Below the door, three in a row, three sets of feet. I can tell whos who by the nail polish on toes. This trio clump of girls, in three dressing rooms right in a row. I sit across from them waiting for the fashion show ....and listen. These three, numbers 3, 4 and 5, have always been a trio. Our two oldest would tell stories of getting them all buckled into their car seats at the same time. It was Stephen and Phoebe's job to secure them in the car for me. While they each buckled one, the third, unmanned would release themselves and RUN ....and while they were chased the other two would release themselves and RUN. I would finish up in the house while they took care of getting "little girls" all secured. I often wondered why it took them so long, and over the years I learned as the story of frustration was shared with laughter. The girls shared their version too, howling as they retold the antics, plans and strategies they implemented, spoiling the efforts of their older siblings. And now, here they are, giggling and planning. I sit and listen and thank God they are who they are ...still laughing and living. One parades out and the other doors open ....approval. One parades out in a shirt exposing back and belly, its flimsy, transparent, and my face drops, brow furrows. They all look at me with serious faces ....and then burst into laughter ..."gotcha, Mom." All three of them planning to push my buttons ...and they succeed.
Years ago, when they were all little, their aunt called them the "giggle girls." And they were. I'm grateful for their bond, their closeness. They're missing their leader, but she taught them to stay close. I've learned that over these months, what she told them, how she guided them, expected of them ...in their own quiet moments, she showed them a path to take, one that would be good. And they listened.
My giggle girls have giggling feet, and as I watch them dance under the door, I'm so so grateful for the moment. I know who's missing ...but on them are her fingerprints ...and footprints ....never to be smudged.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Story telling
"The pressure of unspoken grief is like that inside a pressure cooker - it builds and builds until one feels as though another tiny increment of pain will drive one mad. Speak. Tell a friend. Tell another friend, or the same friend again. A wise friend will know one must tell this tale again and again."
I am learning as August fades, so does the memory, keen awareness to others that Phoebe has died. It's part of the grief walk, that as the months pass, the year mark approaches, we find ourselves surrounded by just a scattering ...those who remember and live the loss with us. I don't suggest that's a bad thing ...it just is. People's lives move on, they have their own families, their own jobs and tasks ...their own life to embrace and live. And we do too. But it is all changed ...even if on the outside it doesn't seem so. Only a very few want to hear the story told again. It is one of the secondary losses of loss ...that we drift away from people we believed closer ...people we thought would stay ...and don't.
I do, we do, have friends who have stayed. Though they don't experience the loss of Phoebe the same way, they find themselves examining and experiencing her absence, her death, in deeper, richer, even sadder ways. That's how real loss moves through us ...it seeps. I see the one's it seeps into ...and I am grateful for their asking, their listening, their attempt to understand what my life is like now. I have a good life ....too many blessings to count. But I also have an extraordinary daughter, one who really and truly did not live the cookie cutter life, didn't fit the profile of a "perfect" kid. She was her own person. She didn't tow the line, didn't 'yes' us to keep us quiet. She challenged and pushed and pulled ...and for sure, there were moments when Phoebe pushed every button I have all at once ...but I have yet to meet a child that could dazzle the world like her. I have a few friends who knew her for all this, watched all this ...and they have stayed. They still hear the story ...and every time they do ...its fresh and new. While others have grown quiet, and seemingly, openly forget that I've lost a gem ...I am grateful for the one's who've truly stayed ...who truly watch for my other kids, ask for them ...and for me. They know the tension of watching our next daughter in line follow the steps Phoebe took four years ago, as she starts her high school life. Tender, precious, vulnerable moments for her ...our family too.
I have a lifetime of storytelling ahead of me ...and it will always include Phoebe. Phoebe's death is the spine of my story ...one I will tell for a long, long time. I'm grateful I have friends who care to listen ...and sometimes even, tell it back to me.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I am learning as August fades, so does the memory, keen awareness to others that Phoebe has died. It's part of the grief walk, that as the months pass, the year mark approaches, we find ourselves surrounded by just a scattering ...those who remember and live the loss with us. I don't suggest that's a bad thing ...it just is. People's lives move on, they have their own families, their own jobs and tasks ...their own life to embrace and live. And we do too. But it is all changed ...even if on the outside it doesn't seem so. Only a very few want to hear the story told again. It is one of the secondary losses of loss ...that we drift away from people we believed closer ...people we thought would stay ...and don't.
I do, we do, have friends who have stayed. Though they don't experience the loss of Phoebe the same way, they find themselves examining and experiencing her absence, her death, in deeper, richer, even sadder ways. That's how real loss moves through us ...it seeps. I see the one's it seeps into ...and I am grateful for their asking, their listening, their attempt to understand what my life is like now. I have a good life ....too many blessings to count. But I also have an extraordinary daughter, one who really and truly did not live the cookie cutter life, didn't fit the profile of a "perfect" kid. She was her own person. She didn't tow the line, didn't 'yes' us to keep us quiet. She challenged and pushed and pulled ...and for sure, there were moments when Phoebe pushed every button I have all at once ...but I have yet to meet a child that could dazzle the world like her. I have a few friends who knew her for all this, watched all this ...and they have stayed. They still hear the story ...and every time they do ...its fresh and new. While others have grown quiet, and seemingly, openly forget that I've lost a gem ...I am grateful for the one's who've truly stayed ...who truly watch for my other kids, ask for them ...and for me. They know the tension of watching our next daughter in line follow the steps Phoebe took four years ago, as she starts her high school life. Tender, precious, vulnerable moments for her ...our family too.
I have a lifetime of storytelling ahead of me ...and it will always include Phoebe. Phoebe's death is the spine of my story ...one I will tell for a long, long time. I'm grateful I have friends who care to listen ...and sometimes even, tell it back to me.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, August 26, 2011
August Waning
Final days of summer. Summer was her season ...our family's season really. I guess as we march towards one full year of missing her, its only right those steps take place through the end of summer. Beach days taper and school supplies are stocked as transitioning starts. A year ago we were making college lists, captain's practice for soccer had me getting dropped off at work and picked up when Phoebe's practice was over. A year ago we were looking at today, wondering where she would go ...what she would set out to become. A year ago we laughed together long and hard. We had put together a list of potential schools to pursue. Not much was easy with Phoebe, the conversations could twist and turn ...she had lots of options. Finally, we sat on my bed and she reviewed the list. "Yeah, this looks good. Thanks mom," she had said. I pretended to wipe the sweat from my brow and she laughed. She quickly sat up, her eyes all fiery ...."wait, I can't apply to ANY of those schools." I groaned "why?" "Because none of them are on the water ...I have to be near the ocean ...I can't be away from it, it won't work." She was right ...she needed to be near the ocean, near the Atlantic ...her playground, her touchstone. "Well, pass this list in anyway ...just so you can show the work done in your college search." "No, that would be a lie, I need schools I'll really consider ...besides I might not even go to college next year." My mouth hung open, I shook my head, met her eyes ...her Cindy loo hoo eyes ....and we laughed, a good, deep, hearty, rich laugh. I wish I could laugh with her again. I think about that moment and smile ...she was my girl, and she was all so much her own. She could not be muscled into conformity ...would not be. To her that was a living death.
We went on to find schools, good fits for her, on the water and talked about plans, alternate plans, life. It would be six weeks of lots of conversations ...lots and lots. And during those weeks I had marveled at her, how she had grown and matured ...how she fit so well into her own skin ...how she was taking flight. We were in sync, my girl and me.
Some people have nothing to look back on, no hooks or memories of note. I have lots. She left me with lots and lots ... My husband keeps her text message she sent him last year on my birthday "hey, why don't you pick up an i pad on your way home." After I opened it she instructed everyone that it was only mine and no one should try to take it away or use it. She knew I wanted something I could start writing letters to my mother, gone seven years. I just wanted a way of collecting the thoughts I wanted to share with her. I pictured my mother reading them from where she was ...smiling about her grandkids, delighting in watching them grow. Phoebe like that idea and wanted to help make that happen for me. I had no idea that in six short weeks I would begin writing those letters ....only not to mom, but to Phoebe ...so very far away from me.
After I opened it, she whisked me away, shooing everyone ...to show me something really funny on you tube ...and it was really funny ...and we had laughed and laughed as she played it over and over again, and I waited patiently to put my hands on the i pad that was meant just for me.
We finished our family birthdays this week. Hannah finished it off by turning thirteen. A real live teenager! And I made it through mine. Harder than I thought. I worked and the day became crazier than expected ...a good distraction. The kids gave it their all ...and so did my husband. But she was missing. I woke up exactly at midnight, my hands clenched, tears streaming ... I've watched my kids cry in their sleep, watched them pound their fists on the mattress ....and I know why. But I had never known it to happen to me. It was as if she was letting me know ..."mom, the days ended, but I'm still here." I just wish I could feel her, sense her near me. I tell my husband this and then tell him how I can see her in my mind coming into the room, how she would sit, move her hands, hold her head ...with such greater clarity than I have for my kids right around me. How can I see her so clearly ...how she moved, blinked her eyes ...the wisps of hair loose from her floppy bun, and yet not see the fine details of my other kids when I picture them? Perhaps that is just how she is here with me, making her presence known, palpable ....real. It's not how I expected it, but ...so much of what God allows in my life is never expected or imagined.
A year ago is as far back as I can see ....and I can travel these days treasuring those final moments. I wish I could count the smiles, the laughter, the hugs ...the joy that had become ours. I can't count them, but I can count on them to get me through the heavy days leading to one year. Six weeks worth of memories ...six weeks of loving us and wrapping her arms around us ...six weeks of getting us all ready for her to take flight. Only her flight came sooner and far differently than any of us planned.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
We went on to find schools, good fits for her, on the water and talked about plans, alternate plans, life. It would be six weeks of lots of conversations ...lots and lots. And during those weeks I had marveled at her, how she had grown and matured ...how she fit so well into her own skin ...how she was taking flight. We were in sync, my girl and me.
Some people have nothing to look back on, no hooks or memories of note. I have lots. She left me with lots and lots ... My husband keeps her text message she sent him last year on my birthday "hey, why don't you pick up an i pad on your way home." After I opened it she instructed everyone that it was only mine and no one should try to take it away or use it. She knew I wanted something I could start writing letters to my mother, gone seven years. I just wanted a way of collecting the thoughts I wanted to share with her. I pictured my mother reading them from where she was ...smiling about her grandkids, delighting in watching them grow. Phoebe like that idea and wanted to help make that happen for me. I had no idea that in six short weeks I would begin writing those letters ....only not to mom, but to Phoebe ...so very far away from me.
After I opened it, she whisked me away, shooing everyone ...to show me something really funny on you tube ...and it was really funny ...and we had laughed and laughed as she played it over and over again, and I waited patiently to put my hands on the i pad that was meant just for me.
We finished our family birthdays this week. Hannah finished it off by turning thirteen. A real live teenager! And I made it through mine. Harder than I thought. I worked and the day became crazier than expected ...a good distraction. The kids gave it their all ...and so did my husband. But she was missing. I woke up exactly at midnight, my hands clenched, tears streaming ... I've watched my kids cry in their sleep, watched them pound their fists on the mattress ....and I know why. But I had never known it to happen to me. It was as if she was letting me know ..."mom, the days ended, but I'm still here." I just wish I could feel her, sense her near me. I tell my husband this and then tell him how I can see her in my mind coming into the room, how she would sit, move her hands, hold her head ...with such greater clarity than I have for my kids right around me. How can I see her so clearly ...how she moved, blinked her eyes ...the wisps of hair loose from her floppy bun, and yet not see the fine details of my other kids when I picture them? Perhaps that is just how she is here with me, making her presence known, palpable ....real. It's not how I expected it, but ...so much of what God allows in my life is never expected or imagined.
A year ago is as far back as I can see ....and I can travel these days treasuring those final moments. I wish I could count the smiles, the laughter, the hugs ...the joy that had become ours. I can't count them, but I can count on them to get me through the heavy days leading to one year. Six weeks worth of memories ...six weeks of loving us and wrapping her arms around us ...six weeks of getting us all ready for her to take flight. Only her flight came sooner and far differently than any of us planned.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Smooth and Chisel
Yesterday I woke with a pounding thought ..."where is God taking me? who does He want me to become?" It didn't feel heavy or weighted, just a question that persisted, and still does. Phoebe's last anniversary is different ...where I typically dip deep down, I rise again to the familiar, a life I've grown accustomed to. Not this time though, the climb has been longer, harder, and while I feel like I've pulled through, have some balance back ...it's all different. There is something different, a new landscape ...simpler I think, yet more pointed and certain of the pain. I hear a whisper that encourages me ...'this isn't about what's happened ...it's about what's happening.' For so long, I have felt God's abandonment, His absence ...even while knowing and trusting He is always there ...always. I've turned over so many stones trying to understand why He would hide from me, in this time, with this loss. And now, I understand His craftsmanship, His desire to call me closer ...smooth over my rough edges that keep Him at bay. That's hard work ...I know ..I'm full of stubborn bumps that resist the chisel. For months I've clung to my rosary, spoken to God all day, searching for His eyes and not finding them. I've prayed and cried to the Blessed Mother knowing her gaze is upon me ...and while I feel her eyes, I've refused to look into them. I've wanted what I can't have ...never have I wanted anything more ...there is no word for the wanting of a dead child ...no word! But now, I look less outside for the answers. If you know my story, you know it. If you don't, you likely won't hear it from me. The days of reaching out seem past.
I work with a young nurse last night, certain she has heard. Gently, she probes me. It's not a story for her. 'How many kids do you have?' 'Seven', I tell her. 'That is sick, I would never have that many kids, you must be crazy.' Inside I chuckle, she's so, so young. She waits a moment, but I know its coming ...' How are they all doing?' I stop what I'm doing and look her in the eye ...'they're all fine, my oldest daughter died last Fall.' "Oh yeah, now I remember hearing about that ...how old was she." Seventeen I tell her, firmly. I want to say ...'you know the story, what details would you like ...the method, the moment, the horror?' Moments later she tells me she'll kill herself if her boyfriend doesn't stop snoring. I say a Hail Mary. What does God want in this moment? Unbelievably, I feel Him asking me for kindness for this young woman with so many miles ahead of her. I can blow her off, or I can be kind to her and thank her for teaching me so much about patient care ...which she does. In this outrageous exchange, God exposes my own complexity. Maybe one day, when she is hurting, she'll remember this moment ...and she'll know she'll make it, survive ...and she'll be kinder in her own moment so much like mine. Maybe. Smooth and chisel, it's what He does with us ...and how he uses all of us to do His work. This young woman unexpectedly opened a wound ...so that I could learn kindness, real, genuine kindness. How could I not love her if I know she is one of God's instruments to bring me closer to Him, to live more as He wants me? It is a twist I'm not expecting, but it is there ...and so plainly, simply laid before me ...it makes me laugh.
I wonder who gets to be His chisel today?
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I work with a young nurse last night, certain she has heard. Gently, she probes me. It's not a story for her. 'How many kids do you have?' 'Seven', I tell her. 'That is sick, I would never have that many kids, you must be crazy.' Inside I chuckle, she's so, so young. She waits a moment, but I know its coming ...' How are they all doing?' I stop what I'm doing and look her in the eye ...'they're all fine, my oldest daughter died last Fall.' "Oh yeah, now I remember hearing about that ...how old was she." Seventeen I tell her, firmly. I want to say ...'you know the story, what details would you like ...the method, the moment, the horror?' Moments later she tells me she'll kill herself if her boyfriend doesn't stop snoring. I say a Hail Mary. What does God want in this moment? Unbelievably, I feel Him asking me for kindness for this young woman with so many miles ahead of her. I can blow her off, or I can be kind to her and thank her for teaching me so much about patient care ...which she does. In this outrageous exchange, God exposes my own complexity. Maybe one day, when she is hurting, she'll remember this moment ...and she'll know she'll make it, survive ...and she'll be kinder in her own moment so much like mine. Maybe. Smooth and chisel, it's what He does with us ...and how he uses all of us to do His work. This young woman unexpectedly opened a wound ...so that I could learn kindness, real, genuine kindness. How could I not love her if I know she is one of God's instruments to bring me closer to Him, to live more as He wants me? It is a twist I'm not expecting, but it is there ...and so plainly, simply laid before me ...it makes me laugh.
I wonder who gets to be His chisel today?
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Bead by Bead
I count my blessings ...and I have many. When things get scary for me, that's where I try to go ...just counting my blessings. There is sadness all around us, there is loss, corruption ...everywhere. And when I look through the lens of loss, only that lens, I just plummet. That's a choice, subconsciously perhaps, I make, to look through that view only showing the emptiness, the raw brutality of what humanity can do to itself and others. That view alone, closes itself off to another, breeds only despair ...a hardened heart. I fight that every moment because I sense that some days I could spiral there and not return. This is one of those days of fighting really hard ...and I will win this day. I'm sure of it, because as the darkness descends and the lure of despair entices me, I grab hold of my safety net ...my rosary. And bead by bead, I make my way out. Sometimes I only pray one bead, and it will take me minutes to get to the next, but I always know it is the surest route, the best way. The Blessed Mother always leads us to her Son ...always to our Redeemer, who loves us passionately even in and through our weakness and despair. He is the promise. I can't get there on my own, but my beads can get me there. And ever so gently, my lens changes and I see the pure beauty around me ...the flop of curly hair lying next to me, big sisters arms around her as they both sleep. Just that reality is enough to soften the hardness that tries to settle in. And if that is the only goodness I see today (and I will see much much more!) it's enough to prove the goodness, the beauty, the grace all around me.
Bead by bead I'll make it through this life without Phoebe ...I know that now. As hard and awful as that is, I will make it ...bead by precious bead.
I have a prayer request today. If you have never experienced lice, count your blessings! We have, and thankfully, its been a while since we've had to deal with it. But right now, it is making its way through and finding residence in some large families I know. It's awful enough to have lice, but the sheer work of getting rid of it, the time, the effort, the constancy is overwhelming, and quite literally it is all consuming and for the mother can feel like it is absolutely breaking them. Please say a prayer for these moms right now, they truly need them, just to get through today. If you've had to deal with it, you know what I'm talking about. And if you haven't, I pray you never will ...and you should too!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Bead by bead I'll make it through this life without Phoebe ...I know that now. As hard and awful as that is, I will make it ...bead by precious bead.
I have a prayer request today. If you have never experienced lice, count your blessings! We have, and thankfully, its been a while since we've had to deal with it. But right now, it is making its way through and finding residence in some large families I know. It's awful enough to have lice, but the sheer work of getting rid of it, the time, the effort, the constancy is overwhelming, and quite literally it is all consuming and for the mother can feel like it is absolutely breaking them. Please say a prayer for these moms right now, they truly need them, just to get through today. If you've had to deal with it, you know what I'm talking about. And if you haven't, I pray you never will ...and you should too!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Monday, August 15, 2011
Feast of the Assumption
Take all your cares, all your worries to Our Lady. She was assumed body and soul into Heaven and there she reigns Queen of Heaven and Earth. Do something today to honor her in a special way. Below is the Litany. It's posting funny because its copied from another site ...but the prayer is beautiful.
Litany to Our Lady
Litany to Our Lady
| Lord, have mercy on us. (Christ have mercy on us.) Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, hear us. (Christ graciously hear us.) God, the Father of heaven, (have mercy on us.) God the Son, Redeemer of the world, (have mercy on us.) God the Holy Ghost, (have mercy on us.) Holy Trinity, one God, (have mercy on us.) | |
| Holy Mary, Holy Mother of God, Holy Virgin of virgins, Mother of Christ, Mother of the Church Mother of divine grace, Mother most pure, Mother most chaste, Mother inviolate, Mother undefiled, Mother most amiable, Mother most admirable, Mother of good counsel, Mother of our Creator, Mother of our Savior, Virgin most prudent, Virgin most venerable, Virgin most renouned, Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful, Virgin most faithful, Mirror of justice, Seat of wisdom, Cause of our joy, Spiritual vessel, Vessel of honor, Singular vessel of devotion, Mystical rose, Tower of David, Tower of ivory, House of gold, Ark of the covenant, Gate of heaven, Morning star, Health of the sick, Refuge of sinners, Comforter of the afflicted, Help of Christians, Queen of Angels, Queen of Patriarchs, Queen of Prophets, Queen of Apostles, Queen of Martyrs, Queen of Confessors, Queen of Virgins, Queen of all Saints, Queen conceived without original sin, Queen assumed into heaven, Queen of the most holy Rosary. Queen of the family, Queen of Peace, | p r a y f o r u s |
Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (spare us, O Lord.) Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (graciously hear us O Lord.) Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (have mercy on us.) Pray for us, O holy Mother of God. (That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.) Let us pray. Grant, we beseech Thee, O Lord God, unto us Thy servants, that we may rejoice in continual health of mind and body; and, by the glorious intercession of Blessed Mary ever Virgin, may be delivered from present sadness, and enter into the joy of Thine eternal gladness. Through Christ our Lord. (Amen.) | |
We've also just made a hummingbird cake to celebrate her great feast tonight.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Long days
One thing I've learned this summer ...my kids don't like to spend time writing. It's been an unusual summer, of course because of Phoebe's absence, but also because I've worked for the first time in many years. And that has been even more chaotic and disruptive and rather annoying because I've been training ...and training only happens at peak family time. So to sit and write only increases and irritates the already annoyed. The truth is too, I want to be with them, its where I should be ...and so my fingers rarely grace the keyboard, but my mind whirs with thoughts and ideas I want to get down, share. Writing is good for me, it helps me focus, assess, gain perspective ...all good things. This particular post has taken four days to write, just because of all the demands of this busy household.
I made it through those dark, dark days leading up to the ninth. Seems as that number approaches each month, I descend even further than before. I don't understand why it gets deeper and longer, but it does. I wonder how God can seem so absent during those times. And even bouncing back, beginning to find my feet, my footsteps gaining momentum, I still wonder where He is, why He seems so remote. I dont feel like I've recovered from this August date as I have in the past months. Somethings is looming for me, and I don't know what. I'm just tired and wrung out for missing, wishing and wanting. I'm tired of watching her friends lives go on without her. I'm tired of worrying about my other kids ...and I'm tired of people never really getting it, because they've never been here. Exhaustion has taken over ...and I am weary from this journey, but there is no rest to be had simply because. I think about the desolation all the apostles felt when Christ had been laid to rest ...what despair they must have felt. The only one then who fully trusted and believed all had not been lost was the Blessed Mother ...she had an assurance the story had not ended on the cross, in the closing of the tomb, the rolling of the stone.
Phoebe's death is nothing like the crucifixion of Christ ...I know that. I hold on to the promise of seeing her again, just like the apostles saw Christ again. But there is part of me that can't step forward, grab hold and find assurance in His promise. I hold back because what if I never see her again? What if to rest in that assurance is to forget her in the present, lose the sense of her smell, her way? I don't want to forget her ...and there is no sign of that happening. Should she walk through the door now, it would seem natural, there is still a place for her here. I don't want that to ever go away. So why do I doubt, why to I scramble to make sense ...why, am I still stunned, the wind knocked from me in those moments that remind me of that nightmare, her death?
I see a woman today, a casual friend from Mass ...she never knew Phoebe had died. We've exchanged greetings a few times since Phoebe's death, commented how big the kids are getting. But we've never had a moment for a real exchange, the kids drag us in different directions and off we go ...always, off we go. I don't know her well, but over the past couple of years we've chatted a bit, shared some details of our lives, our hopes, our faith. Right off she tells me she will have a Mass offered for Phoebe, and I am grateful. And then she reminds me to go to the Blessed Mother, tell her everything, even the doubt. Her mother always told her to go to Our Lady since she was small. And she tells me she went with every bit of angst and struggle, much she never shared with her own mother, but she brought to Blessed Mother. This mother of Christ, our advocate, a channel of grace. I know this, but somehow I needed to hear from her, get the push to go again, on my knees, with everything, my anger, my brokenness, confusion. A year ago I consecrated myself to the Immaculata, accepted every suffering, sorrow, struggle that would draw me closer to Christ. I blindly accepted all this, not knowing what was to come. I speak to Blessed Mother all the time, pray my daily rosary, but my heart hasn't been there with her. I've hedged, held back, doubting her care, her love. I needed that push today, and its as if on this first anniversary of my consecration she gently reminds me through this gentle woman named Mary, that she wants me back ....she's waiting.
Tomorrow, August 15, is the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Mother into Heaven. It is a holy, holy day. God's weaving is always quiet, seamless. I'll try to go back and maybe let her embrace me ...just maybe.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
I made it through those dark, dark days leading up to the ninth. Seems as that number approaches each month, I descend even further than before. I don't understand why it gets deeper and longer, but it does. I wonder how God can seem so absent during those times. And even bouncing back, beginning to find my feet, my footsteps gaining momentum, I still wonder where He is, why He seems so remote. I dont feel like I've recovered from this August date as I have in the past months. Somethings is looming for me, and I don't know what. I'm just tired and wrung out for missing, wishing and wanting. I'm tired of watching her friends lives go on without her. I'm tired of worrying about my other kids ...and I'm tired of people never really getting it, because they've never been here. Exhaustion has taken over ...and I am weary from this journey, but there is no rest to be had simply because. I think about the desolation all the apostles felt when Christ had been laid to rest ...what despair they must have felt. The only one then who fully trusted and believed all had not been lost was the Blessed Mother ...she had an assurance the story had not ended on the cross, in the closing of the tomb, the rolling of the stone.
Phoebe's death is nothing like the crucifixion of Christ ...I know that. I hold on to the promise of seeing her again, just like the apostles saw Christ again. But there is part of me that can't step forward, grab hold and find assurance in His promise. I hold back because what if I never see her again? What if to rest in that assurance is to forget her in the present, lose the sense of her smell, her way? I don't want to forget her ...and there is no sign of that happening. Should she walk through the door now, it would seem natural, there is still a place for her here. I don't want that to ever go away. So why do I doubt, why to I scramble to make sense ...why, am I still stunned, the wind knocked from me in those moments that remind me of that nightmare, her death?
I see a woman today, a casual friend from Mass ...she never knew Phoebe had died. We've exchanged greetings a few times since Phoebe's death, commented how big the kids are getting. But we've never had a moment for a real exchange, the kids drag us in different directions and off we go ...always, off we go. I don't know her well, but over the past couple of years we've chatted a bit, shared some details of our lives, our hopes, our faith. Right off she tells me she will have a Mass offered for Phoebe, and I am grateful. And then she reminds me to go to the Blessed Mother, tell her everything, even the doubt. Her mother always told her to go to Our Lady since she was small. And she tells me she went with every bit of angst and struggle, much she never shared with her own mother, but she brought to Blessed Mother. This mother of Christ, our advocate, a channel of grace. I know this, but somehow I needed to hear from her, get the push to go again, on my knees, with everything, my anger, my brokenness, confusion. A year ago I consecrated myself to the Immaculata, accepted every suffering, sorrow, struggle that would draw me closer to Christ. I blindly accepted all this, not knowing what was to come. I speak to Blessed Mother all the time, pray my daily rosary, but my heart hasn't been there with her. I've hedged, held back, doubting her care, her love. I needed that push today, and its as if on this first anniversary of my consecration she gently reminds me through this gentle woman named Mary, that she wants me back ....she's waiting.
Tomorrow, August 15, is the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Mother into Heaven. It is a holy, holy day. God's weaving is always quiet, seamless. I'll try to go back and maybe let her embrace me ...just maybe.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Monday, August 8, 2011
Glass
My daughter sent me a message today "how's your day?" she asked. "Blah!" I responded. "Sorry" she wrote back. I don't usually respond like that, but today is like walking around with heaps of seaweed hanging off me, getting in the way. Tomorrow is ten months. In ten months a baby changes so much, reaches many, many milestones and gathers the hearts of those around. In ten months, death, loss doesn't change all that much ...it hangs heavy and burdensome. My daughter knows this, watches and waits for her mom to work through, live through these days of the month. I am blessed.
"Kayak to Langley Island after supper." It's not a question, just a statement from my husband. The bay is glass, he tells me, a rare night. I go, just following his lead, knowing the day looms in his heart too. Ten months. We slip the kayak in, just around the corner from our house. I think about that August three years ago, think about his mother, his wife ...his family. I can't remember what the night was like then, if the bay was glass ...but I remember not believing what I heard as I prepared dinner in this busy house. It wasn't until the next day I knew what had happened. He had grown up in this neighborhood, swam these waters for decades, knew the terrain, the tides, the water, the air ...it was his playground. But this night, as he walked the water, like so many other times, he slipped. His wife did too, and she was the first to be sucked through the culvert. She made it. But he hadn't, hitting his head on the cement tunnel as he was swept through. He died. Just like that, his life was gone. I had watched the whirlpool many times with the kids. We were told it was extremely powerful and dangerous, but from the surface it didn't threaten. The hole in the middle was the size of a golf ball ...that's it, and yet it had sucked and dragged a grown man and woman down, through a tunnel. Incredible power. Danger is like that, it doesn't usually show itself for what it is ...it hides.
A few days later the neighborhood gathered on the shore, staring at the water, peaceful, like glass. His mother was a friend of my own mothers. "I'm sorry" I had told her. She had smiled and told me I looked so much like my mother. I had no comprehension, no grasp, not even a sliver of what was searing through her heart, through every inch of her. When Phoebe died, she simply hugged me, looked me in the eyes and nodded. I knew then what had pained her, still did, does.
I think about that summer night. And we paddle out, and my heart is heavy, but the water is light and still. Around the corner Boston looms confident while the big orange sun hovers above. It's beautiful. How can a heart be so heavy, so sad while still noticing the incredible beauty of nature all around. I wonder if we didn't live here, would God have protected us from this tragedy ....because we wouldn't have the access so few people do?
We land on the shore of Langely Island, a place I've never been. Think Swiss Family Robinson. "Follow me, it's worth it." he says. I roll my eyes, but follow through the trees and ferns, climb the pudding rock until we stand above the harbor, looking down. It is a magnificent view of the islands, Boston, the setting sun ...and the sun dips low until its gone. It was worth it. There must be something extreme, some view that will never balance the view of loneliness, but reminds me of Gods wonder and power ...and how much He loves us, to provide such amazing beauty.
People die, children die ...and hearts are broken and heavy. He lightened my load a bit tonight. I can picture Phoebe sitting on that setting sun, pounding it, telling it to go faster ...or just diving right into the sea, the great Atlantic that was hers. Summer was her season ...will always be.
I miss her. We miss her. Someday. I'll see my floppy bun girl again. I trust that promise from God.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
"Kayak to Langley Island after supper." It's not a question, just a statement from my husband. The bay is glass, he tells me, a rare night. I go, just following his lead, knowing the day looms in his heart too. Ten months. We slip the kayak in, just around the corner from our house. I think about that August three years ago, think about his mother, his wife ...his family. I can't remember what the night was like then, if the bay was glass ...but I remember not believing what I heard as I prepared dinner in this busy house. It wasn't until the next day I knew what had happened. He had grown up in this neighborhood, swam these waters for decades, knew the terrain, the tides, the water, the air ...it was his playground. But this night, as he walked the water, like so many other times, he slipped. His wife did too, and she was the first to be sucked through the culvert. She made it. But he hadn't, hitting his head on the cement tunnel as he was swept through. He died. Just like that, his life was gone. I had watched the whirlpool many times with the kids. We were told it was extremely powerful and dangerous, but from the surface it didn't threaten. The hole in the middle was the size of a golf ball ...that's it, and yet it had sucked and dragged a grown man and woman down, through a tunnel. Incredible power. Danger is like that, it doesn't usually show itself for what it is ...it hides.
A few days later the neighborhood gathered on the shore, staring at the water, peaceful, like glass. His mother was a friend of my own mothers. "I'm sorry" I had told her. She had smiled and told me I looked so much like my mother. I had no comprehension, no grasp, not even a sliver of what was searing through her heart, through every inch of her. When Phoebe died, she simply hugged me, looked me in the eyes and nodded. I knew then what had pained her, still did, does.
I think about that summer night. And we paddle out, and my heart is heavy, but the water is light and still. Around the corner Boston looms confident while the big orange sun hovers above. It's beautiful. How can a heart be so heavy, so sad while still noticing the incredible beauty of nature all around. I wonder if we didn't live here, would God have protected us from this tragedy ....because we wouldn't have the access so few people do?
We land on the shore of Langely Island, a place I've never been. Think Swiss Family Robinson. "Follow me, it's worth it." he says. I roll my eyes, but follow through the trees and ferns, climb the pudding rock until we stand above the harbor, looking down. It is a magnificent view of the islands, Boston, the setting sun ...and the sun dips low until its gone. It was worth it. There must be something extreme, some view that will never balance the view of loneliness, but reminds me of Gods wonder and power ...and how much He loves us, to provide such amazing beauty.
People die, children die ...and hearts are broken and heavy. He lightened my load a bit tonight. I can picture Phoebe sitting on that setting sun, pounding it, telling it to go faster ...or just diving right into the sea, the great Atlantic that was hers. Summer was her season ...will always be.
I miss her. We miss her. Someday. I'll see my floppy bun girl again. I trust that promise from God.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Silence
It's late ...or early, depending on one's view. The house is quiet in these wee hours. Sleep eludes me and my mind races. I've grown quiet these days ...about a lot of things. A while ago I started writing a series titled "Mary's Sorrows." There's more pieces not posted ...I get tired of what seems to be complaining, but tonight I'm gonna complain. Mary had sorrows ...seven ...the prophecy of St. Simeon, the flight into Egypt, the losing of Jesus and then finding Him in the temple, meeting of Jesus while He carries His Cross, the Crucifixion, receiving His body from the Cross, and finally His burial. Seven incredible sorrows. So ...my initial intent was to reflect on her sorrows today as she looks upon our world and her Son's Church and sees the chaos, confusion and outright heresy that plagues us today. But ...I got tired of it all. So why now in the middle of the night, am I roused from bed to write some more. Because it bothers me. And mostly because it has cost me ...dearly ...and forever in this life.
All we've done, my husband and me, is try to raise our children to be authentically Catholic ...that's it. We haven't raised them to have more money, prettier hair, faster legs, a better kick, quicker math facts ...than there neighbor, classmate or friend. We've tried to instill in them a sense of the gifts and talents God gave to them along with a responsible awareness to use them to serve Him ...and Him alone. We've tried to raise our kids for Heaven. Really, that's not a very popular thing ...and as I go along, I'm realizing there's lots of people saying they do this too ...but I wonder ...are you really? Am I really ...or am I just fooling myself? Do I really want to take on the suffering in this life that's part of making my way to the next? Especially when the loudest message we seem to hear, at least in Boston, is that we're awesome Christians because we walked through the door. Suffering ....who needs that, after all we're all going straight to Heaven. The devil isn't real ...he's just a costume at halloween. Sin isn't real. Authentic Catholicism, with rare exception, isn't taught or preached in these parts ...and I 'm beginning to feel the fool. Should I just not worry about it so much, take summers off, bring my coffee to Mass? I'm beginning to wonder.
Someone I know and trust told me recently that we're being watched by so many who see our witness. I laughed. Our witness ...of what? Agony? I don't get to see him much ...years between visits. He identified who keeps him abreast of our 'status' ...I barely know this person ...not in my circle. And yet supposedly an authority on how we are doing. But see, this person is real active in the Church ...with lots of other people who are real active in the Church too. So there's lots of assessment of me and my family by all these real active people ...who've never actually had a conversation with any of us ....That makes me angry. And it makes me quiet. ...except with a keyboard. Now, I should be more charitable perhaps, but c'mon ...who has the right to speak of us, when they don't even know us. Leave us alone, I say ...just leave us alone. This is not easy, or simple ...this is real hardcore suffering. It's not a job loss, a bad marriage, a difficult child, a low paying job, bad landscaping ...this ...is...the ...death...of ...my ...precious ....daughter. Get it! Can you tell I'm angry and tired of the nonsense. Most especially distressed that anyone ...who doesn't even know us, would take it upon themselves to let others know how we're doing. And yet, there are others, part of our day to day, who have yet to ask how our kids are doing ..or even how we're doing? And that stuns me too.
This is how we're doing ...we had a boat ...now we're shipwrecked ...without provisions. My kids have lost their sister, my husband lost his best friend and daughter ...and I lost ...big. Now, in all of this there is a supernatural view for sure, and believe me, it is our lifeline. And in this too are the people who've stood by us and do ask, and do care about us and the kids ...despite their own very real struggles and sufferings. They are simply there for us ...always, and I am enormously grateful. I'm just getting tired of letting other people pretend they are, when in fact, they are not.
We're ten months into this hard, hard journey ...ten months, and I can tell you ...it has not gotten easier ...it has gotten harder ...much harder. If I were on the other side, I would be looking for the signs of my friend getting over it, and taking them as indicators, assuring myself that my friend was coming along ...healing. But I am not on that side, I am on this one ...in a world that has forgotten my girl already. That's to be expected. I believe and know that God is there ...and most times, it is only Him I know is there for me. That's to be expected too. But what really happens ...is we realize people are done, tired of a sad friend, tired of the loss. What I hear is ...big deal ...get moving. Honestly, I don't think that's what people are consciously processing and trying to convey ...but it rings out loud and clear. And so we stop ...stop talking to the ones we know are expecting us to. Some even say, "but you're burden is finished ...that's much easier." Sorry, doesn't work that way ...pray and hope you never have to really come to your senses about that.
It was a hard day. Phoebe's things still make there way into our everyday ...just like they always did. Her shoes, t-shirts all still flow in the rhythm ...a gentle reminder of her place still here in this home, these hearts. I'm sinking and hanging on for dear life. I am a bit stronger now, better able to fight the current, but the strength of the current doesn't relent. It stays. I know this now from meeting so many other parent's who've lost a child, and also from working with the elderly. Whenever we get a report on a patient we first hear the medical status and primary health concerns ...and always, if they have lost a child in the past, it is the next most important piece of information we are given ...it never goes away, it shapes us.
So back to the beginning of this post. There is a supernatural battle playing out all around us. Good vs. evil. The Truth (being Christ and His Church) and the lie (being Satan and what poses as the church, but isn't). This is a sorrow to me, and to plenty of others who just simply want to live out their faith without corruption. I've never known the warm and fuzzy Jesus ...he's always eluded me. I've just known my Savior and believed in the promise of meeting Him one day, face to face. I think if I had known the warm and fuzzy "hey, man, what's the big deal" Jesus, I'd be gone ...long gone. I'd never go to Church again. The Jesus I know was beaten, spit on, and nailed to the Cross. The Jesus I know had friends who fled from Him in His hour of greatest need. The Jesus I know gave every last breath and drop of blood in Him to save me from my own sins. I don't know the Jesus who high fives everyone and says "hey, you're going straight to Heaven just 'cause you say so." I know the one who told Mary Magdalene to go and sin no more. I know the Jesus who turned over tables in the temple when He saw God's sacred space being mocked. I know the Jesus who told me that to follow Him would cost me ...and it has. I know the Jesus who multiplied the loaves and fishes to feed thousands ...the real miracle, not the metaphor so often proposed in its place. I know and believe in the Jesus who met my daughter when she died. But I don't hear much about that Jesus around here ...and that bothers me ...because He's the one who founded the Church. So where is he? Believe me, He is here, and thriving in some small pockets. He's the one I want my kids to know and love and serve ...not an easy task around here. We've been silenced in a very real way. That's hard, but it's also a reason to lean even more into God, becoming even more trusting of Him as we remember how he was abandoned and marginalized ...because it didn't look pretty, didn't feel all warm and fuzzy. He finished and he stayed ...and I can count on that, sometimes only that. I want to stay with Him and finish too, and often we have to carefully discern if we are following Him, or a feeling of belonging, being part of the crowd. It won't often feel good to follow Him. But it will ultimately bring peace ...even if only fleeting.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
All we've done, my husband and me, is try to raise our children to be authentically Catholic ...that's it. We haven't raised them to have more money, prettier hair, faster legs, a better kick, quicker math facts ...than there neighbor, classmate or friend. We've tried to instill in them a sense of the gifts and talents God gave to them along with a responsible awareness to use them to serve Him ...and Him alone. We've tried to raise our kids for Heaven. Really, that's not a very popular thing ...and as I go along, I'm realizing there's lots of people saying they do this too ...but I wonder ...are you really? Am I really ...or am I just fooling myself? Do I really want to take on the suffering in this life that's part of making my way to the next? Especially when the loudest message we seem to hear, at least in Boston, is that we're awesome Christians because we walked through the door. Suffering ....who needs that, after all we're all going straight to Heaven. The devil isn't real ...he's just a costume at halloween. Sin isn't real. Authentic Catholicism, with rare exception, isn't taught or preached in these parts ...and I 'm beginning to feel the fool. Should I just not worry about it so much, take summers off, bring my coffee to Mass? I'm beginning to wonder.
Someone I know and trust told me recently that we're being watched by so many who see our witness. I laughed. Our witness ...of what? Agony? I don't get to see him much ...years between visits. He identified who keeps him abreast of our 'status' ...I barely know this person ...not in my circle. And yet supposedly an authority on how we are doing. But see, this person is real active in the Church ...with lots of other people who are real active in the Church too. So there's lots of assessment of me and my family by all these real active people ...who've never actually had a conversation with any of us ....That makes me angry. And it makes me quiet. ...except with a keyboard. Now, I should be more charitable perhaps, but c'mon ...who has the right to speak of us, when they don't even know us. Leave us alone, I say ...just leave us alone. This is not easy, or simple ...this is real hardcore suffering. It's not a job loss, a bad marriage, a difficult child, a low paying job, bad landscaping ...this ...is...the ...death...of ...my ...precious ....daughter. Get it! Can you tell I'm angry and tired of the nonsense. Most especially distressed that anyone ...who doesn't even know us, would take it upon themselves to let others know how we're doing. And yet, there are others, part of our day to day, who have yet to ask how our kids are doing ..or even how we're doing? And that stuns me too.
This is how we're doing ...we had a boat ...now we're shipwrecked ...without provisions. My kids have lost their sister, my husband lost his best friend and daughter ...and I lost ...big. Now, in all of this there is a supernatural view for sure, and believe me, it is our lifeline. And in this too are the people who've stood by us and do ask, and do care about us and the kids ...despite their own very real struggles and sufferings. They are simply there for us ...always, and I am enormously grateful. I'm just getting tired of letting other people pretend they are, when in fact, they are not.
We're ten months into this hard, hard journey ...ten months, and I can tell you ...it has not gotten easier ...it has gotten harder ...much harder. If I were on the other side, I would be looking for the signs of my friend getting over it, and taking them as indicators, assuring myself that my friend was coming along ...healing. But I am not on that side, I am on this one ...in a world that has forgotten my girl already. That's to be expected. I believe and know that God is there ...and most times, it is only Him I know is there for me. That's to be expected too. But what really happens ...is we realize people are done, tired of a sad friend, tired of the loss. What I hear is ...big deal ...get moving. Honestly, I don't think that's what people are consciously processing and trying to convey ...but it rings out loud and clear. And so we stop ...stop talking to the ones we know are expecting us to. Some even say, "but you're burden is finished ...that's much easier." Sorry, doesn't work that way ...pray and hope you never have to really come to your senses about that.
It was a hard day. Phoebe's things still make there way into our everyday ...just like they always did. Her shoes, t-shirts all still flow in the rhythm ...a gentle reminder of her place still here in this home, these hearts. I'm sinking and hanging on for dear life. I am a bit stronger now, better able to fight the current, but the strength of the current doesn't relent. It stays. I know this now from meeting so many other parent's who've lost a child, and also from working with the elderly. Whenever we get a report on a patient we first hear the medical status and primary health concerns ...and always, if they have lost a child in the past, it is the next most important piece of information we are given ...it never goes away, it shapes us.
So back to the beginning of this post. There is a supernatural battle playing out all around us. Good vs. evil. The Truth (being Christ and His Church) and the lie (being Satan and what poses as the church, but isn't). This is a sorrow to me, and to plenty of others who just simply want to live out their faith without corruption. I've never known the warm and fuzzy Jesus ...he's always eluded me. I've just known my Savior and believed in the promise of meeting Him one day, face to face. I think if I had known the warm and fuzzy "hey, man, what's the big deal" Jesus, I'd be gone ...long gone. I'd never go to Church again. The Jesus I know was beaten, spit on, and nailed to the Cross. The Jesus I know had friends who fled from Him in His hour of greatest need. The Jesus I know gave every last breath and drop of blood in Him to save me from my own sins. I don't know the Jesus who high fives everyone and says "hey, you're going straight to Heaven just 'cause you say so." I know the one who told Mary Magdalene to go and sin no more. I know the Jesus who turned over tables in the temple when He saw God's sacred space being mocked. I know the Jesus who told me that to follow Him would cost me ...and it has. I know the Jesus who multiplied the loaves and fishes to feed thousands ...the real miracle, not the metaphor so often proposed in its place. I know and believe in the Jesus who met my daughter when she died. But I don't hear much about that Jesus around here ...and that bothers me ...because He's the one who founded the Church. So where is he? Believe me, He is here, and thriving in some small pockets. He's the one I want my kids to know and love and serve ...not an easy task around here. We've been silenced in a very real way. That's hard, but it's also a reason to lean even more into God, becoming even more trusting of Him as we remember how he was abandoned and marginalized ...because it didn't look pretty, didn't feel all warm and fuzzy. He finished and he stayed ...and I can count on that, sometimes only that. I want to stay with Him and finish too, and often we have to carefully discern if we are following Him, or a feeling of belonging, being part of the crowd. It won't often feel good to follow Him. But it will ultimately bring peace ...even if only fleeting.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Rolling in
Four days from now we'll have lived ten months without Phoebe. The anxiety rises up and at first we don't know where it comes from, but then we do. Early on they told us we would be in shock for a year, and then the fog would lift. They told us, there would be a new pain, and it would be hard. I believed they were wrong ...wanted to anyway. but now I see they were right. There are times now when I stop, stunned at the thought of her gone. I see breaks in the fog, cracks that give me a moments view, a moments experience of this new pain.
Like a child, I feel my eyes looking up and grabbing hold of God's hand, eyes pleading to make it not real, to make it go away, be different ...happy. But, I see him in my mind and He assures me it is all real, but it will be okay. Childlike is the only way I can be right now, i simply trust because He asked me to. Big questions with long answers get asked. Deep thoughts are analyzed, intellectualized ...I can't go there. My faith has become simple and small. My faith is my own ...my beads and the sacraments. I can't even claim right now that I understand even those things ...I just know I am holding on tight and trusting.
We live in an area of complete chaos in our diocese. Much of what comes out of it is a complete assault on the true faith, and sadly is leading many, many souls away from the Truth. I used to care more about that, now I just turn away in disgust, but mostly sadness, and cling to what is true, authentic, timeless ...my beads and the sacraments.
I work and pray my way through every patients room. I think of them, the end not far off. I envy them sometimes. How much longer I think ...how long can a person endure the loss. I know God will provide me the grace necessary to sustain myself for as long as He wants me to.
Its this wave of dread that approaches near each marking, each passing date that reminds me of what ...of who, I've lost.
I see someone today I haven't seen in years. "Are you ...?" I ask. Yes, he says. I tell him my name. He looks down and comes close, hugs me. It is not even him that I knew well, but his wife. For years we spent summers poolside, our little ones in tow. My Olivia and her son, swam and played as a unit ...they left there swimming lessons together, wordless, grabbed towels and sat, teeth chattering ...and then moved on. We watched them, others did too, Phoebe always loved watching them. Hannah would trail them, a little behind. I called them the Baldwin sisters, and her son, Ashley Longworth from the TV show, The Waltons. He stands there now, a young man, looking down at me. We talk, his wife took it hard, he tells me. Makes no sense he says ...how parents who give it there all suffer, while others who seemingly ignore there own kids have great success...whats the deal? I have no answers ...my daughters dead ...I'm out of the race. Smart kids, attentive parents ...how? Still, I have no answers. I think of all the people around me and how their kids just march along, graduate, go off to school, have plans, accomplish goals ...good things. There just not part of my life ...anymore. Maybe some of my kids will go along that route ...but I don't bank on that anymore. I pray my kids make it to Heaven, die in a state of grace. I pray my kids live past 17 ...little goals, insignificant from a world view. Try that on ...a goal of having your kids live past seventeen ...pretty humbling. I have one who's 21, but five more yet to reach that age ...that's my goal.
I part from this friend from the past, aware of the pain he feels. He hasn't seen Phoebe since she was about eight ...and he is torn. Yes, I am reminded of my loss ...my deep, deep loss.
The work of grief ...the loneliness of grief ...it is a sad, sad thing. I guess to work through the pain, the sadness ...and to feel so very alone, is in fact what draws me closer to God and makes my desire to know him, love him and serve him even greater. May I be a good and humble servant ...and tonight may all the parents whose hearts shattered when their child died rest with peace and love and a confidence that He is always there.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Like a child, I feel my eyes looking up and grabbing hold of God's hand, eyes pleading to make it not real, to make it go away, be different ...happy. But, I see him in my mind and He assures me it is all real, but it will be okay. Childlike is the only way I can be right now, i simply trust because He asked me to. Big questions with long answers get asked. Deep thoughts are analyzed, intellectualized ...I can't go there. My faith has become simple and small. My faith is my own ...my beads and the sacraments. I can't even claim right now that I understand even those things ...I just know I am holding on tight and trusting.
We live in an area of complete chaos in our diocese. Much of what comes out of it is a complete assault on the true faith, and sadly is leading many, many souls away from the Truth. I used to care more about that, now I just turn away in disgust, but mostly sadness, and cling to what is true, authentic, timeless ...my beads and the sacraments.
I work and pray my way through every patients room. I think of them, the end not far off. I envy them sometimes. How much longer I think ...how long can a person endure the loss. I know God will provide me the grace necessary to sustain myself for as long as He wants me to.
Its this wave of dread that approaches near each marking, each passing date that reminds me of what ...of who, I've lost.
I see someone today I haven't seen in years. "Are you ...?" I ask. Yes, he says. I tell him my name. He looks down and comes close, hugs me. It is not even him that I knew well, but his wife. For years we spent summers poolside, our little ones in tow. My Olivia and her son, swam and played as a unit ...they left there swimming lessons together, wordless, grabbed towels and sat, teeth chattering ...and then moved on. We watched them, others did too, Phoebe always loved watching them. Hannah would trail them, a little behind. I called them the Baldwin sisters, and her son, Ashley Longworth from the TV show, The Waltons. He stands there now, a young man, looking down at me. We talk, his wife took it hard, he tells me. Makes no sense he says ...how parents who give it there all suffer, while others who seemingly ignore there own kids have great success...whats the deal? I have no answers ...my daughters dead ...I'm out of the race. Smart kids, attentive parents ...how? Still, I have no answers. I think of all the people around me and how their kids just march along, graduate, go off to school, have plans, accomplish goals ...good things. There just not part of my life ...anymore. Maybe some of my kids will go along that route ...but I don't bank on that anymore. I pray my kids make it to Heaven, die in a state of grace. I pray my kids live past 17 ...little goals, insignificant from a world view. Try that on ...a goal of having your kids live past seventeen ...pretty humbling. I have one who's 21, but five more yet to reach that age ...that's my goal.
I part from this friend from the past, aware of the pain he feels. He hasn't seen Phoebe since she was about eight ...and he is torn. Yes, I am reminded of my loss ...my deep, deep loss.
The work of grief ...the loneliness of grief ...it is a sad, sad thing. I guess to work through the pain, the sadness ...and to feel so very alone, is in fact what draws me closer to God and makes my desire to know him, love him and serve him even greater. May I be a good and humble servant ...and tonight may all the parents whose hearts shattered when their child died rest with peace and love and a confidence that He is always there.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Our Lady of Angels
Fifteen years ago our daughter, Olivia, was born. On this sweet feast day! She had a prolapsed chord and what started as an uneventful birth, quickly became an emergency situation. Moments before, the OB bragged about all his deliveries practically yawning at the ordinariness of my labor. I had an epidural that only affected one side of my body ...and he really dismissed my concern ...and pain. He was covering for my regular OB. I was induced since Olivia had shown no growth over a two week period. I could have waited until my regular guy returned, but opted for her delivery. The morning started a bit rough. I don't have good veins, so what should have been underway by 8AM, didn't start until nearly noon. One of our neighbors was a nurse at the hospital working in the NICU. We chatted a bit before she left saying "well, fortunately I won't be seeing you or your baby anytime soon." She only arrived on scene for the serious cases. Aside from pathetic veins, and a lopsided epidural, everything looked good. Being a teaching hospital, medical students were in and out. One of them came in with a big shield on his face and asked if he could palpate my belly. I didn't mind as he poked and prodded for about fifteen minutes. He had a very serious, studious expression on his face. Finally, he rested from the assessment. Lips moving in calculation, I wondered what he was thinking. "I would say your baby weighs between 6 to 10lbs." Very astute, I thought, while my husband chuckled "good guess." Off he went, the OB rolled his eyes and charmingly pontificated about his great success as an OB. I loved his Scottish accent, but would have preferred my own OB who had a great sensitivity towards his patients. He had told me early on that if he were a woman, he would get an epidural the second he found out he was pregnant. I missed him. The labor started strong and continued in earnest. Within half an hour I was in serious labor, going from 1cm to 5cm. I had no time to lean into the labor and find a rhythm. The epidural dulled one side, but seemed to amp the other. Casually, the OB sat nearby, shrugging off the white knuckles and terror clinging to the rails. Within seconds the monitor showed the baby in serious distress, it bounced back but then again dipped this time not returning. It was the OBs turn for terror as he sprung to his feet and examined me only to find the chord far ahead of my baby. His eyes were wild and he was screaming and suddenly my nurse neighbor appeared with others. I will never forget how the OB stood at the foot of my bed with a scissor held up. He screamed at nurses to grab my legs and then to me..."you must get this baby out in one push and I'm going to cut you and its going to hurt." I looked at my husband and said I couldn't, it simply wasn't in me. "You can" he said. It was the first time in a long time that I had called upon God and asked the Him to let the angels help me. I had not yet claimed my faith, but in that instant I did. I told God I could not deliver this child on my own and begged Him to help me. And He did! She was delivered in one push, grabbed by my nurse friend and placed under the warming lights. "Is my baby okay." I asked. At the foot of my bed sat the overly confident doctor, panting. In his regal accent he responded " The baby is fine. I ...on the other hand ...am about to have a heart attack." I told Olivia that story again tonight, the story of her birth, the story of the angels carrying her forth, keeping her safe.
Olivia is a wonderful, beautiful daughter, bright and kind, responsible and caring. She's had a challenging year ...and she has soared, written her own story. We celebrated with her today, pedicures with her long-time friend Lisa since they were both one ....hard to believe. Little girls now big.
I remember the day of her birth, how I had begged and pleaded to bring her forward, safely ...and I pray the same today for her, this daughter with a heavy, heavy burden of loss and missing. This is her time, her future to work towards ...and I want to be right by her side, full attention, support and encouragement as she makes her way in the world. My own burden of losing a daughter is real, part of me, but it is time to let the brightness of the living be center stage. Phoebe will always be my first daughter, but Olivia is now my oldest girl ...and she is a wonderful roll model for her younger siblings ...and I tell her so. Tears fall today for what is lost, but by the end of the day, her pretty toes are on my lap and then in my face "kiss my toes" she demands ...and I do. I kiss those toes, with such gratitude that fifteen years ago, on the feast of Our Lady of the Angels (totally lost on me at the time) she made it ...and with gratitude that through such great loss, she's made it again. I don't paint a romantic picture here, just a simple story of Gods great protection and constancy.
Blessed Mother watches over the angels as they minister to us ...all of us. And I am so, so grateful for that, most especially on this day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Olivia is a wonderful, beautiful daughter, bright and kind, responsible and caring. She's had a challenging year ...and she has soared, written her own story. We celebrated with her today, pedicures with her long-time friend Lisa since they were both one ....hard to believe. Little girls now big.
I remember the day of her birth, how I had begged and pleaded to bring her forward, safely ...and I pray the same today for her, this daughter with a heavy, heavy burden of loss and missing. This is her time, her future to work towards ...and I want to be right by her side, full attention, support and encouragement as she makes her way in the world. My own burden of losing a daughter is real, part of me, but it is time to let the brightness of the living be center stage. Phoebe will always be my first daughter, but Olivia is now my oldest girl ...and she is a wonderful roll model for her younger siblings ...and I tell her so. Tears fall today for what is lost, but by the end of the day, her pretty toes are on my lap and then in my face "kiss my toes" she demands ...and I do. I kiss those toes, with such gratitude that fifteen years ago, on the feast of Our Lady of the Angels (totally lost on me at the time) she made it ...and with gratitude that through such great loss, she's made it again. I don't paint a romantic picture here, just a simple story of Gods great protection and constancy.
Blessed Mother watches over the angels as they minister to us ...all of us. And I am so, so grateful for that, most especially on this day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Rocky Ledge
These past many months have felt like many things. One sense has been of walking on a stony ledge, needing to carefully select where I place my foot, knowing that loose rocks could send me smashing and rolling downward. Most of my actions have been deliberate, calculated ....keeping things at bay, or grabbing tight to lifelines. It's an exhausting way to live. I've always been somewhat controlled, wanting to know what's ahead, where danger may lie, threaten me, us. Or simply to just manage life in a busy, thriving, growing household ...that's life as a mom of many kids. But what I mean here is different because the steps are deliberate out of fear ...out of what could happen, the fear of that ....of becoming even sadder, even more desperate, unable to live and serve my family, unable to laugh. It's not healthy ...understandable yes, but not healthy ...physically, emotionally, most especially spiritually, because it lacks a trust in God. Trusting God will allow me to abandon all to Him ...my fear, my sadness, sorrow, foreboding, ...anger. When I calculate my steps with such deliberation, I am not trusting ...I am doubting.
There is so much that races through my heart and mind, like winds that wrap themselves around me. I'm tired, tired of grieving and missing, tired of the labor of it all, the hard work that will not go away. God tells us He will, does carry our burdens for us. The trick is finding how to really lay them at His feet ...and then trust He will pick it up.
I have a sense that I would rather run along the rocky ledge, just as Phoebe would have, only in barefeet. I'll have shoes on, but let me start running more, not be so scared of the loose rocks. I can't do that until I find the place in my heart that lets me trust God ...and choose for Him to carry my burdens for me.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
There is so much that races through my heart and mind, like winds that wrap themselves around me. I'm tired, tired of grieving and missing, tired of the labor of it all, the hard work that will not go away. God tells us He will, does carry our burdens for us. The trick is finding how to really lay them at His feet ...and then trust He will pick it up.
I have a sense that I would rather run along the rocky ledge, just as Phoebe would have, only in barefeet. I'll have shoes on, but let me start running more, not be so scared of the loose rocks. I can't do that until I find the place in my heart that lets me trust God ...and choose for Him to carry my burdens for me.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
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