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.