...see you soons. We leave.
It is always the leaving I find hard. Doing the things Phoebe was such a part of are not hard. I find them comforting somehow ...still sensing her. After all, they would not be what they are to us had she not been part of them ...these traditions, moments, memories. But when I drive away, it descends, the tears pool and I fight them back. But this time, as I stop behind another car, lost in my own thought of her, I hear a screech and then the BAM as the car lurches forward. We've been hit from behind ...and thankfully we are all okay. The other driver, a cut arm, air bags gone off, windshield smashed. I am on the sidewalk, no damage to my car or us ...and all I want to do is scream at the very top of my lungs "My daughter is dead." It is all so surreal. How can I have such fun, be at such peace ....only to be slammed to the pits of despair. "What do you need?" they ask me. I want to tell them "I need Phoebe back." How can life be so cruel? How can a mother lose a daughter? How can the world go on and not know that Phoebe is dead?s
I've been so blessed. Most of my friends are incredibly sensitive and understand the nuances of this dance of grief. They place no demands on me ...let me soar and dip as often as I must. I find comfort in them. They are here ...even in their own chaos of life ...they think to ask me, check in ...and listen. They ask about my kids ...want to know ...this unwelcome burden they bear. But ...on the side of the road, no one knows how being hit only confirms that Phoebe is dead and pushes me further into the sadness. It will pass, I know, for a bit. The finality of death offers no finality of missing, grief, sorrow.
We share our stories of our days, my husband and I, and then we pause "there were those moments, you know" he says. Yes, I do. Our daughter, our beloved, high-spirited, grand adventurer of a daughter is dead ...and her moment of darkest despair is months away, well behind her. If only she had known. If only she had waited. If only she were here. We force gratitude ...reach to grasp the moment, be in it, show our kids that life is good, that we are still happy. It is the hardest work as a mother I've ever had to do ...show my kids how to reach for joy, when it is the very last thing you want to do.
It is the best I can do for this family, myself, for God. It is these moments that become all about trusting Him, following His ways, striving for gratitude ....and believing there will be a day again, when my eyes rest on my beautiful daughter ...and will never have to leave.
Our summer now traditionally "kicked-off" with our annual visit ...it's official, Phoebe's just not coming back.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Phoebe loved this friend ...a lot. They laughed all the time together. She knew she was well loved ....no phoniness between them. Her oldest daughter and Phoebe are the same age. While Phoebe would perform for everyone, come up with the next best adventure ...Annie would laugh and go along, her quiet demeanor excited by her friends non-stop enthusiastic exploration. It was Phoebe who led.
The weather forecast was not promising ...still bathing suits, beach chairs are packed. It is Kelly ...we go to the beach rain or shine ...and we did. Thunder rumbles in the distance ...the kids scream and run out, grabbing towels, twizzlers, laughing at past times. "This always happens with you ...we get caught in a monsoon EVERY time" they say to my friend. We look out at the water, knowing that if Phoebe were here, she would still be in the water ...."I laugh at thunder! See if it dares to approach!" she might yell laughing from the water. I'm counting heads ....she is missing. I am missing her.
We laugh ...silly things happen ...we are here in this place with our friends ...a good place. Annie remembers last time she and Phoebe rented a tandem bike and rode into town ...Phoebe leading them through the MacDonald's drive thru, ordering, pulling up to the window ...laughing hysterically, pleased with her humor, her daring. I hadn't heard that story and somehow now revel in the delight I know Phoebe found in their adventure. I'm glad we can talk about her ...she is still part of our conversation.
Time to go ....our turn here done for now. Lots of hugs ...see you soons. We leave.
It is always the leaving I find hard. Doing the things Phoebe was such a part of are not hard. I find them comforting somehow ...still sensing her. After all, they would not be what they are to us had she not been part of them ...these traditions, moments, memories. But when I drive away, it descends, the tears pool and I fight them back. But this time, as I stop behind another car, lost in my own thought of her, I hear a screech and then the BAM as the car lurches forward. We've been hit from behind ...and thankfully we are all okay. The other driver, a cut arm, air bags gone off, windshield smashed. I am on the sidewalk, no damage to my car or us ...and all I want to do is scream at the very top of my lungs "My daughter is dead." It is all so surreal. How can I have such fun, be at such peace ....only to be slammed to the pits of despair. "What do you need?" they ask me. I want to tell them "I need Phoebe back." How can life be so cruel? How can a mother lose a daughter? How can the world go on and not know that Phoebe is dead?s
I've been so blessed. Most of my friends are incredibly sensitive and understand the nuances of this dance of grief. They place no demands on me ...let me soar and dip as often as I must. I find comfort in them. They are here ...even in their own chaos of life ...they think to ask me, check in ...and listen. They ask about my kids ...want to know ...this unwelcome burden they bear. But ...on the side of the road, no one knows how being hit only confirms that Phoebe is dead and pushes me further into the sadness. It will pass, I know, for a bit. The finality of death offers no finality of missing, grief, sorrow.
We share our stories of our days, my husband and I, and then we pause "there were those moments, you know" he says. Yes, I do. Our daughter, our beloved, high-spirited, grand adventurer of a daughter is dead ...and her moment of darkest despair is months away, well behind her. If only she had known. If only she had waited. If only she were here. We force gratitude ...reach to grasp the moment, be in it, show our kids that life is good, that we are still happy. It is the hardest work as a mother I've ever had to do ...show my kids how to reach for joy, when it is the very last thing you want to do.
It is the best I can do for this family, myself, for God. It is these moments that become all about trusting Him, following His ways, striving for gratitude ....and believing there will be a day again, when my eyes rest on my beautiful daughter ...and will never have to leave.
Our summer now traditionally "kicked-off" with our annual visit ...it's official, Phoebe's just not coming back.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Summer Start
The longest day of the year ... When this day started, I like the pace ahead of me. Too much on my plate, too much time away from my kids. but what could I do? The demands eased as I examined what was absolutely necessary, what was not. And as some things came off my plate and the end of my day loosened I remembered what day it was. I would have a few extra moments as it was Summer Solstice. Time with my kids ...could happen today, after all.
I live in a perfect place, I really do. Our backyard is World's End, a 400 acre nature preserve that stretches out over Hingham Bay. It is filled with beautiful nooks and crannies with stunning views. It looks out past the bay in the open Atlantic ...and it reaches towards Boston, surrounded by water on three sides. The Harbor Islands make an interesting landscape, uninhabited but well explored. Their is no view that doesn't delight the eyes. I would argue it is one of the most beautiful places in the world ...and it's my backyard.
I feel close to Phoebe when I'm there. I know her feet walked the same trails, saw the same sights ...took in the beauty of this space. It is this familiar that God holds me and promises me I will see her again.
Every year on this particular day there is a celebration atop the highest point ...Planters Hill. Boston stands majestic out in the Harbor and the son sets over it, blazing this city in a golden hue. We pack our picnics and make our way there. Music plays while the kids run and play.
Several times I have been here on this night. The boys explore, searching for adventure, while the girls, getting older sit in a circle and giggle. They are growing, noticing who is cute, who looked their way ...giggling. Simple happiness and peace settles among them ..an ease that comes from having grown together. Our families are long on girls, shorter on boys ...the girls dominate. My girls move closer as the real big girls arrive. I'm glad to see them ...they are smiling, laughing. Two of them are Phoebe's best friends ...and they are here. I wonder if they could ever know what it means to me to look at them, see them smile. The simple way they had with Phoebe ...was so lovely to watch. I miss it. I miss that trio. For now, I'm glad to see them smiling.
I wonder about God's plan, not because I question it, but because I am surrounded by such beauty ...this place, these children, this life. And I wonder how Phoebe could have stepped out. I recall something told to me earlier today, a professional "...often with teenagers, it never makes sense, comes from nowhere, would pass in moments ...just this time she didn't wait long enough."
There are days when I wish it would all end ...now. I am not alone, I know. And thats not meant as a threat, it's just that the weight of it all can be so overwhelming, so tiring, unbearable. But there are days like this, when no tears have fallen, and the air gently crosses my face, and my children smile bright ....and we eat sandwiches atop a hill that overlooks Boston, and watch the sun dip low ...until only a sliver is left. It is a day when the complicated unravels just a bit, enough for me not to worry so much. It's a day I can be glad for ...and I am. Its a day I'm reminded why I trust God so much.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I live in a perfect place, I really do. Our backyard is World's End, a 400 acre nature preserve that stretches out over Hingham Bay. It is filled with beautiful nooks and crannies with stunning views. It looks out past the bay in the open Atlantic ...and it reaches towards Boston, surrounded by water on three sides. The Harbor Islands make an interesting landscape, uninhabited but well explored. Their is no view that doesn't delight the eyes. I would argue it is one of the most beautiful places in the world ...and it's my backyard.
I feel close to Phoebe when I'm there. I know her feet walked the same trails, saw the same sights ...took in the beauty of this space. It is this familiar that God holds me and promises me I will see her again.
Every year on this particular day there is a celebration atop the highest point ...Planters Hill. Boston stands majestic out in the Harbor and the son sets over it, blazing this city in a golden hue. We pack our picnics and make our way there. Music plays while the kids run and play.
Several times I have been here on this night. The boys explore, searching for adventure, while the girls, getting older sit in a circle and giggle. They are growing, noticing who is cute, who looked their way ...giggling. Simple happiness and peace settles among them ..an ease that comes from having grown together. Our families are long on girls, shorter on boys ...the girls dominate. My girls move closer as the real big girls arrive. I'm glad to see them ...they are smiling, laughing. Two of them are Phoebe's best friends ...and they are here. I wonder if they could ever know what it means to me to look at them, see them smile. The simple way they had with Phoebe ...was so lovely to watch. I miss it. I miss that trio. For now, I'm glad to see them smiling.
I wonder about God's plan, not because I question it, but because I am surrounded by such beauty ...this place, these children, this life. And I wonder how Phoebe could have stepped out. I recall something told to me earlier today, a professional "...often with teenagers, it never makes sense, comes from nowhere, would pass in moments ...just this time she didn't wait long enough."
There are days when I wish it would all end ...now. I am not alone, I know. And thats not meant as a threat, it's just that the weight of it all can be so overwhelming, so tiring, unbearable. But there are days like this, when no tears have fallen, and the air gently crosses my face, and my children smile bright ....and we eat sandwiches atop a hill that overlooks Boston, and watch the sun dip low ...until only a sliver is left. It is a day when the complicated unravels just a bit, enough for me not to worry so much. It's a day I can be glad for ...and I am. Its a day I'm reminded why I trust God so much.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Tribute
Eternal rest grant unto Fr. Murphy O' Lord and may perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace.
Please pray for Father Murphy, his accusers and the lawyer who never looked back.
For sure, their are priests who committed outrageously heinous crimes. Pray for their souls.
But far too many priests have been falsely accused ...their lives destroyed.
I met Fr. Murphy and though I can't claim to know him, some of our most beloved friends are close to him.
I trust them, their judge of character, their faith. They simply loved him as a man, as a priest.
Fr. Murphy was cleared of all charges ...but it was too late.
Please pray for him.
He had everything taken from him.
http://articles.boston.com/2011-06-15/news/29661744_1_priest-mitchell-garabedian-father-murphy
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Please pray for Father Murphy, his accusers and the lawyer who never looked back.
For sure, their are priests who committed outrageously heinous crimes. Pray for their souls.
But far too many priests have been falsely accused ...their lives destroyed.
I met Fr. Murphy and though I can't claim to know him, some of our most beloved friends are close to him.
I trust them, their judge of character, their faith. They simply loved him as a man, as a priest.
Fr. Murphy was cleared of all charges ...but it was too late.
Please pray for him.
He had everything taken from him.
http://articles.boston.com/2011-06-15/news/29661744_1_priest-mitchell-garabedian-father-murphy
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Mary's Sorrow, part IV
Pretty soon after I started praying the rosary, I found myself part of a mother's group. We gathered every week and learned about our faith. I learned more in that first month than I recalled learning in all my years of Catholic education. I learned about the treasures of the Church ...the sacraments, the virtues, the devotions ...so many things I never knew. I felt quenched not having realized how parched I was. Also, there was the exchange where mothers shared their lives and how they lived their faith day to day, striving to serve God, their husbands and children. The reality of raising children to adulthood with a solid faith intact seemed daunting. I was disappointed to learn their was no magic formula. Entrusting our children to Our Lord, living a sanctified life in every bit of our day, or at least, trying to would at least set an example that would stay with our kids for a lifetime. Even in rejection, they would have the Truth to come back to. To this day, I fall back on so much of what I learned there. It was in that group that I forged some of the most important friendships in my life. It was in that group that Phoebe was loved, along with my other children. These women delighted in my Phoebe. Two of these women met me at the hospital that dreaded day. Another descended with her husband and kids to literally save us from drowning in despair and disbelief. And many, many others who come from this incredible group of women. All women striving to love God and serve Him ...that's it ...in all the simplicity and complexity ...that is simply what drives them.
They taught me how to cultivate and foster meaningful friendships ...and so I gained even more friends over the years including my rosary group, a force in my life that is like a limb, my own leg or arm. When Phoebe died the rosary group established 'base camp,' took painful tasks out of our hands and made our burden lighter. These friendships combined continue to save us, restore us, offer hope and love. These friendships reflect the love God has for all of us. These friendships are women who live their faith, have accepted all the treasures of the Church ...even in hostile territory. None of them cower from the Truth. All of them defend the faith, defend God when it would be far more comfortable and simpler (in the short run) to stay quiet and go along with 'cafeteria Catholicism." All a treasure, and more ...they are the backbone of our lives.
I'm not lucky ...I'm blessed, extraordinarily so with the friendships I have. It is highly unusual for one person to have the kinds of friendships I do ...but that's how God has blessed me. They've kept me on the path to genuine faith, to live a Catholic life that strives to 'love, know and serve God." The first time I heard that teaching, it was tossed out and laughed at. While the room chuckled, I sat there star struck. It made perfect sense. Why was I learning this for the first time at the age of thirty five? It made perfect sense to me and has since become a mainstay in my life.
My point here is that I learned so much about my faith and how to authentically live it through these many women. Why are any of us deprived 'the basics'? Why has our faith been so watered down that it really is just about feelings ...the warm and fuzzies, the high fives "you're so great," the "you can believe whatever you want" has left the Churches empty, has left Christ alone ...and has led far too many people astray.
When I first learned these treasures, they were hard. I searched for loopholes, ways I could revise the teachings ...or even ignore them. As I prayed the rosary every day, clarity came, a desire to serve God became rooted in my life ...and I surrendered somewhat to the Truth. Some would argue that I just gave in to rules and regulations ...but in reality, I just became less of me and my own pride, and started opening to receive His grace ...His amazing grace. And that has not been an easy road with no cost. It makes us stick out when we just want to remain invisible. But that's part of the cost of following Christ.
Even in our own Churches and with our own priests and the people sitting in the front pews, large families (more than two or three kids) are gawked at as if we are an oddity. In reality, we are the backbone, the future, the guardians of the Church. Catholics are open to life ....we accept the lives God desires us to have ...and we don't prevent that from happening. Is that easy? No! But it is trusting and obedient and graceful. Plenty will tell us that's the 'old' teaching. But the teaching of the Church is timeless ...the Truth is timeless. We don't get to pick and choose when God gets to act in our lives. When we do ...we put our souls in jeopardy ...for eternity. No kidding. But that is a tough thing to accept. Trust me, I know, I spent years thinking I could modify whatever I wanted to make it work for my life, my agenda, my pleasure. I had to take a hard look at who I was and why I accepted or rejected my faith ...and what it asked of me.
But now, as I try to pass along the faith and teaching to my kids ...they see a world where most Catholics they know laugh at what the Church teaches ...and that is a very, very sad state we are in.
Hope and trust, hope and trust ...that through all this craziness of the culture and the wreckless abandonment of faith ....God will protect and preserve them.
These women friends of mine ...have children, and our children have grown together and forged friendships that will last ...and keep each other closer to God. That is my great hope.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
They taught me how to cultivate and foster meaningful friendships ...and so I gained even more friends over the years including my rosary group, a force in my life that is like a limb, my own leg or arm. When Phoebe died the rosary group established 'base camp,' took painful tasks out of our hands and made our burden lighter. These friendships combined continue to save us, restore us, offer hope and love. These friendships reflect the love God has for all of us. These friendships are women who live their faith, have accepted all the treasures of the Church ...even in hostile territory. None of them cower from the Truth. All of them defend the faith, defend God when it would be far more comfortable and simpler (in the short run) to stay quiet and go along with 'cafeteria Catholicism." All a treasure, and more ...they are the backbone of our lives.
I'm not lucky ...I'm blessed, extraordinarily so with the friendships I have. It is highly unusual for one person to have the kinds of friendships I do ...but that's how God has blessed me. They've kept me on the path to genuine faith, to live a Catholic life that strives to 'love, know and serve God." The first time I heard that teaching, it was tossed out and laughed at. While the room chuckled, I sat there star struck. It made perfect sense. Why was I learning this for the first time at the age of thirty five? It made perfect sense to me and has since become a mainstay in my life.
My point here is that I learned so much about my faith and how to authentically live it through these many women. Why are any of us deprived 'the basics'? Why has our faith been so watered down that it really is just about feelings ...the warm and fuzzies, the high fives "you're so great," the "you can believe whatever you want" has left the Churches empty, has left Christ alone ...and has led far too many people astray.
When I first learned these treasures, they were hard. I searched for loopholes, ways I could revise the teachings ...or even ignore them. As I prayed the rosary every day, clarity came, a desire to serve God became rooted in my life ...and I surrendered somewhat to the Truth. Some would argue that I just gave in to rules and regulations ...but in reality, I just became less of me and my own pride, and started opening to receive His grace ...His amazing grace. And that has not been an easy road with no cost. It makes us stick out when we just want to remain invisible. But that's part of the cost of following Christ.
Even in our own Churches and with our own priests and the people sitting in the front pews, large families (more than two or three kids) are gawked at as if we are an oddity. In reality, we are the backbone, the future, the guardians of the Church. Catholics are open to life ....we accept the lives God desires us to have ...and we don't prevent that from happening. Is that easy? No! But it is trusting and obedient and graceful. Plenty will tell us that's the 'old' teaching. But the teaching of the Church is timeless ...the Truth is timeless. We don't get to pick and choose when God gets to act in our lives. When we do ...we put our souls in jeopardy ...for eternity. No kidding. But that is a tough thing to accept. Trust me, I know, I spent years thinking I could modify whatever I wanted to make it work for my life, my agenda, my pleasure. I had to take a hard look at who I was and why I accepted or rejected my faith ...and what it asked of me.
But now, as I try to pass along the faith and teaching to my kids ...they see a world where most Catholics they know laugh at what the Church teaches ...and that is a very, very sad state we are in.
Hope and trust, hope and trust ...that through all this craziness of the culture and the wreckless abandonment of faith ....God will protect and preserve them.
These women friends of mine ...have children, and our children have grown together and forged friendships that will last ...and keep each other closer to God. That is my great hope.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Stanley Cup
Sometimes we step into the secular world ...and watch hockey.
Okay, okay ...those who know me are rolling their eyes. I am not a sports fan. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, I do. But ...I am not one to watch a game ...unless it's the Red Sox and they are playing in the World Series. Or, the Bruins, playing for the Stanley Cup. But, I do on occasion assume the role of biggest fan (just for fun!) and enjoy listening to my kids inform me there is no way they believe I am a true fan ...and others, get confused because they've never known me to have any such interest, so the sudden enthusiasm and loyalty confuses them. Phoebe would chuckle and tell me that everyone knew I was lying ..."but go ahead, do what you need to do" she would say.
My husband plays hockey and loves the game. We only have basic cable so he can't usually watch the Bruins from home ...so he doesn't watch them. It's just not how we spend our time. We did, however, watch tonight's game ...and I even watched from start to finish. (I know some of you really don't believe me, but I did ...I did fold laundry while watching ...so I felt a bit productive).
I'm really stupid when it comes to game rules ...they just don't stay in my brain, so I rarely have any idea of what's going on ...but I did, just a bit, tonight. I enjoyed watching and listening to my husband as he cringed and shouted ..and finally threw his hands up in victory. "I asked Phoebe to help them win" he told me as the prized Stanley Cup made its way around the rink. She always thought we should be more of a 'watching sports on TV kind of family.' But even when we tried, she too would wander away.
See, there is never a moment without her. I watch the game with a view of her bedroom door and imagine her in and out, commenting, commanding, directing ...and I miss her. Her clothes are still intermingled with the laundry as her sisters wear her shirts. I still fold them thinking it is for her ...and in a way it still is.
But life has gone on ...enough that we can make a big deal out of tonight's game, and enjoy without the tug of pain. At least for a little while.
Life does go on ...as unbelievable as that seems to me as I write, knowing how very much I am missing ...it can still go on ...and does.
It takes a while, but slowly, life begins to bloom once again ...to be savored in the wisp of a moment, even while the heartache holds tight.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Okay, okay ...those who know me are rolling their eyes. I am not a sports fan. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, I do. But ...I am not one to watch a game ...unless it's the Red Sox and they are playing in the World Series. Or, the Bruins, playing for the Stanley Cup. But, I do on occasion assume the role of biggest fan (just for fun!) and enjoy listening to my kids inform me there is no way they believe I am a true fan ...and others, get confused because they've never known me to have any such interest, so the sudden enthusiasm and loyalty confuses them. Phoebe would chuckle and tell me that everyone knew I was lying ..."but go ahead, do what you need to do" she would say.
My husband plays hockey and loves the game. We only have basic cable so he can't usually watch the Bruins from home ...so he doesn't watch them. It's just not how we spend our time. We did, however, watch tonight's game ...and I even watched from start to finish. (I know some of you really don't believe me, but I did ...I did fold laundry while watching ...so I felt a bit productive).
I'm really stupid when it comes to game rules ...they just don't stay in my brain, so I rarely have any idea of what's going on ...but I did, just a bit, tonight. I enjoyed watching and listening to my husband as he cringed and shouted ..and finally threw his hands up in victory. "I asked Phoebe to help them win" he told me as the prized Stanley Cup made its way around the rink. She always thought we should be more of a 'watching sports on TV kind of family.' But even when we tried, she too would wander away.
See, there is never a moment without her. I watch the game with a view of her bedroom door and imagine her in and out, commenting, commanding, directing ...and I miss her. Her clothes are still intermingled with the laundry as her sisters wear her shirts. I still fold them thinking it is for her ...and in a way it still is.
But life has gone on ...enough that we can make a big deal out of tonight's game, and enjoy without the tug of pain. At least for a little while.
Life does go on ...as unbelievable as that seems to me as I write, knowing how very much I am missing ...it can still go on ...and does.
It takes a while, but slowly, life begins to bloom once again ...to be savored in the wisp of a moment, even while the heartache holds tight.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Hope
I think about that mom who lost her child not even a week ago ...and I remember. I've said before there are no human words that capture the depths of that time ...even moments, but only moments, now. For a time though it is only darkness ...no air, no light ...no hope. There is no direction that is best, no direction to go in. You can't be still, yet you cannot rest. It is the agony of being skinned alive ...and truly, death seems imminent. How will you possibly survive?
I think about that mom ...so grateful to have the buzz of people tending to her, her family. Like any mother, you look around and measure the grief, the well being of the kids alive. It keeps you from complete despair. But it is a fog and a loneliness. You've lost your child ...and everything, absolutely everything, changes. A life you knew is over. A life that was built so gradually, little moment by moment, to become your identity, your bedrock, is shattered in an instant ...smashed ...far, far beyond repair. How could something that took a lifetime to build ...slip away in seconds. It can.
What would I say to this mother? I would assure her I had no idea the depth of her loss ...her loss. I know my own. I stretch for words here ...of course we both have lost a child at a tender, promising age. She lost her child. I will never know what it is like for her to lose that child, just as she can never know what it is like for me to have lost Phoebe. And in some odd way, confirming that is comforting ...I think, because it confirms the importance, the overwhelming value of that particular child created by God. How could we possibly know the loss of each other ...and yet know and travel a very similar journey? She will miss the gestures, the way the hair fell, the curve of the elbow, the fingers.
I would tell her she will live, survive ...and that it will get better, in that she will learn the tricks of making the journey. She will learn to make her grief fit ...so that she can smile again. I am still learning the tricks, and will be for a while yet. But I've learned enough now ...to know that I am learning.
I would tell her that I am in constant prayer for her ...and that one day maybe we will meet and she can tell me everything about her precious one ...and I will listen over and over as she delights in remembering ...and cries in the loss, the horrible, horrible loss.
And I will tell her that God saved me ...through prayer, and friends, incredible friends who've stayed and have demanded nothing from me, placed no more burden on me. I will tell her to trust, just simply trust even when her heart cannot ...and for good reason.
I will tell her how much I love her ...without knowing her ...because I do ...
I will tell her it will be okay ...because it will.
And I will tell her she doesn't have to hope right now ...because I will do that for her, just as so many before me had done for me.
And, I will tell her nothing ...because losing a child is a language beyond words ...and all I will need to say is that I lost Phoebe at 17, my girl. And that will be enough.
Please pray for this mom ...so new to her grief.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and this child and may perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
I think about that mom ...so grateful to have the buzz of people tending to her, her family. Like any mother, you look around and measure the grief, the well being of the kids alive. It keeps you from complete despair. But it is a fog and a loneliness. You've lost your child ...and everything, absolutely everything, changes. A life you knew is over. A life that was built so gradually, little moment by moment, to become your identity, your bedrock, is shattered in an instant ...smashed ...far, far beyond repair. How could something that took a lifetime to build ...slip away in seconds. It can.
What would I say to this mother? I would assure her I had no idea the depth of her loss ...her loss. I know my own. I stretch for words here ...of course we both have lost a child at a tender, promising age. She lost her child. I will never know what it is like for her to lose that child, just as she can never know what it is like for me to have lost Phoebe. And in some odd way, confirming that is comforting ...I think, because it confirms the importance, the overwhelming value of that particular child created by God. How could we possibly know the loss of each other ...and yet know and travel a very similar journey? She will miss the gestures, the way the hair fell, the curve of the elbow, the fingers.
I would tell her she will live, survive ...and that it will get better, in that she will learn the tricks of making the journey. She will learn to make her grief fit ...so that she can smile again. I am still learning the tricks, and will be for a while yet. But I've learned enough now ...to know that I am learning.
I would tell her that I am in constant prayer for her ...and that one day maybe we will meet and she can tell me everything about her precious one ...and I will listen over and over as she delights in remembering ...and cries in the loss, the horrible, horrible loss.
And I will tell her that God saved me ...through prayer, and friends, incredible friends who've stayed and have demanded nothing from me, placed no more burden on me. I will tell her to trust, just simply trust even when her heart cannot ...and for good reason.
I will tell her how much I love her ...without knowing her ...because I do ...
I will tell her it will be okay ...because it will.
And I will tell her she doesn't have to hope right now ...because I will do that for her, just as so many before me had done for me.
And, I will tell her nothing ...because losing a child is a language beyond words ...and all I will need to say is that I lost Phoebe at 17, my girl. And that will be enough.
Please pray for this mom ...so new to her grief.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and this child and may perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Ups and Downs
Its funny how we can find ourselves in such deep despair, for no known reason, and then just hours later things change. How can we go from being so outraged and stunned by something and then ...see the glimmer of grace? It is one of the strangest journeys I have ever taken ...a walk of clarity and cloudiness at the same time. Events around us push buttons, bring buried thoughts to the surface, makes us ask God a few more questions.
Yesterday was a big "why?" day for me. I couldn't make sense, get out of my own way ...I just plain out missed Phoebe and there was just nothing to budge that. Pentescost Sunday ...I wanted some grace. A friend meets me for a walk, and just listens. We both stop and take in the mother duckling followed by her eight or nine chicks. It wasn't the grace I had in mind ...but it was adorable. I'm glad I have friends of faith, I can talk to them with the supernatural view I try to live in. God is present in all things, I believe that, know it. So then what was He thinking when Phoebe died? Yesterday, I can't wrap my head around it. I can't find my way. The walk helps. My friend listens, has her own questions, this woman who loved my daughter well. Why does God seemingly make things so hard? Some days it feels like He sees the suffering, the pain ...and instead of consolation pours on more painful writhing.
But that's the world view, not the supernatural one. We live in a world that seeks constant comfort, pleasure, consolation. Our world is pretty far away from the foot of the Cross. So how much of me wants to be united with Christ in the Resurrection, but not the Cross. Do I really want to consider the enormity of Christs suffering, His pain, His human loss? But more ...do I really want to contemplate my own wretchedness that put Him there? my own selfishness? My own sin (I know, a very unpopular word)? Isn't it so much easier to just go straight to the Risen Christ, so that I don't have to look at the pain He suffered for me? And if I can ignore that, aren't I justified in feeling aghast that God has allowed such a loss in my life?
But to truly live in Christ, I have to be willing to suffer ...to accept the struggle as a love letter from God, an invitation into intimacy with Him. If I am healed, than how can I be open to His grace? Isn't it likely I won't recognize my need for God in my life. That's what makes our dismissal, ignoring of sin so very dangerous. If I have wounds, if I am hurting, weak and needy, and reach out, look up to Heaven ...grab hold of the devotions and pledge my trust in God ...the grace will come. Pentecost comes ...the Holy Spirit descends and lights the lanterns that lead me to safety.
Yesterday, I had to find my way ...plow through the inner chaos of missing my girl. I begged, pleaded and cried most of the day ...and the lanterns came in the ducklings, the friend, the walk. Today, I can be grateful once again ...for the life I had with Phoebe, truly a one of a kind girl ...my girl.
A favor please: My friend, Meg, has a birthday tomorrow. Can you help me send her a bouquet of roses by saying a Hail Mary for her ...thank you!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Yesterday was a big "why?" day for me. I couldn't make sense, get out of my own way ...I just plain out missed Phoebe and there was just nothing to budge that. Pentescost Sunday ...I wanted some grace. A friend meets me for a walk, and just listens. We both stop and take in the mother duckling followed by her eight or nine chicks. It wasn't the grace I had in mind ...but it was adorable. I'm glad I have friends of faith, I can talk to them with the supernatural view I try to live in. God is present in all things, I believe that, know it. So then what was He thinking when Phoebe died? Yesterday, I can't wrap my head around it. I can't find my way. The walk helps. My friend listens, has her own questions, this woman who loved my daughter well. Why does God seemingly make things so hard? Some days it feels like He sees the suffering, the pain ...and instead of consolation pours on more painful writhing.
But that's the world view, not the supernatural one. We live in a world that seeks constant comfort, pleasure, consolation. Our world is pretty far away from the foot of the Cross. So how much of me wants to be united with Christ in the Resurrection, but not the Cross. Do I really want to consider the enormity of Christs suffering, His pain, His human loss? But more ...do I really want to contemplate my own wretchedness that put Him there? my own selfishness? My own sin (I know, a very unpopular word)? Isn't it so much easier to just go straight to the Risen Christ, so that I don't have to look at the pain He suffered for me? And if I can ignore that, aren't I justified in feeling aghast that God has allowed such a loss in my life?
But to truly live in Christ, I have to be willing to suffer ...to accept the struggle as a love letter from God, an invitation into intimacy with Him. If I am healed, than how can I be open to His grace? Isn't it likely I won't recognize my need for God in my life. That's what makes our dismissal, ignoring of sin so very dangerous. If I have wounds, if I am hurting, weak and needy, and reach out, look up to Heaven ...grab hold of the devotions and pledge my trust in God ...the grace will come. Pentecost comes ...the Holy Spirit descends and lights the lanterns that lead me to safety.
Yesterday, I had to find my way ...plow through the inner chaos of missing my girl. I begged, pleaded and cried most of the day ...and the lanterns came in the ducklings, the friend, the walk. Today, I can be grateful once again ...for the life I had with Phoebe, truly a one of a kind girl ...my girl.
A favor please: My friend, Meg, has a birthday tomorrow. Can you help me send her a bouquet of roses by saying a Hail Mary for her ...thank you!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Please Pray
Another mother begins her grief. I'm hearing of a child that has died. I don't know any details ...and it wouldn't be my place to tell anyway. But surely, someone's child is dying everyday. When we hear of one closer to home ...it hits hard. I don't mean to dismiss the father or the siblings. I know the hurting ...the profound sense of despair and loss ...like no other. Pray for them ...hard please. Pray for these parents ...these children who begin a life they never imagined.
See ...the thing is, when a child dies ...the hope we know does too. For sure there are burdens that are heavy, beyond us, unbearable most moments of our lives...burdens that seem to rip us apart and want to destroy us. But as long as their is life ...in this life ...their is hope, chance for a miracle, chance for things to be different. But ...when a child dies ...their will be no more miracles for them, for us. No chance to hold that child, fight with that child, laugh ...no chance to forgive, forget, build new memories together ...no chance to renew, restore. It is all gone. Done.
It takes time and grace and a willingness to interiorly change our perception and perspective so that we might survive ...and grab hold of a hope far different than the kind we once knew.
Please pray for this family ...and pray they find the people who can best help them live.
And pray for their child. Please, just pray.
And I'll pray that this never happens to you.
St. Raphael, pray for us!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe ...and this child who has just died ...and may perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
See ...the thing is, when a child dies ...the hope we know does too. For sure there are burdens that are heavy, beyond us, unbearable most moments of our lives...burdens that seem to rip us apart and want to destroy us. But as long as their is life ...in this life ...their is hope, chance for a miracle, chance for things to be different. But ...when a child dies ...their will be no more miracles for them, for us. No chance to hold that child, fight with that child, laugh ...no chance to forgive, forget, build new memories together ...no chance to renew, restore. It is all gone. Done.
It takes time and grace and a willingness to interiorly change our perception and perspective so that we might survive ...and grab hold of a hope far different than the kind we once knew.
Please pray for this family ...and pray they find the people who can best help them live.
And pray for their child. Please, just pray.
And I'll pray that this never happens to you.
St. Raphael, pray for us!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe ...and this child who has just died ...and may perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, June 10, 2011
New Normal
Fourth birthday celebrated today without Phoebe, one of them being hers. But today it was her dad's. "Is it okay, without her." I nod at the seat across from me, her spot, to his right. He sighs, this dad ..."it's okay." But I can only imagine the heaviness he must feel. They would have likely checked the surf, maybe taken a bike ride, jumped off the cliff into the icy water, certainly had an intense conversation that would end in laughter, a hug. She would have overseen my construction of the strawberry shortcake, reviewed and critiqued my preparation ...helped with the menu. I miss that! Her bossiness ...keeping an eye on the details, making sure my timing was right. She would have been next to me, in our kitchen ...She just would have been.
Our days feel more 'normal' every day. They call it the 'new normal.' It means we are becoming accustomed to the hole in our lives. It never fills ...it still gapes, but we are adapting, able to sing and celebrate ...even with the missing. New normal ...an odd phrase, I think.
It will all be okay ...really it will, it already is.
Three girls, long-haired, happy faces scamper along the road, looking for a break to cross. No one is behind me, no one oncoming. I stop and wave them across ...just to see, just to remember the laughing face that would race and run and play ...even at seventeen, with her friends ...with Brigid, Deirdre, Allysa ...they would play ...and their faces would light up. I just wanted to see what that was like again ...and for a few seconds, as the heads turned and smiled and waved at me ...I could see her, my girl. Why couldn't it have stayed that simple? Why did we have to leave the 'normal' and head towards the 'new normal'? What was so wrong with what we had?
I won't know the answer to that for a long, long time. But I know that God let her go home to Him for a reason that will make perfect sense to me when my own time comes.
The other day I posted the song by Rascal Flatts, 'Why'.
I got a lot of calls, emails, texts from people who knew Phoebe. One of them said "I know they didn't write that song for you, or Phoebe ...but you need to write to them, that song is about her." Phoebe was an amazing girl. She wrote and sang her own songs, entertaining many, many people in a variety of places. She shined bright and burned with intensity. She died at seventeen. The only lines in that song that don't match her are the rounding third base and heading home. Phoebe never played softball or baseball, but you should have seen her on the soccer field ...she played like she lived, with intensity. I can see her now just coming home from an away game, uniform on, school colored ribbons in her hair, beaming about what a great game they had ...even though they lost. Only days later she would die.
I do keep asking that question 'why?'. I know I always will. But what takes over now is a burning desire to help people know her.
I think we all have stereotypes of teenagers who end their lives. I certainly did. Phoebe didn't fit that profile, that stereotype. I'm finding out more and more this is true for most. Her suicide is incongruent with her life. It doesn't make sense. I'm working on a piece that will pull this more together as the statistics climb with our beloved children seeing no reason to live in this world.
I want her to be remembered for who she was and all the great things she did with her life, with her time here with us. I don't want her to be remembered for her final act ...her impulsive lapse in judgement. I want her to be remembered for all the wonderful things she added to this world, to others' lives ...and for all the wonder that she was.
Life without her isn't easy. It's quite sad actually ...but like I said, we're learning to accommodate, learning to live a full rich life to give glory to God ...the only one that really matters.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Our days feel more 'normal' every day. They call it the 'new normal.' It means we are becoming accustomed to the hole in our lives. It never fills ...it still gapes, but we are adapting, able to sing and celebrate ...even with the missing. New normal ...an odd phrase, I think.
It will all be okay ...really it will, it already is.
Three girls, long-haired, happy faces scamper along the road, looking for a break to cross. No one is behind me, no one oncoming. I stop and wave them across ...just to see, just to remember the laughing face that would race and run and play ...even at seventeen, with her friends ...with Brigid, Deirdre, Allysa ...they would play ...and their faces would light up. I just wanted to see what that was like again ...and for a few seconds, as the heads turned and smiled and waved at me ...I could see her, my girl. Why couldn't it have stayed that simple? Why did we have to leave the 'normal' and head towards the 'new normal'? What was so wrong with what we had?
I won't know the answer to that for a long, long time. But I know that God let her go home to Him for a reason that will make perfect sense to me when my own time comes.
The other day I posted the song by Rascal Flatts, 'Why'.
I got a lot of calls, emails, texts from people who knew Phoebe. One of them said "I know they didn't write that song for you, or Phoebe ...but you need to write to them, that song is about her." Phoebe was an amazing girl. She wrote and sang her own songs, entertaining many, many people in a variety of places. She shined bright and burned with intensity. She died at seventeen. The only lines in that song that don't match her are the rounding third base and heading home. Phoebe never played softball or baseball, but you should have seen her on the soccer field ...she played like she lived, with intensity. I can see her now just coming home from an away game, uniform on, school colored ribbons in her hair, beaming about what a great game they had ...even though they lost. Only days later she would die.
I do keep asking that question 'why?'. I know I always will. But what takes over now is a burning desire to help people know her.
I think we all have stereotypes of teenagers who end their lives. I certainly did. Phoebe didn't fit that profile, that stereotype. I'm finding out more and more this is true for most. Her suicide is incongruent with her life. It doesn't make sense. I'm working on a piece that will pull this more together as the statistics climb with our beloved children seeing no reason to live in this world.
I want her to be remembered for who she was and all the great things she did with her life, with her time here with us. I don't want her to be remembered for her final act ...her impulsive lapse in judgement. I want her to be remembered for all the wonderful things she added to this world, to others' lives ...and for all the wonder that she was.
Life without her isn't easy. It's quite sad actually ...but like I said, we're learning to accommodate, learning to live a full rich life to give glory to God ...the only one that really matters.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Eight Months
So ...we place our eighth post today. The exact days aren't the hard ones ...except for the sixth month, its the days leading to it ...the physiologic response that takes over, tells you somethings very, very wrong. Its not until you look at the calendar that you realize why the physical, emotional spiral is plunging you because your body remembers ...and your subconscious shouts out "SOMETHING IS TERRIBLY WRONG." But the actual day, same for holidays, is not 'hard.' It just is.
What I know is that we have done remarkably well. Books, professionals, other parents who've lost a child, indicate that we are doing extremely well ...further along than most would be. Why? I know the answer ....and that is God. We live an imperfect faith in this home ...but it is our central, pivotal, foundational purpose. Is it easy? Are you kidding? No, it is extremely hard in a world that mocks God.. We live in a world that freely pushes Him to the side all the while planning to spend eternity with Him. When someone can explain the logic of that to me ...I'm all ears.
I'm grateful that my children are not under a blanket of burden ...they have a strong sense and understanding of where Phoebe is, her role, still, in our family. Will we struggle ...of course, we do daily. So why then are we doing so much better than anyone expected? Because God is central ...even when our kids come up against that ...as they do and will in normal development ...we hold firm. God doesn't get 'adjusted' to accommodate emotional, developmental or cultural changes and preferences. God is eternal ...not fashionable. As annoying as that might be to people at times, it leaves a solid, reliable, comforting source of safety and joy. So, in our house ..we hold fast to God's teachings and trust from that the grace will come ...even when the teachings are hard, seemingly impossible because they require so much we feel beyond us. I've experienced enough in my life with God in the center to know, all I have to do is decide to orient my heart to accept Him, and follow Him ...and He provides the grace and the opportunity to get me on my way.
To live for God is a very purposeful decision ...not based on emotion ...despite what we may naturally think. Of course emotions become part of our faith ...but if they are the base, it will falter, shrivel, disappoint, even lead you astray.
Like many teenagers, Phoebe came at us from all angles challenging the faith, examining, disputing, embracing, rejecting. We ran the whole race with her, but what we never did (and believe me there were times when watering it down, adjusting to be more attractive would have been so so easy) was deny or minimize our faith. We only offered her the Truth, and she knew that. The hard part for her and for many ...including me, is to hold on to that in a world that flat out rejects and mocks the very source of their life ...God. Some might suggest that had we 'adjusted' a few things here or there to make them a bit more attractive to a teenage girl, she might still be alive. No. Simply not true. Phoebe knew the Truth and what she could not reconcile was the contrast between her home and the world that made fun of families like hers ...Think a bit about that. If you knew Phoebe, had we 'adjusted' anything ..she would have called our bluff before a full sentence was out of our mouths.
So, at eight months what do I see. I see we've survived with real moments of joy sprinkled through. I see my life is forever changed and that I am a different person than I was eight months ago. I see a world that is relentlessly lying to our kids at a critical age and time. I see a culture that flat out rejects and mocks God. I see a purpose to hold fast to my faith.
Mostly, I see six beautiful faces each day that laugh and fight, sing and cry. I see six miracles living, fully. Even amidst the missing, the remembering ...there is joy. I see a man who lost his companion, his adventure girl, his surfing partner, still riding the waves of Nantasket ...and I know he is remembering. I see a man smiling through a broken heart, giving his best shot to the other kids, his life. And I see a mom in the mirror with more lines on her face, but a purpose in her heart. I see a mom, who prayed for patience for years on end, only to be learning and living the greatest lesson in patience she ever could ...waiting, yearning, hoping for that day when I can place my hand in hers and see her beautiful eyes twinkling back at me.
I see a family, who by the grace of God, is surviving ...and I am profoundly grateful for that.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
What I know is that we have done remarkably well. Books, professionals, other parents who've lost a child, indicate that we are doing extremely well ...further along than most would be. Why? I know the answer ....and that is God. We live an imperfect faith in this home ...but it is our central, pivotal, foundational purpose. Is it easy? Are you kidding? No, it is extremely hard in a world that mocks God.. We live in a world that freely pushes Him to the side all the while planning to spend eternity with Him. When someone can explain the logic of that to me ...I'm all ears.
I'm grateful that my children are not under a blanket of burden ...they have a strong sense and understanding of where Phoebe is, her role, still, in our family. Will we struggle ...of course, we do daily. So why then are we doing so much better than anyone expected? Because God is central ...even when our kids come up against that ...as they do and will in normal development ...we hold firm. God doesn't get 'adjusted' to accommodate emotional, developmental or cultural changes and preferences. God is eternal ...not fashionable. As annoying as that might be to people at times, it leaves a solid, reliable, comforting source of safety and joy. So, in our house ..we hold fast to God's teachings and trust from that the grace will come ...even when the teachings are hard, seemingly impossible because they require so much we feel beyond us. I've experienced enough in my life with God in the center to know, all I have to do is decide to orient my heart to accept Him, and follow Him ...and He provides the grace and the opportunity to get me on my way.
To live for God is a very purposeful decision ...not based on emotion ...despite what we may naturally think. Of course emotions become part of our faith ...but if they are the base, it will falter, shrivel, disappoint, even lead you astray.
Like many teenagers, Phoebe came at us from all angles challenging the faith, examining, disputing, embracing, rejecting. We ran the whole race with her, but what we never did (and believe me there were times when watering it down, adjusting to be more attractive would have been so so easy) was deny or minimize our faith. We only offered her the Truth, and she knew that. The hard part for her and for many ...including me, is to hold on to that in a world that flat out rejects and mocks the very source of their life ...God. Some might suggest that had we 'adjusted' a few things here or there to make them a bit more attractive to a teenage girl, she might still be alive. No. Simply not true. Phoebe knew the Truth and what she could not reconcile was the contrast between her home and the world that made fun of families like hers ...Think a bit about that. If you knew Phoebe, had we 'adjusted' anything ..she would have called our bluff before a full sentence was out of our mouths.
So, at eight months what do I see. I see we've survived with real moments of joy sprinkled through. I see my life is forever changed and that I am a different person than I was eight months ago. I see a world that is relentlessly lying to our kids at a critical age and time. I see a culture that flat out rejects and mocks God. I see a purpose to hold fast to my faith.
Mostly, I see six beautiful faces each day that laugh and fight, sing and cry. I see six miracles living, fully. Even amidst the missing, the remembering ...there is joy. I see a man who lost his companion, his adventure girl, his surfing partner, still riding the waves of Nantasket ...and I know he is remembering. I see a man smiling through a broken heart, giving his best shot to the other kids, his life. And I see a mom in the mirror with more lines on her face, but a purpose in her heart. I see a mom, who prayed for patience for years on end, only to be learning and living the greatest lesson in patience she ever could ...waiting, yearning, hoping for that day when I can place my hand in hers and see her beautiful eyes twinkling back at me.
I see a family, who by the grace of God, is surviving ...and I am profoundly grateful for that.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Miracle
Yesterday, feeling heavy ...weighted by the loss, I made my way to see my people. Had I never become a nurse, I wouldn't know them. Phoebe was a big fan of my pursuit, so I know I am doing something that she appreciated ...desired for me.
Every one of my people delights me, but like anything, I have deeper affections for some. All of life is orchestrated and designed by God. There are no accidents in life ...God knows the story He has allowed to be written. It's not that He decides the bad ...just that we take the free will He has given us and use it to cooperate with Him or run as far away as possible ...or ...to just forget about Him, for a moment or a lifetime. Part of the story He unfolds for me includes the people I meet through my work.
A big smile always greets me when I enter this particular home. Limited by disease, she always rises and makes her way to me. We sit at her dining table. "How are you?" she always asks, her speech compromised, not easy for her. "How are the children?" she asks. These are not courteous questions, her eyes tell me they come from deep in the heart. Yesterday, I choke back the tears. "Thursday marks her eighth month." She nods ...and then shakes her head. "What is your day?" I ask her. "The fourteenth." She knows where I am. We don't choose to focus on these 'dates'. But, our bodies, minds and hearts know in every cell. There is a response we have no control over. Years have passed for this woman ...and still, she knows and describes the cycle I now know so well. It is this woman who told me her story two days before Phoebe died. It is this woman who welcomes me weekly into her home to care for her ...only to minister to me with very few words, but a full and generous heart that knows the sorrow of losing a daughter. We just sit, no words need to be exchanged ...and then she says the most precious thing I could have heard yesterday, or most days for that matter. And it is a struggle, each word an enormous effort, stealing air and energy from her ...
"When she died, I told my minister after many months, that I was praying for a miracle. I didn't know what I would do with her gone, I just wanted it to be different. I was praying so hard for that miracle. And then my minister said to me 'you've already had it, you've already gotten your miracle.' I asked him what he meant and he said 'you got your miracle the day she was born.'"
We both nodded, knowing that indeed the miracle was in the holding of that newborn baby. And even earlier, the knowing of a baby to be born. Our babies ....all miracles. Each and every baby, planned, unplanned ...every baby created by God is a miracle. Phoebe was and is a miracle ....she was an answer to my prayer long before the words of that prayer ever left my lips.
Life is precious and precarious ...each and every life worthy, precious, miraculous ...
Like my friend, I already got my miracle. I'll try to remember that and thank God for His incredible generosity.
I am Phoebe's mother. Phoebe's mother. If you had the joy of knowing her ...you have a sense of what my words can't capture. My miracle was that I am her mother. And for this very moment, that's enough to keep me going and smiling.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Every one of my people delights me, but like anything, I have deeper affections for some. All of life is orchestrated and designed by God. There are no accidents in life ...God knows the story He has allowed to be written. It's not that He decides the bad ...just that we take the free will He has given us and use it to cooperate with Him or run as far away as possible ...or ...to just forget about Him, for a moment or a lifetime. Part of the story He unfolds for me includes the people I meet through my work.
A big smile always greets me when I enter this particular home. Limited by disease, she always rises and makes her way to me. We sit at her dining table. "How are you?" she always asks, her speech compromised, not easy for her. "How are the children?" she asks. These are not courteous questions, her eyes tell me they come from deep in the heart. Yesterday, I choke back the tears. "Thursday marks her eighth month." She nods ...and then shakes her head. "What is your day?" I ask her. "The fourteenth." She knows where I am. We don't choose to focus on these 'dates'. But, our bodies, minds and hearts know in every cell. There is a response we have no control over. Years have passed for this woman ...and still, she knows and describes the cycle I now know so well. It is this woman who told me her story two days before Phoebe died. It is this woman who welcomes me weekly into her home to care for her ...only to minister to me with very few words, but a full and generous heart that knows the sorrow of losing a daughter. We just sit, no words need to be exchanged ...and then she says the most precious thing I could have heard yesterday, or most days for that matter. And it is a struggle, each word an enormous effort, stealing air and energy from her ...
"When she died, I told my minister after many months, that I was praying for a miracle. I didn't know what I would do with her gone, I just wanted it to be different. I was praying so hard for that miracle. And then my minister said to me 'you've already had it, you've already gotten your miracle.' I asked him what he meant and he said 'you got your miracle the day she was born.'"
We both nodded, knowing that indeed the miracle was in the holding of that newborn baby. And even earlier, the knowing of a baby to be born. Our babies ....all miracles. Each and every baby, planned, unplanned ...every baby created by God is a miracle. Phoebe was and is a miracle ....she was an answer to my prayer long before the words of that prayer ever left my lips.
Life is precious and precarious ...each and every life worthy, precious, miraculous ...
Like my friend, I already got my miracle. I'll try to remember that and thank God for His incredible generosity.
I am Phoebe's mother. Phoebe's mother. If you had the joy of knowing her ...you have a sense of what my words can't capture. My miracle was that I am her mother. And for this very moment, that's enough to keep me going and smiling.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Road Post
Forever, the days leading up to the ninth of each month, will find a sinking sorrow ...that day, October 9 is the post in the road from which all other posts are measured. We're about to place our eighth in our unending trail.
This early morning, we woke, unexpectedly sad and anxious. One of our girls, quietly, without knowing the state of my heart, played this song ...and it is just what I needed ...helped me put words to the free fall I was in ...and more importantly led the tears to spill.
Phoebe was such a unique ...incredible girl. The missing is so so hard ...and the unanswered questions haunt me at times ...while at others I just find joy in the having of her for seventeen years. But like anything good ...I want more.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3_85GXsKqk
God is the only answer in this world ...and why, oh why, oh why ...do so many adults lead our kids away from that truth ....that's my 'why' question for the day.
As hard as it is today ...I choose joy for the day ...gratitude for the power of her life that steamrolled through our lives for far too short a time ...but still, she lived ...with a zest few will ever know ....she lived.
I miss you girlie ...my Pheebs ...why?
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
This early morning, we woke, unexpectedly sad and anxious. One of our girls, quietly, without knowing the state of my heart, played this song ...and it is just what I needed ...helped me put words to the free fall I was in ...and more importantly led the tears to spill.
Phoebe was such a unique ...incredible girl. The missing is so so hard ...and the unanswered questions haunt me at times ...while at others I just find joy in the having of her for seventeen years. But like anything good ...I want more.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3_85GXsKqk
God is the only answer in this world ...and why, oh why, oh why ...do so many adults lead our kids away from that truth ....that's my 'why' question for the day.
As hard as it is today ...I choose joy for the day ...gratitude for the power of her life that steamrolled through our lives for far too short a time ...but still, she lived ...with a zest few will ever know ....she lived.
I miss you girlie ...my Pheebs ...why?
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Mary's Sorrow, part III
Back to where the rosary beads led me home.
Those 'mumbo jumbo' beads took full possession of my mind. Thank God I had the image of them threaded through my mother's fingers. I stood with my son, preparing for his First Holy Communion. We were in the church with all the other second graders and the lovely, older woman who ran the preparation. She opened this gathering with a Hail Mary. I stumbled and struggled to get the words out. Of course I knew this prayer. I was raised and educated in the Catholic faith, steeped and stewed in the prayers. But here I was, stunned by my own inability to pray a prayer I had been raised on. My own negligence, rejection of what it meant to be Catholic stared me down. I was devastated ...humiliated beyond belief. Quick as lightening I was keenly aware of how far and away I had strayed. In that moment, my lack of authenticity revealed and raw, I made a choice. I would live a genuinely Catholic life and all that meant ...even while not knowing what it all meant. I was broken inside, embarrassed, ashamed. I remembered those beads ...the rosary. Bead by bead I began my journey back to my faith. They became my lifeline, my life saver. It was a start ...and has stayed a staple of my day. Many, many rosaries were prayed with Phoebe ....a memory that gives me such great comfort.
My life had to change, I knew that. Still, I thought I could pick and choose what I preferred about the faith. After all, I could think for myself. I didn't need anyone to tell me how to live a life in Christ. I would stay Catholic because it was what I was born into, but that would simply be the framework and I could "personalize" it, make it 'fit' for me.
Because I hadn't gone to Mass regularly for quite some time I hadn't noticed all the changes. But as I came back regularly ...and with a great desire to make God a full part of my life, it felt different. As a child I had loved the tabernacle placed in the middle of the sacred space. It was like a little house full of great mystery. Their was a quiet and reverence as a child that added to the awe and mystery. As the priest elevated the host above him, I knew something really important was happening. Now, I had to search for the tabernacle, and in my local parish at the time, when I found it, it was tucked behind a wall, separate from the altar. Dingy with cobwebs draped from the ceiling, there were empty boxes stacked next to it and a pot with a gargoyle on it. Surely this couldn't be the tabernacle ...but it was. I knew I was wrong to stray so far from the faith, but I also knew something else was terribly wrong, something here in a dark corner where Mary's son had been pushed aside ...it was plain wrong. Even a lapsed Catholic, full of pride and self deception could see. This was Christ's home, a place of reverence. If we really believed Christ to be King of kings ...wouldn't he be in a more prominent place ...and wouldn't we not let Him get dusty, ignored. Might we not put gargoyles nearby? But maybe I was wrong, and so I stayed silent. I kept praying those beads, relearning the mysteries ...entering into the life of Christ. And as I continued, discernment came and a zest for protecting and defending the truth began to grow. I thought of how the Blessed Mother must feel with her son relegated to the back room with the storage. And for the first time I really began to understand her sorrow. It made me sad. But then I also began to realize that it was a mere reflection of how I had tucked Christ away, in the back corner of my heart and soul. I had rejected Christ ...not in a big and obvious way. In a big and gradual, barely perceptible tiny choice by tiny choice I had shunned Him.
I knew I had a climb ahead of me ...and I am still climbing, still discerning, still learning. I just kept on saying my rosary every day ...and I have been led.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Those 'mumbo jumbo' beads took full possession of my mind. Thank God I had the image of them threaded through my mother's fingers. I stood with my son, preparing for his First Holy Communion. We were in the church with all the other second graders and the lovely, older woman who ran the preparation. She opened this gathering with a Hail Mary. I stumbled and struggled to get the words out. Of course I knew this prayer. I was raised and educated in the Catholic faith, steeped and stewed in the prayers. But here I was, stunned by my own inability to pray a prayer I had been raised on. My own negligence, rejection of what it meant to be Catholic stared me down. I was devastated ...humiliated beyond belief. Quick as lightening I was keenly aware of how far and away I had strayed. In that moment, my lack of authenticity revealed and raw, I made a choice. I would live a genuinely Catholic life and all that meant ...even while not knowing what it all meant. I was broken inside, embarrassed, ashamed. I remembered those beads ...the rosary. Bead by bead I began my journey back to my faith. They became my lifeline, my life saver. It was a start ...and has stayed a staple of my day. Many, many rosaries were prayed with Phoebe ....a memory that gives me such great comfort.
My life had to change, I knew that. Still, I thought I could pick and choose what I preferred about the faith. After all, I could think for myself. I didn't need anyone to tell me how to live a life in Christ. I would stay Catholic because it was what I was born into, but that would simply be the framework and I could "personalize" it, make it 'fit' for me.
Because I hadn't gone to Mass regularly for quite some time I hadn't noticed all the changes. But as I came back regularly ...and with a great desire to make God a full part of my life, it felt different. As a child I had loved the tabernacle placed in the middle of the sacred space. It was like a little house full of great mystery. Their was a quiet and reverence as a child that added to the awe and mystery. As the priest elevated the host above him, I knew something really important was happening. Now, I had to search for the tabernacle, and in my local parish at the time, when I found it, it was tucked behind a wall, separate from the altar. Dingy with cobwebs draped from the ceiling, there were empty boxes stacked next to it and a pot with a gargoyle on it. Surely this couldn't be the tabernacle ...but it was. I knew I was wrong to stray so far from the faith, but I also knew something else was terribly wrong, something here in a dark corner where Mary's son had been pushed aside ...it was plain wrong. Even a lapsed Catholic, full of pride and self deception could see. This was Christ's home, a place of reverence. If we really believed Christ to be King of kings ...wouldn't he be in a more prominent place ...and wouldn't we not let Him get dusty, ignored. Might we not put gargoyles nearby? But maybe I was wrong, and so I stayed silent. I kept praying those beads, relearning the mysteries ...entering into the life of Christ. And as I continued, discernment came and a zest for protecting and defending the truth began to grow. I thought of how the Blessed Mother must feel with her son relegated to the back room with the storage. And for the first time I really began to understand her sorrow. It made me sad. But then I also began to realize that it was a mere reflection of how I had tucked Christ away, in the back corner of my heart and soul. I had rejected Christ ...not in a big and obvious way. In a big and gradual, barely perceptible tiny choice by tiny choice I had shunned Him.
I knew I had a climb ahead of me ...and I am still climbing, still discerning, still learning. I just kept on saying my rosary every day ...and I have been led.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Cute Story
It's late. All the kids are in bed, asleep after a long evening of dancing. Our niece was married today. A first 'event' so to speak that included the whole family since losing Phoebe. We had fun ... a lot of fun. There wre moments for sure when her absence was gaping, but she was there in her own way. Mary Claire was the flower girl. And, in true Mary Claire fashion, she was darling. Gibson, another five year old was the ring bearer. He was simply adorable. They were both part of the photo shoot. Gibson's mother is lovely, and the two of us stood close by making sure there were no disruptions. Mary Claire and Gibson became friends, looking out for each other, laughing, running ...enjoying the day. Mary Claire set the tone right away.
Gibson: 'Do you want to play?"
MC: 'okay!'
Gibson: "Well, do you want to play tag ...or we could play house?"
MC: "Let's play tag"
Gibson: "We could play house"
MC: scrunches her face "No, I don't want to play house, I don't really know you at all ...Let's play tag!"
Off they run playing tag. I found that dialogue so funny, and so wise on Mary Claire's part. Five years old, good girl! Keep it light. And Gibson was a perfect little gentlemen. He came to me and said, "I can help you with anything, that's what I'm supposed to do. I can fix things, help you carry things, get things for you ...whatever you need."
I hope all my girls are always that wise ...they're far more likely to find perfect gentlemen if they just don't play house with boys they don't really know.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Gibson: 'Do you want to play?"
MC: 'okay!'
Gibson: "Well, do you want to play tag ...or we could play house?"
MC: "Let's play tag"
Gibson: "We could play house"
MC: scrunches her face "No, I don't want to play house, I don't really know you at all ...Let's play tag!"
Off they run playing tag. I found that dialogue so funny, and so wise on Mary Claire's part. Five years old, good girl! Keep it light. And Gibson was a perfect little gentlemen. He came to me and said, "I can help you with anything, that's what I'm supposed to do. I can fix things, help you carry things, get things for you ...whatever you need."
I hope all my girls are always that wise ...they're far more likely to find perfect gentlemen if they just don't play house with boys they don't really know.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Mary's Sorrow, part II
As I made my way into adulthood, I had a full understanding that my faith was self-designed, in other words, it was lightweight (lukewarm, if I want to be theologically accurate.) Take a look in the bible as to what Christ says about lukewarmness. While I remember a seriousness of my childhood while at Mass, a mantilla on my mother's head and her hands pressed to her face after receiving the Eucharist, a hush that remained from the time we entered the church until we were outside, that all seemed to dissolve as I grew. Something had changed ...and I was told that the Church had become "fresher", more approachable, freer. So, like any good conformist, I adapted. And while I adapted, I lost. I lost the awareness of His awe, His presence, His wonder. I lost my own smallness before God, and like God, felt I had equal say in what was true or not true, to be believed or not to be believed. Really, how I categorized my faith and how I would live it, depended on how I 'felt' about it. Does this particular teaching appeal to me? No, not right now ...so it must be stupid, dumb, outdated. That's pretty much how I operated. After all, the nuns had tossed their veils and donned crocheted vests, they must know something far better than the old silly men on the altar. Driving this home for me was the whole sense of women's liberation coming into full swing as I entered college. We were advised to shoot for the moon ...be anything and everything you wanted. No one asked us if we thought about motherhood, marriage ...why should they? Daycare centers flourished. Why, now we could work at a spectacular career, be married and have children only to be raised by someone, or something else. No one asked the question ...'do you want to be a mother, because it requires you to be PRESENT in your child's life?' No one asked. Professors named their children with gender neutral names, paraded proudly that they were now divorced. Life was so much better when we didn't have roles, when nothing was greater than us, when we answered to no one. Right? But something nagged at me.
My own mother, a physician, having gone to medical school when women simply didn't, often remarked that the women's movement was the demise of the American mother and family. I snickered when she said this, but also privately pondered that observation as she desperately struggled to pass on her joys of motherhood even among the years of sorrow and hardship. Her backdrop had shifted. No longer were Catholic mothers raising their children in a world that passed on the tradition of keeping God at the center and in His rightful place. Her anchor, her foundation was crumbling. She never told me this, but I am beginning to understand, I think, her struggle to hang on to her own identity at the very time it was being robbed, not only from her but from her children ...from all of us born into the faith. I look at my own life now, see the pattern mimicking hers. She raised us, herself, she was present. My mother, for better or worse, gave us her very best. She loved adult conversation, yearned for it, yet she chose her children and gave up her own desirable, prestigious career to wipe noses and change diapers. She sacrificed! Remember that word?
Mom was well into her fifties before she would chase some of her own dreams. This determined woman (and if you ever knew her ...you know full well her determination) set her preferences aside until she had given us the roots and wings to make our own way. We went without. Period. We didn't travel, buy fancy clothes, eat out except for the yearly birthday dinner, have the latest and greatest. We made do. Imagine! It was radically different from today when our children are instantly gratified. All around us appetites are quenched with everything ...everything, except God. I realize I am painting a wide generalization, but my point is to make note of how far we have traveled away from the very core of our existence ...away from God. There is no satiation ...until we come to God. We will chase it our whole life, bigger/better, faster/brighter, whatever the trend, we are steeped in a culture of pure desire ...and it pulls and tugs and yanks our kids ...away from God. It's not the things themselves that are bad ...it's that one's importance, one's value, is far, far too often measured and appraised by the things that own them. Sadly, the world confirms this.
And at least where I live, with few exceptions, the Church has been silent ...turning a deaf ear to those of us who have reached and asked for guidance, reinforcement, support. Rosaries have been called 'mumbo jumbo' beads, adoration referred to as 'cookie worship', Catholic hospitals guiding people to abortion clinics. We have been wounded and marginalized ...but ...and this is very important ...we have been made stronger in our faith, greater defenders of the Truth ...and we may be small in number, but rich in love for the Truth. And to think, it is those 'mumbo jumbo' superstitious beads that continue to save me ...
Today is the Feast of the Ascension, a day when all Catholics, truly living their faith, find themselves at Mass, during the week ...no matter how inconvenient. I say it that way because so many people I love and respect think its 'really not a big deal' ...but it is ...to miss Mass on a day so holy as this is a rejection of grace and participation in the mystery of Christ's life ...it is a mortal sin, something that's no so much in fashion these days ...yet remains real. We simply cannot dabble. If you haven't already, jump in with both feet. Remember, God's generosity will NEVER be outdone ...EVER. If you make that big leap to give to him when it isn't easy and you don't 'feel' like ...He will come back to you a thousand fold and more. Take that from a mother whose beautiful daughter has died. If I gave in to my 'feelings', my schedule, God wouldn't be on my calendar. Against what I wanted ...I chose to trust God, and guess what? ...profound grace beyond my wildest dreams has come my way. Has it eased the pain ...no. Taken away the sorrow ...no. Has it comforted me ...beyond words. On this great day, the day Christ promised us the Holy Spirit to dwell among us let us ask that all our prayers and petitions ascend with Him.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
My own mother, a physician, having gone to medical school when women simply didn't, often remarked that the women's movement was the demise of the American mother and family. I snickered when she said this, but also privately pondered that observation as she desperately struggled to pass on her joys of motherhood even among the years of sorrow and hardship. Her backdrop had shifted. No longer were Catholic mothers raising their children in a world that passed on the tradition of keeping God at the center and in His rightful place. Her anchor, her foundation was crumbling. She never told me this, but I am beginning to understand, I think, her struggle to hang on to her own identity at the very time it was being robbed, not only from her but from her children ...from all of us born into the faith. I look at my own life now, see the pattern mimicking hers. She raised us, herself, she was present. My mother, for better or worse, gave us her very best. She loved adult conversation, yearned for it, yet she chose her children and gave up her own desirable, prestigious career to wipe noses and change diapers. She sacrificed! Remember that word?
Mom was well into her fifties before she would chase some of her own dreams. This determined woman (and if you ever knew her ...you know full well her determination) set her preferences aside until she had given us the roots and wings to make our own way. We went without. Period. We didn't travel, buy fancy clothes, eat out except for the yearly birthday dinner, have the latest and greatest. We made do. Imagine! It was radically different from today when our children are instantly gratified. All around us appetites are quenched with everything ...everything, except God. I realize I am painting a wide generalization, but my point is to make note of how far we have traveled away from the very core of our existence ...away from God. There is no satiation ...until we come to God. We will chase it our whole life, bigger/better, faster/brighter, whatever the trend, we are steeped in a culture of pure desire ...and it pulls and tugs and yanks our kids ...away from God. It's not the things themselves that are bad ...it's that one's importance, one's value, is far, far too often measured and appraised by the things that own them. Sadly, the world confirms this.
And at least where I live, with few exceptions, the Church has been silent ...turning a deaf ear to those of us who have reached and asked for guidance, reinforcement, support. Rosaries have been called 'mumbo jumbo' beads, adoration referred to as 'cookie worship', Catholic hospitals guiding people to abortion clinics. We have been wounded and marginalized ...but ...and this is very important ...we have been made stronger in our faith, greater defenders of the Truth ...and we may be small in number, but rich in love for the Truth. And to think, it is those 'mumbo jumbo' superstitious beads that continue to save me ...
Today is the Feast of the Ascension, a day when all Catholics, truly living their faith, find themselves at Mass, during the week ...no matter how inconvenient. I say it that way because so many people I love and respect think its 'really not a big deal' ...but it is ...to miss Mass on a day so holy as this is a rejection of grace and participation in the mystery of Christ's life ...it is a mortal sin, something that's no so much in fashion these days ...yet remains real. We simply cannot dabble. If you haven't already, jump in with both feet. Remember, God's generosity will NEVER be outdone ...EVER. If you make that big leap to give to him when it isn't easy and you don't 'feel' like ...He will come back to you a thousand fold and more. Take that from a mother whose beautiful daughter has died. If I gave in to my 'feelings', my schedule, God wouldn't be on my calendar. Against what I wanted ...I chose to trust God, and guess what? ...profound grace beyond my wildest dreams has come my way. Has it eased the pain ...no. Taken away the sorrow ...no. Has it comforted me ...beyond words. On this great day, the day Christ promised us the Holy Spirit to dwell among us let us ask that all our prayers and petitions ascend with Him.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Mary's Sorrow, part I
Too much to say here in one post, so I'll offer it in a series.
Everyday, I thank God for blessing me with my faith. Without it, I don't know where I would be, except I know my life would be radically different. Likely, Phoebe would have been my only daughter ...and likely I would have one grown son, a demanding yet "successful" career, far far more money and the accoutrements that would scream to the world that I had indeed "made it." I will never know a different script, so truly it is all speculation ...but I do know where I had set my eyes and what I deemed worthy. At some point, God gently shifted my gaze to the "finer things in life" ...that being Him, my creator. And so a journey that began from the moment of my creation was tuned, adjusted with a little rewiring ...and has led me to strive for living an authentically Catholic life in a time and place that ...when we are all honest we can admit ....truly, not only rejects, but mocks the treasures God so generously offers to us.
From my earliest days I remember waking from my crib, the mid afternoon sun streamed through the windows and I can still remember pulling myself up and looking at my mother across the room. She had probably watched me stir for a few moments until I stood. I remember doing that too when my babies napped ...waiting and watching them, before the full engine turned on ....just enjoying the scrunched faces as eyes fluttered. My mother sat there with a full belly, my brother Michael ready to join us, making us five ...in five years. This earliest memory remembers the rosary in my mother's hands ...so young and yet here are the first treasures of being witnessed to ....by my own mother.
Each night we would all pray ...the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Infant Jesus Prayer, act of contrition, the God bless ...and we went down the list. Finally, we would pray the special intentions. When I was five we added the "special intention of Sr. Joan Marie." I still find myself praying that ...though I am sure Sr. Joan Marie is long gone, prayers are never wasted. I spent a lot of time as a child trying to establish what, in-fact, this special intention was. Even now, I wander there on occasion.
The devotions ...the rosary, evening prayer, grace ...these are only some of the devotions I was fortunate enough to have passed on to me by my mother. I am a child of the sixties and the seventies. Most of us will admit these were times of chaos, social upheaval, challenging cultural norms ...and on and on. Long held beliefs were challenged ...and for many, confusion set in. As a child, you aren't necessarily aware when you are confused ....you are just confused. Educated by the Sisters of Divine Providence from first through eighth grade I learned songs like "The Man from Galilee", "Kumbayah" (I'm sorry, I never learned to spell that correctly!) ...but I did not learn the solid devotions. I learned a lot of loose, "hey how 'ya feeling about that Jesus guy" type stuff. I remember being confused as nun after nun would announce on Friday that on Monday they would no longer wear a veil. While I wanted to see what kind of hair they actually had ...I was disappointed that the mystery would no longer be. By the time most of them had tossed the veils, we started seeing crocheted vests in all sorts of colors ...mostly orange and green. I spent much of math class studying the pattern. Once the crocheted vests took hold, we started hearing that sister so and so was leaving. Not just leaving, she was taking an apartment in Charlestown and a job at a factory. This was all very confusing to me. "But I thought they were married to God, you can't just leave ...can you?" I wondered in my little brain. One sister, Sister Paraclete was our principal. She was very stern, but very very kind. She always wore her veil. I loved her ...because to me, she was steady, stable ...solid. I knew she was a nun ...and I knew she was not going to leave God. At the age of nine, I needed to know people who weren't going to leave God ...even when it got tough. Sr. Paraclete died when I was in fifth grade. I remember my mother telling me and being very, very sad.
Still, at home, we said our night prayers and I would find my mother in the living room later, quietly praying her Rosary. This simple, yet solid, devotional witness ...literally saved my life. And while my "Catholic education" continued ...my understanding and exposure to the truth of our faith lessened.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Everyday, I thank God for blessing me with my faith. Without it, I don't know where I would be, except I know my life would be radically different. Likely, Phoebe would have been my only daughter ...and likely I would have one grown son, a demanding yet "successful" career, far far more money and the accoutrements that would scream to the world that I had indeed "made it." I will never know a different script, so truly it is all speculation ...but I do know where I had set my eyes and what I deemed worthy. At some point, God gently shifted my gaze to the "finer things in life" ...that being Him, my creator. And so a journey that began from the moment of my creation was tuned, adjusted with a little rewiring ...and has led me to strive for living an authentically Catholic life in a time and place that ...when we are all honest we can admit ....truly, not only rejects, but mocks the treasures God so generously offers to us.
From my earliest days I remember waking from my crib, the mid afternoon sun streamed through the windows and I can still remember pulling myself up and looking at my mother across the room. She had probably watched me stir for a few moments until I stood. I remember doing that too when my babies napped ...waiting and watching them, before the full engine turned on ....just enjoying the scrunched faces as eyes fluttered. My mother sat there with a full belly, my brother Michael ready to join us, making us five ...in five years. This earliest memory remembers the rosary in my mother's hands ...so young and yet here are the first treasures of being witnessed to ....by my own mother.
Each night we would all pray ...the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Infant Jesus Prayer, act of contrition, the God bless ...and we went down the list. Finally, we would pray the special intentions. When I was five we added the "special intention of Sr. Joan Marie." I still find myself praying that ...though I am sure Sr. Joan Marie is long gone, prayers are never wasted. I spent a lot of time as a child trying to establish what, in-fact, this special intention was. Even now, I wander there on occasion.
The devotions ...the rosary, evening prayer, grace ...these are only some of the devotions I was fortunate enough to have passed on to me by my mother. I am a child of the sixties and the seventies. Most of us will admit these were times of chaos, social upheaval, challenging cultural norms ...and on and on. Long held beliefs were challenged ...and for many, confusion set in. As a child, you aren't necessarily aware when you are confused ....you are just confused. Educated by the Sisters of Divine Providence from first through eighth grade I learned songs like "The Man from Galilee", "Kumbayah" (I'm sorry, I never learned to spell that correctly!) ...but I did not learn the solid devotions. I learned a lot of loose, "hey how 'ya feeling about that Jesus guy" type stuff. I remember being confused as nun after nun would announce on Friday that on Monday they would no longer wear a veil. While I wanted to see what kind of hair they actually had ...I was disappointed that the mystery would no longer be. By the time most of them had tossed the veils, we started seeing crocheted vests in all sorts of colors ...mostly orange and green. I spent much of math class studying the pattern. Once the crocheted vests took hold, we started hearing that sister so and so was leaving. Not just leaving, she was taking an apartment in Charlestown and a job at a factory. This was all very confusing to me. "But I thought they were married to God, you can't just leave ...can you?" I wondered in my little brain. One sister, Sister Paraclete was our principal. She was very stern, but very very kind. She always wore her veil. I loved her ...because to me, she was steady, stable ...solid. I knew she was a nun ...and I knew she was not going to leave God. At the age of nine, I needed to know people who weren't going to leave God ...even when it got tough. Sr. Paraclete died when I was in fifth grade. I remember my mother telling me and being very, very sad.
Still, at home, we said our night prayers and I would find my mother in the living room later, quietly praying her Rosary. This simple, yet solid, devotional witness ...literally saved my life. And while my "Catholic education" continued ...my understanding and exposure to the truth of our faith lessened.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
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