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.