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.