Embers

I open my front door, look down, and there they are, her sneakers, her converse ...remember the blue ones, well worn.  I'll leave them there.  At first I left them right outside the door, on the porch because that's where she last left them, where she usually did.  I had a tiny hope that she would come back, pick them up, lift one foot in ...and our footsteps would find a united stride once again.  I've looked in doorways, out windows, scanned the ocean and sand.  She's never there.  I called to her, asked her to come, let me know she's safe ...and she doesn't answer, at least in a way I can see and hear.  Phoebe is gone.  I've always known that.  I haven't been delusional, just wishful in the sense I believe God can do anything, even rewrite history, turn back the clock ...rewind.  I've searched high and low, begged and pleaded with God, and I have had glimpses for sure, especially last Christmas, as I approached the manger.  It was a powerful and poignant time.  He blessed me, I know.  But that assurance is fleeting ...and its been dry for a long time now.
Time marches on and the reality begins to seep in, take hold, maybe in the same way a search party is called off.  There is simply nothing left to do.  That morning nearly a year ago cannot be rescripted.  The acute pain is mostly gone and returns only for minutes at a time, but the chronic pain has set in, settled in my bones and let me know it is time to learn to live with it.  And so we begin the life without Phoebe we never wanted.  Acute pain is harsh and raw ...your only options are to die (which you easily could) or fight to survive.  Chronic pain is unrelenting and wider, yet not quite the dagger in the heart being twisted.  Chronic pain is your mate, and with this new mate, we must learn to live and accomplish the business of life. 
I've got lots of reasons to absorb the chronic pain ...six other kids, a husband, friends ...all bringing plenty of joy along with the natural frustrations of life.  So, I know I'll live my life ...no fear of dying from this anymore.  The tears of excruciating pain, of agony are less.  Now, its like bleeding tears, best I can explain it.  They just fall.
I asked for a few things right from the start: let me survive a year, protect my kids and help them live their lives as best they can, keep my marriage and family intact and preserve my faith.  If you've been through something like this you know those are pretty demanding requests ...but He's blessed me with all of them, though their is no claim to perfection here, especially my own.  It's all His grace. 
October 9th will come ...and go.  The days leading up to it are already far, far heavier than I'd imagined.  Each day now I look back and remember.  I can't recall each day specifically, but I have a general idea of what would have been happening.  Still, there are moments of such clarity that replay in my mind that bring me back to those last days with her.  Each day, I can say "a year ago ..."  But come Oct. 10, there will be no "a year ago..." with Phoebe.  I'll walk through those days remembering the extraordinary pain, heading to Bar Harbor, the house being in total chaos, choosing her coffin.  I'll remember my first call to Meg and then Cathy.  I'll remember looking at my phone "is it true?" from Kelly.  I texted back "yes," and I envisioned my oldest friend, Phoebe's biggest fan crumble.  I'll remember all of it, and walk through it again.  The phone calls, the disbelief, the searching for answers.  Not Phoebe ...of all people not her.  Yet, it was her.  I'll remember the look on my children's faces, the sirens, the flashing lights, my son being picked up at work and brought home.  I'll remember the first phone call from my next oldest daughter, the crying and screaming.  I'll remember the ride home from the soccer field, the screaming prayers and begging God not to abandon us.  I'll remember seeing her and holding her, telling her how much I love her. I'll remember looking up at my husband and someone grabbing my shoulder pulling me away.  I'll remember the pretty, young police officer, the look on her face, the horror.  Hadn't she just been to our house after a neighbor called to report us for harassing them.  They were having leaves blown out of their woods for about seven days straight from7AM - 7PM.  We couldn't bear the leaf blower anymore, it was constant, so my husband asked their landscapers if they could use a rake.  The owner called the police and she came to our house, rolled her eyes as she told us they had a right to remove all the leaves from their woods even if it made no sense and disturbed everyone around them.  I had started to say something when Phoebe had tugged my arm and shushed me.  And then asked "did that lady really call the police?"  She giggled.  That police officer got to hear Phoebe laugh about a week before she saw her dead.  Those neighbors never said a word to us about our daughter.
I'll remember every moment and live through it again.  These will not be easy days, but they're not meant to be.  My husband and I will go over and over our life with her.  We'll remember how she pushed us to live every second of our lives ...even if it hurt.  I'm not exaggerating when I say there was no one like her.  She was a gem of extraordinary value.  She was noticeable.  She left an impression wherever she went, whatever she did.  She was mine to borrow for seventeen years ...and how I wish I had savored more of each moment with her. 
Living my faith is hard, hard work.  There are no heavenly arms wrapping me in comfort.  I don't feel His great love showering down on me ...there are no emotional gifts here.  Yet, I trust Him through and through.  I like God less ...but I trust Him more.  I love God ...He is the center of my life, but I don't like His ways for the people I know who live each moment of their lives for Him.  It almost seems that he steps away, leaves.  Tiny embers burn letting me know He is still here, silent, but still present ...and doing what with this pathetic, imperfect mother ...I have no idea. 
I pray one day He reunites me with Phoebe and that one day our family will be together again.  I'm counting on that ....praying for that, and in the meantime ...I'll remember.

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

Flies

I've always wanted to be one of the people who stays at the foot of the Cross.  I've wanted to believe I love God so so much, that even when all seems lost, and He is bleeding, bruised, beaten beyond any comprehension with open, gaping wounds, flesh hanging off bone, I would stay ...and still believe.  I want to be that person ...the one with such enormous faith, the universe couldn't hold all of it.  I want to be that person who stays even when all is lost, when human reason says it's all over, there is no more to be done, it is finished. I want to be the one that when horror mounts, the real horror of human brokenness, the horror of a lost soul presents itself to me, I still ...beyond all reason ...witness for Him ...and believe.  That's who I want to be. But I am not that person.  There have been times I've believed I was that person, but I know now, I never was.
Recently I listened to a talk by Fr. Groeschel on human suffering.  He lives and works among the day to day desolation and desperation of so many people ...he sees the underbelly of life, the lost hope, the detour signs, the closed signs, so many people face day to day.  I have some options.  Grab my sneakers and head out my door, breath in the salt air, listen to the surf, and walk the deer paths of undisturbed land. I can head down the road a mile or two and sit in front of the Tabernacle ...because I know and believe in the One who is in there.  I can turn my gaze and grab my beads and pray the ancient prayer of the Rosary.  In all this, I can find some safety, security, peace ...hope.  And so I know I've been blessed, enormously. Others haven't.  It's not my hard work that's earned that ...its grace given, bestowed.
So I have to ask some hard questions of myself ...and answer them.  Would I stay, today, at the foot of the Cross?  Would you?
Fr. Groeschel describes that place ...the dried blood, the smell, the flies.  This place where Christ died, was not on a beautiful hill overlooking Boston.  It was narly and wasted and crass.  Criminals were executed there, blood carpeted the stone, layers and layers of it, and flies flourished and buzzed that annoying sound they make that cuts through to the core.  In that place, can I honestly say I would stay?
Only one apostle stayed, John.  The Mary's stayed ...who else?
I'd like to think that I would stay until the end.  I'd like to say I would help His body off the cross and adorn Him with oil.  I'd like to say I'd still see Him as my Savior even though my eyes told me something else.  Because when God's story doesn't compute for the human eye or emotion, its pretty hard to keep believing and trusting and loving.
And that's the true story of faith.  When we hang on and trust even the unbelievable ...that's faith.  When we cling to our sorrows, our losses, our persecutions and abuses ...and whisper thank you ...only then is it when I really believe.  And the truly incredulous part to me, is that all we have to do is say it, to attempt to believe we are thankful for the crosses in our lives ...and He blesses us.  Feelings have nothing to do with it.  They're nice, certainly.  It feels good to feel good ...but that's not true unity with Christ.  True unity is when we choose Him even though our feelings question and challenge His ways ...and what He's offered and allowed us in this life.
Can I see and believe the Resurrection  when I gaze at my own crosses?  Or do I jump straight to the Resurrection screaming ....you lied!  Where is this joy and peace you promised if I followed you?  I've asked, no screamed, this so many times over this past year.  The realization of that promise is all there, but I can only see it if I look through the lens of Christ's Crucifixion ...when He was spent, His total humanity was completely and totally beaten.  His humanity lost, just like ours will.  But His divinity won, always has and always will ...and He will take us with Him if we follow Him ...and believe, truly, absolutely ...and obediently in all He teaches.
What if Christ saved me through this tremendous loss?  What if Christ saved many by snatching Phoebe, taking her home?  Even one soul, saved, would be enough.  Would I stay at the foot of the Cross if it meant one more soul was saved?  For my daughter, I hope I would ...I hope.  With each praise and thank you to God for everything ...even her death, my separation from her, I can stay a bit longer.
May Christ grant all of us the grace to trust, believe and follow Him in our worst moments.

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

Rogue Wave

I've read a few books on grief, the process, the feelings ...what we can expect, what we can't predict.  There are generic phases of grief and then there are the precise phases, so to speak.  I remember when my mother died, five years after my father, the distinct feeling of being an orphan.  I was 40.  But that process of losing a parent, of being the lead generation, is particular.  And I don't know the feeling or process of losing a spouse.  But I do know the process, so far, of losing Phoebe, my child.  There's much written, and really the only writings I'm interested in are ones authored by someone who's experienced it.  Plenty have written and commented who have no idea what its like, even though they may believe they do.  I've learned something from every book, every exposed heart of a mother or father living the great want of their lost child.  But there's one that grabbed me far more than any other, Sugar Cookies and a Nightmare, by Carol Kearns.
I'm not far into it, but as soon as it was offered to me, the second I felt it in my hand I knew it was a personal, intimate letter that would echo back my walk.  I looked at the title and remembered a few winters ago, readying for Christmas.  We've always tried to do more craft type things than shopping kind of things, so we bake a lot and make candy, toffee to be exact.  But this season a few years ago Phoebe and I wanted to decorate sugar cookies.  Finding a really good sugar cookie recipe isn't as easy as it sounds.  Baking multiple batches from different recipes we found one we liked best, but truthfully, we liked them all The adventure of finding the perfect recipe kept us on a joint mission we both took very seriously.  So when I saw the title it spoke to me and brought me back to that joyful season and the nightmare that would subsequently follow a few years later.  Yes, I thought, this woman knows something of me.
It's a book I think any person could learn from ...certainly those of us with the shattered heart, but also those who struggle to really understand the process and life of losing a child.  Some people understand it instinctively to the degree they can ..they are remarkable people really.  But many either assume a parent should be over it by a certain point, or quite simply, really don't care.  I think they might learn a thing or two ...and potentially salvage friendships, relationships that do probably matter to them, but drift because of the great divide in life experience.
Kearns writes a letter to "Dr. Expert," a radio talk show host who advises a friend of a woman who's lost her daughter to not acknowledge the woman's  daughter's birthday or death day, suggesting that she needs to help her friend move forward ...out of her grief.  I don't need to give it all away, but if you're the least bit interested, it might be a good read.
I've read and heard so many stories of loss ....and there are plenty.  Yet, none of them tugged me like this one.  Off to a family weekend, excited for the break from routine, her family headed to the coast of Oregon.  Excited to see friends, they started with playing on the beach in November and then off to a lunch of hotdogs.  The gang of kids headed back to the beach while the moms tidied after lunch.  It was within a few short minutes the kids would come barreling back, frenzied, confused and frightened ....missing one.  While playing on the beach, a rogue wave had come from nowhere and swept Kearn's daughter away.  She was seven. 
I've played on the beach in Oregon with my kids, and have never gone beyond my ankles, nor would I allow my children to go any further.  I'm an Atlantic girl, I know that ocean, I know August is the cautious season where riptides hide in the surf.  I know September finds the water warmer than July.  But the Pacific ...a completely different body of water.  The few times I've been on the Pacific coast, I've had a constant fear of that water.  It's simply too strong and powerful, too deep too quick.  The coastline is breathtaking, especially in Oregon where the rock formations soar out of the  ocean.  I wasn't on the same piece of coastline as the author of this book, but the visual is there for me.  While I was stunned by its beauty, it filled me with anxiety, fear.
The kids weren't playing in the water, they were playing on the sand, in their cool weather jackets.  It was November.  Imagine sending your child to play in the sand ...my kids have grown up playing in the sand.  It's healthy and fun ...and free!  Out of nowhere the Pacific snatched her little girl, never to be seen again.  In an instant she was gone and their lives were and are forever changed.  Kearns writes this book now.  Her daughter died nearly forty years ago! No parent is ever over such a loss, nor should they be.
We chart our lives, organize it in such a way, even practice our faith with expectation of things going a certain way.  I think if I live a particular way of life, practice and cultivate qualities and character, it will protect me, my kids from pain and hardship.  In practical terms that's all true.  Don't touch the stove you won't get burned,  and the list goes on.  But life with God just isn't that simple.  When you choose to follow Him, really follow Him you accept (because at the time it doesn't seem all that hard, at least for me) that life may bring you struggle and challenge and hardship.  And then ...it really comes, in a way you never would have imagined, from seemingly nowhere ...like a rogue wave.  I wonder if God watches those rogue waves come at us to see if we still stand.  Or does He watch us to see if we try to get up.  I'm not really sure.  Or maybe, if we let Him, He lifts us up out of the sand and water and holds us while we brush off the sand ...and cry.
I had a deep thought today as I was talking to God, wondering where He's gone.  It seems that God doesn't answer me, I don't hear Him, or see Him, or feel Him ...and I'm not so angry about that anymore because I trust Him.  What I saw and thought at the same time was His silence, but I also saw Him weeping as if He knew the way of my heart ...because He really does, like no other. 
I love my life, and I feel extraordinarily blessed ...I know I am.  God has been very generous to me.  I just don't know why He would allow such a rogue wave to sweep away my daughter.  I live in a place called World's End.  My world ended the day Phoebe died ...literally ended.  But it also began, and it is a climb to claim that, an effort to believe and trust it.  If you know this place, you know the majesty, the beauty that surrounds me in this place.  When I go there, I see her.  I imagine a tidal wave could wreak some havoc if it crossed over into the bay, a rogue wave. 
Phoebe loved waves, she was natural in them, wore them like skin.  If she had to be a wave, she wouldn't be just any wave, she'd be a rogue wave ...and she was.

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

Picture Day

Hey Pheebs!
Remember a year ago, right now actually, we caught the late afternoon sun.  Kat took over 700 pics of you.  Who would have guessed!  I walked that path today with Lisa, I guess there's no need to address her more formally now.  Providential, I think, that she had asked last week to take a walk this Monday in World's End.  I hadn't put it all together until the weekend ...and I was glad for the companionship.  And I was glad she walked our steps and I could see her choke up ...and remember with me.  She wanted, really wanted, to know the details of that day ...of you.  Lots of people remember your details Phoebe, and feel lost at not having them any more.
I've got lots to say and I  don't think I'll be able to say it all.  Bags of groceries sit behind me, pasta boils on the stove, meatballs are heating up ...laundry needs to be switched, there's a pick-up and a meeting ....you know the drill, you lived it so long with me.
I came home from work ...it was all so new to me, to all of us, me working as a nurse.  You were really happy for me and that always made me feel good.  I loved my job, but was still learning how to establish boundaries, say  no so I could get home and start dinner.  I found you in your room, playing with your hair, your two sweaters, one black, one blue.  "Which one?" you asked.  "Blue one, it shows off your eyes."  Remember.  It was always a race to get out the door, still is actually.  Dad was home, getting ready to head for his overnight, so he held everyone back as they tried to join us.
I remember feeling like we were stepping on stage, your senior pictures were a big deal.  When I called Kat in August, she asked me about you, places you loved.  Nantasket and Worlds End ...those were your places.  She'd offered the Nantasket's boardwalk as a backdrop ...but that wasn't really you ...the beach was, the waves, but not the arcade, the honky tonk.  World's End had been your playground since you were twelve.
And so we walked, you and I, with the crunch underneath our feet ...the familiar grinding of gravel, past the guard house, towards the bridge.  The bridge is different now, rebuilt.  I'm told it cost over a million dollars to renovate.  It sits much higher than the old one, which to me, seemed to blend far more naturally into the landscape.  Mary Claire claims this new bridge isn't nearly as safe as the old one.  Lisa and I stopped on that bridge today and she listened to the story of you there, smiling, laughing.  It was all very natural, you being there in that space.  You were quiet at first, getting your own read on this person taking your picture.  I always jump in giving everyone my full trust, often dismayed by my poor judge of character.  You always waited, scoped the person out, got a feel ...you were usually right, a good judge of character.  I learned a lot from you about people and what drives them.  I'm pretty open, honest, got nothing to hide, and assume everyone else is like that.  You rarely assumed people were like that, and would wait to sense their beat, their temperature.  But this day you warmed up to Kat quickly as she revealed herself to you, how she saw the world at seventeen, so much like you did.  I listened as you talked about schools and options and life.
We trudged up further to the place where the tree had pulled the ground up when it fell.  We marveled at the roots and rock, the strength and  power of the wind and tree.  The tree is gone now and the ground filled in.  I think they should have left it there and let us keep exploring, witnessing the power of the wind.  It had happened during the micro burst last summer while you were up in New Hampshire clearing trails and building bridges.
Up further we would park ourselves on the bench that overlooks the bay, Nantasket beach beyond.  It's a spectacular view.  Kat took our picture together there and we had laughed, you were comfortable and I remember feeling so full and proud to have you for my daughter.  I loved you always, still do, but in that moment I recognized the richness of being your mother, the extraordinary gift of who you were.  Across the way, the grass grew tall and there were some funny pictures taken there.  At first we kept seeing these legs sprout up from the grass, then stick out onto the pathway.  We weren't quite sure what was going on, or how many people it involved ...we just thought it was odd, and laughed.
We made our way down to the beach and I blocked the sun with the sweatshirt I'm wearing right now.  I sat on a log while you walked further down with Kat and you lay your belly on the sand.  Those are cute photos. We had fun, didn't we Phoebe.  It was such a nice day.  Then we walked home, a nice easy stroll.  You had so much ahead of you.
I knew you missed Deirdre and Alyssa, I knew you were aching to finish school, wrap up this phase of life, like so many other seniors.  But you were free Phoebe, always free ...because that's how God makes all of us, free.  We knew it would be a couple months before we could preview the pictures, but time would fly, we could wait.
But then you died Phoebe, not three weeks later, you just died.  A bright light snuffed out in my life, a hole opened.  Late that night I sent Kat an email and asked for your pictures, we had them by Tuesday.  I was at your school talking to your class.  Dad was here alone and the truck pulled up, and so did Grace.  He opened the pictures ....and tells me that when he looked at you and how beautifully you gazed back at him, he thought he might be able to live, that somehow you reached through them and held his hand and told him he would be okay.  Emily brought over frames so we could get them set up all around us, like a blanket.
Lisa walked this again with me today, our feet crunching beneath, and she cried ...one of the greatest gifts a friend can give to a grieving mother.  I've been blessed with friends like this, who know the story is being written, it will not end until I see you again.  Others interact with us as if the story, the pain, the suffering ...the emptiness is done ...and for them, we wear our masks that say we are okay.  We know where we can go and who extends their heart ...and who is finished with us grieving.
These experiences are not exclusive to just us, its a shared oddity for most of us who've lost a child.  Its not that I want people there for me, though I certainly do, but more, I don't want you to ever be forgotten ...and I know now the hearts that will treasure you always, that will not lose you.
I really don't understand God's ways and how He allows certain things to happen.  Maybe one day you can help me understand ...or accept.  I'm just doing the best I can and striving to trust God.  To say I haven't been disillusioned would be a lie, I have been.  But I'm staying the course and living my devotions and striving for gratitude.  I've given up on the 'shoulds' people like to impose on us when there is no possible way for them to know what our lives are like now.  At first you want them because they offer a map, but then its clear that they have no idea what they're talking about, as well meaning as they may be.  God gives each of us a life and it is up to us to live it for Him.  I go back to that teaching of what is my purpose in life, why did God create me.  To know Him, love Him and serve Him, so that I might live eternally with Him in the next life.  That's what I'm doing as best I can.
It was good for me today to take that walk again in that beautiful space ...World's End.  I wish I could walk it with you again,  and maybe one day we will.  A year is just around the corner, hard to believe the world could go on without you ...treasure that you are.
I wish I could go to sleep and wake up with the year past.  I know year two will have its own measure, its own hardship of learning to live without you.  The first year is all about triage, staying alive, surviving.  Someone said tonight that grieving is the hardest work of all ...and I agree.  I'm trusting God to carry me through on the prayers of all those who continue to pray for us.  I hope some of what we're doing and how we're living makes you proud.  But the truth of it all is that its very hard and lonely to march each day without you ...all of you.  And if I had a choice, this wouldn't be my pick.  God's story isn't meant to be fully understood while we're here on earth.  I believe it, I accept it ...I just don't understand.
Hey Phoebe, it's late. I've taken breaks, finished and served dinner, cleaned the kitchen, went to a meeting, found socks for Lucy, prayed with Mary Claire, made some lunches for tomorrow ...you know my day, and I can finally wrap this up and get to bed.  Somehow I know you see this, read these words and know the ache of my heart.   Nothing more to say really for now, though I'll talk to you for the rest of my life and trust you'll know the chapters of our family's story as they are written and lived.  Be well, sweet girl ...be well.

Love, Mom

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

Embrace

One of the struggles I see more clearly is the desire to stay so close to Phoebe in her life, stay in the morning of Oct. 9 when I made her a cup of coffee and drove her to the SAT.  And yet, I don't want to stay there either, I want to be further back to Weds, Oct. 6, when she sat down at the table with us and talked about plans and life ...and we laughed, just her, me and her dad.  She wore her green sweatshirt, her comfy clothes, that fell below her hands.  And then she placed her hands on the table and slid her arms down and across the table, like she always did.  She smiled and laughed and we talked about all the options she had, and the beautiful horizon ahead.  She hated school, felt boxed in, like it was just creating cookie cutter people.  We told her she never had to be cookie cutter, that she was free ....and we loved her no matter what she did.  It was not an intense discussion ...it was light and airy ...and warm.  She'd had a great soccer game that day, and I was so sad I missed it as I watched the joy in her face as she described how they had played.  They had lost ...and yet it was her greatest, their greatest, game she had said.  She promised me she would do a slide tackle for me, ...an inside family joke, at her next game. I felt full and happy that night heading to bed.  Every pillow was used, each head resting, safe and sure.  I was blessed and knew it.  I thought about her and how she had grown into herself.  In a world that emphasizes long and lean, she was short and powerful.  In stores where clothes are made for a tiny waist, no hips or thighs, she'd struggled to find clothes that fit well, just like I had.  And now here she was, having found her style and way ...she had become ....and I could see  she felt good.  And I was glad. 
Puzzle pieces come together as we look back on a life well lived.  Phoebe's life thrived like no other in so many ways.  I tell my friend this ...I know it sounds like I'm saying she was unusual, extraordinary ...but she was.  She did things, she lived, she created, she embraced so much.  My friend echoes back that she was indeed extraordinary.  And I wonder how God could create such a person, such a girl, such a daughter only to take her so young.  Phoebe saw things, the nuances of life, the particularities and peculiarities of life and people.  She noticed the contradictions and dichotomies all around her.  Most times, she found humor in them, but other times they weighed her down. 
So the struggle is to stay there with her, close by to those final days, which are so real and present in my mind and heart.  I walk these days  now and remember.  This Friday night our elementary school will  have its annual cookout.  Last year, I had called Phoebe on her way home from her game and asked her to come by.  She said she didn't want to, she was sweaty, in her uniform.  "Please, just stay for a little bit."  I didn't think she would, but she did, her hair swept back tied in a ribbon with paw prints of wildcats to match her uniform.  I remember thinking she looked darling. 
It was that night I saw an old classmate.  She was a year ahead of me and we had some mutual friends.  Her mother was there too, a chemistry teacher when I was in high school.  I didn't take chemistry, but my friends had.  We made lots of connections and planned to meet for dinner.  Phoebe came over and introduced herself and then listened to a story about my own mother I had never heard.  "Let me tell you how wonderful your grandmother was and what she did for us." This teacher's husband had been sick a decade ago.  They had good insurance, the best you can get.  But one day as they prepared to leave for NYC from Boston for some advanced treatment the phone rang, and their long awaited appointment had been cancelled because their insurance wouldn't cover it.  It had all been prearranged so they were stunned, frustrated and disappointed.  This teacher dialed the number for the medical division of this insurance company.  My mother answered the phone ...she worked for this company as a physician, approving or disapproving medical procedures.  They talked.  Within minutes the phone rang, a call from NYC, there had been some mix-up ...the appointment was on.  I don't know what my mother did, but like Phoebe, you would have to know my mother to understand her essence, and know the tone her voice could take commanding those around her.  My mother claimed to stand at 5"7, but she was far closer to Phoebe's height. Yet no one would consider either of them small.  My mother would have carefully chosen her words, tempered her tone with such precision the people on the other end would be quivering with fear if they didn't follow through.  Phoebe had loved that story because it told the part of her grandmother she had loved so much ...she could use words and tone like a sword, drawing closer to her goal ...a goal that was rarely about herself.  I'm glad Phoebe and I heard that story together.  Phoebe had turned to me and giggled, gave me her look that needed no words.  In a short time, I would see this mother and daughter again as they came to say goodbye to Phoebe. 
I want to go back to those last days and measure each step with more precision.  I want to re-write history and tell a different tale hear of a girl beginning her new adult life.  Letting go of holding on is hard work.   To me she is still here.  The other day I watched my freshmen daughter play volleyball.  I watch them all, each child, in a way I didn't before.  I watched her serve, powerful and strong.  I watched her face, her eyes that glittered.  She liked how she was playing, and I did too.  The scorekeeper yawned, changing the numbers, and gave the opposing team the point.  I reached for my phone, it would be the kind of thing Phoebe would find both humorous and appalling.  I slid the phone open to send her a text ...so many months into this, and still I find myself reaching for her ...waiting to hear her laugh, ask how her sister was doing.  I want her to be here.  Instantly I catch my breath, my eyes sting ...she's not there.  It's her phone I'm using now.  I wish you were here I tell her and bury the tears so no one knows.  The scorekeeper looks down, sees her error and corrects the score.
To move away from when she was here, when I could touch her, smell her wave of perfume every morning, confirms she is gone, missing.  But it is this new life that demands my presence ....my being.  Sometimes it feels like a rejection of her , though I know it isn't.  Her life, her space is my touchstone.  And so when I go back I know that her life was indeed real.  Because the further along we go, the fewer people confirm she was here.  That's just how it goes.  Sometimes people weep with me and tell me they miss her too ...and I know then she is real, her life with me was and is real.  Sometimes people say nothing, or leave when I mention her name, or never ask again about anything ...and then I wonder,  was Phoebe real?  What if all along I've thought her death was a nightmare, but really her life was just a dream?  Its all so hard sometimes to figure out.
I don't have a sense of her.  I can't capture her ...but sometimes it seems she guides my hands, my heart, my tongue, and I do things that were so much harder for me before, but now seem to just happen ...and I wonder "Phoebe, are you there?"  Is she helping me live this life that I don't want to live without her? 
A year ago, she would have climbed the stairs to find me just about now.  Everyone quiet and still, I'd read something she was writing, give her feedback, she would tell me she was keeping it just as it was.  We'd talk about the coming day.  "Will you make me popcorn for lunch ...a lot, so everyone can have some, we all love it." she would have said.  I would have faked overwhelming annoyance and she would laugh.  I would hug her goodnight.  She rarely wrapped her arms around me, instead she would cross her arms on her chest and bury her head in my neck ...and I can still feel it there, still feel the texture of her hair, her floppy bun bouncing on my face.  I know I carry that with me, but I want to be there ... her nuzzled in close and safe.
 I know now too that life is meant to be lived in the present.  One day I'll see her again, of that I'm sure.  So each day away from last Oct. is a day closer to the one when I can be with her again.  It's just that the crossing can be so hard, unknown.
I try now to thank God constantly for her life, for the gift of being her mother ...even the gift of losing her, as much as it hurts.  I know God loves her even more than I do, and that He loves me more than I can say.  If I had never mothered Phoebe, I wouldn't be who I am today ...she pushed and pulled me in ways no one else ever could or will.  I chased Phoebe her whole life ...and she giggled most of the way.  The ending here is sad and tragic ....but its not the real ending, only the worldly one.
"Go, go, go, go, go ...c'mon, go." I can hear her say as she waves me off with her hands.  My Phoebe, my wonderfully, incredible, one of a kind Phoebe ....how I miss her.  But there is a life now to embrace, a life that includes her in a new way, a hard way to figure.  

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

Dawn

So, the eleventh month mark, that solid date, the number 9, has come and gone.  I'm heading toward the one year anniversary.  I told a friend last night that I am almost giddy ...that I have made it, that the year is approaching ...and I am still here.  It was an urgent prayer from the beginning, "please God get me through a year."
We've been told its really two years after you've lost a child that is considered early grief ...the shock lingers that long.  I believe that, but I also believe that the first year mark matters in a big way.  And truth be told, I didn't think I could walk this long in the grief of losing Phoebe ...and I have.  We all have.
There is only one reason ...God's grace, His tender care.  It's there for all of us ...just for the taking, if we ask and pay attention.  But it becomes even more powerful and present when so many pray and sacrifice for others, as so so many have done for us.  Thank you!  God's grace has enveloped us ...and helped us live.

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

Birthdays

Tomorrow is Blessed Mother's Birthday.  If you've bumped into Mary Claire over the past month, I'm sure you know.  She starts kindergarten tomorrow, so when people ask her what day she starts, she looks at them with a mix of confusion and disappointment ...they should know, of course, which day she would start school.  "Blessed Mother's birthday ...of course."  she says to them.  It is fitting for this little girl to begin her school career on this special day.  I've prayed a lot about sending her off.  Mary Claire is my first to head from home to kindergarten since Phoebe, so many years ago.  When it was Olivia's turn a few years later, we decided to home school.  Phoebe came home and stayed until high school.  I'm glad for those years having her alongside us.
This is a big year for us because no one will be home ...for schooling that is.  I'm mixed about that.  There are really so many lovely things about educating your kids at home and I I do believe it's the best way.  Phoebe's death has left me depleted, dry.  Right now, I'm so grateful to have the option of sending them to school.  It tugs a bit at me though, that I've lost the stamina.  Its hard to become a person you hadn't imagined yourself being. 
So tomorrow we'll walk to the bus stop and Mary Claire will claim her place in line.  She will board the bus with Owen ...and drive away.  A chapter closed, but another begun and I trust that Blessed Mother's mantle is wrapped around this curly headed girl.  I trust she has all of them wrapped tightly under her protection.  Moments to be shared that can't be ...Phoebe would have loved watching Mary Claire, miss personality, pursue this great adventure.  I'm hoping she is anyway.

I'm grateful for the Blessed Mother and for guardian angels surrounding my children.  I just grateful for so many things ...even through the sorrow, I have much to be thankful for.

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

Labor Day

The end of summer sweeps in every year.  Labor day.  I remember last year's labor day.  There were two parties we attended over that weekend.  Phoebe had come to both of them, later than me, on her own.  Both times she walked up to me with a smile on her face.  She was fresh and free.  I remember watching her make her way around, introducing herself to those she hadn't met before and chatting with those she knew.  She had grown into a young lady, confident and sure.  I remember my heart full and proud, catching her eye across the yard.  I see it clear now too, and imagine that when I see her again she will wear the same smile, the same glimmer in her eye.  I miss her.
Had all things gone as I had imagined, we would have dropped her off at school this weekend.  I would expect to have spoken to her tonight and hear all about the swim the freshmen do across the bay to Acadia.  She would have loved that ...the cold shock of water, the surge of energy to go the distance, the exhileration would have enlivened her.  When I had read about that new student event, she immediately checked it herself and smiled, liking the unique immersion into college life. 
But, we didn't get to drop her off this weekend.  And while others busied themselves with the return to school, or the scheduling of senior year plans, I listened ...and wept inside.  To be heart broken is to have a heart that breaks over and over.  I like to hear about other people and their lives, their plans, their hopes and dreams.  Its that I can't have plans with Phoebe anymore that makes me sad.  I miss her ...and all our plans ...all the chances to bicker and giggle.  What might have been is a fiction in my head and heart ....lost.
I've labored many, many months now to survive.  I am a survivor, always have been.  I remember begging God for a year to pass quickly so that I might survive.  It's near, that year I pleaded for.  Months of hard work, intense in very unusual ways.  I have to let go of so many things, even people.  I've also had to let some others in.  Labor makes us stronger, more deliberate, efficient.  But it can also callous a person.  Harden the softest of hearts, the purest of souls.  I've closed my heart to God, I'm sorry to admit, in some ways.  When I thought I've leaned into Him, I haven't. 
I've labored to serve Him, acknowledge Him, trust Him.  I've gone through the motions and trusted that would keep me close.  But I've gone through the motions with a worldly view, not an eternal view.  Where am I going ...ultimately?  I hope to be with Him.  I believe my daughter is with Him, and I believe only He can love her with the purity and intensity she desired ...we all desire.  But truthfully, I've been so so angry.  At first, fear took hold of me, and now I know the anger has taken hold.  How could He do such a thing? Rob us of so much?  How?  I don't understand this God. 
I know suffering is part of redemption, and that we live in a fallen world.  I know I am weak and wretched without His mercy and grace.  But I've been thrown so far off track  I can't see the meaning or reason of His story of salvation most days.  I accept it and trust it ....but it doesn't run through me like it once did.  I don't share this here to say I think its all a sham ....because I don't.  I write it to show how far we can be thrown when the unthinkable happens to us ...to show what the loss of Phoebe has done to me.  I want her back and there's no way that will ever happen.  But still, it's all I want.  That is, with my worldly view.  I'm striving for the eternal view, where I can breath and say "ah yes, my girl is with God, she is at peace."  That's where I want to be, it's how I want to see the great divine plan. 
Surviving is work; pure, hard, labor.  Grieving is barbaric and devastating.  It hits you hard and then just eats away slowly at yourself and everything around you.  It is a lonely, lonely walk.  It is transformation in Him, I think.  I feel like I started running last Oct. 9 ...and I have run and run and run.  And now, I am trying to catch my breath.  My feet hurt, my lungs ache, I'm hungry and tired.  I've been running to stave off the enormity of pain that comes when a child ends their own life.  Illness, accidents, war leave many mothers weeping over the devastating loss of their child, those are unchosen deaths.  Mine could have lived ...should have lived.  And I don't know why she chose what she did, when I loved her so much and she had so much to live for.  The labor of making sense, has left me senseless and lonely.
I've been trying to figure it all out on my own ...and I can't.  It will never make sense.  But to God, who makes all things new, it does make sense. He has a purpose and plan in all things ...even this.  I cannot walk alone through this and ignore my Creator because I am angry ...so, so angry.  He took Phoebe from me ....Phoebe, of all people.  She was a unique child in so many ways.  Why would He take her?  He must have an extraordinary reason and an extraordinary plan.  The isolation of anger insulates me from His grace, prevents me from seeing His supernatural way; prevents me from accepting His plan ...His will.
I doubt the labor of grieving will ever end, but the labor of running will, one day, end.  And I know God is patient with me, and I know He is waiting to carry me a little further, maybe soften the missing just a bit. 
I'm waiting on that and trusting it will come.

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

New Chapters

I think I've shared quite a bit that I am blessed with incredible friendships.  And many of them have walked down lanes no one would want.  They're women of extraordinary faith ...they've paved the way for me to really strive to trust God in all things, at all times, in all ways.  Doesn't mean I don't question, or wish for something else, but I've learned to trust Him.  These friends have prayed a lot for me and my family, for Phoebe.  They've remembered her, have stopped me, looked me in the eye, held me and told me they know this walk of mine is hard, harder than words can say ...even when the human eye makes it look easy ...the same ...whole.  They see. I love my friends ...even their struggles.  We share the joy and the suffering of this life.  Two of them begin new chapters in the next few days, and I'm asking for your prayers for them ...for all of my friends, including yourself, but most especially for these two.
I know God put both of them in my life, at different times, and in different ways ...but it was surely from Him. If you know either of them you'll concur they both radiate joy, laugh easily and love, love, love unconditionally.  One of them has lived for several years now, educating herself, caring for her three kids, working hard to make a home for the four of them.  She's succeeded.  My kids are sure of her love for them.  She's a steady, bright light in their lives.  She made special cookies for Phoebe at Christmas, wrapped in a special box, just for her.  And she makes baklava for my son ...and he's grown to expect it ...and he really, really loves it.  She hasn't had her own home for a while, though she's been safe and dry and warm.  But today she told me, (and when she did the tears welled in my eyes), in just a few short weeks she will ...have her very own home for her and her kids.  It has been a hard walk. Whenever I've acknowledged that, she's shooed me away "no, its not really, I have so much to be grateful for,  God is so so good to me." she would say.  For years, she's taught me to be grateful in the struggle, see the gifts around me.  She trained me for what would come ...and it's helped me so much.  A new beginning.  Even still, in all the goodness of this, it is a new chapter and I beg you for prayers for her and her family. 
My other friend has to say goodbye to some of her own treasures for a while.  Always a twinkle in her Irish eyes, this friend of mine lives a life of abandonment to God.  She's even, steady and unwavering in her love and commitment to those around her.  She lives unconditional love.  She's trusted and loved as two of her sons served in dangerous territory.  She's loved her kids through hormones, success, tragedies and mistakes.  She changes my glasses for me, very often, when I forget to wear the rose colored ones.  She's never afraid to turn my head ever so slightly for a whole new view.  I've learned so much from this women. I've often sung "did you ever know that you're my hero" many times over the years.  Her oldest daughter, mother of baby Grace we prayed for a few months ago, and her family are moving clear across the country.  It's come quick this date of departure.  I hear it in her voice today on the phone, as the hours pass.  It's a good move, a great one really, in many ways, earned by hard work, pursued with prudence ...but hard.  The four babies, her grandchildren, will be far away.  My friend has to say goodbye when she doesn't want to ...and I'm sure it hurts her pretty bad.  Chances are if you know her, she's prayed for you.  Pray for her now ...for all of them, but especially for her as she lets her daughter go.  Never easy, but when the distance is so great ...even harder. 
Both of these women have been there for me ...without hesitation or delay.  They've sensed what I've needed before even I knew.  They've listened and tended to the pieces of my broken heart.  They've never judged me or Phoebe. And I am grateful to them in ways too great to count.  So for now, the best I can do for them is ask for prayers for them as they each take a step in their new chapters.  I pray for grace, peace, consolation.  I pray that I can be more like them ....and I pray in thanksgiving that I've been blessed with the gift of their friendship.

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