Good nights

Phoebe died on a Saturday.  Her anniversary is Sunday.  But I think about the days of the week when I remember her final ones.  Today, Friday, was to be her last day to be lived fully, where she would watch the sun set.  I headed to work today ...a good distraction.  I didn't want the whole day to be a reminder of what had been.  Still, piercing moments stopped me, taking my breath, reminding me of who I lost.  Letters were waiting when I came home.  Friends of hers, of ours, thinking of us, remembering her and what they lost in losing her.  One writes she will honor Phoebe by doing well, working hard ...just as Phoebe had assured her she could.  "She was always laughing and talking with me during our free periods and told me I could do well in my classes."  This girl had moved from a foreign country, struggled with the language ...and Phoebe assured her it would be okay.  And it is.
I spend tonight with my friend I was with a year ago.  We gather in her new home and she serves up a comfort meal.  She remembers with me, without any words to capture the whole story.  Our girls were at their club meeting, giving us a chance to spend some time together, catch up after so long, too long we both thought.  Families and nursing school had taken all our time.  While other friends grew miffed by our seeming disappearance, we knew the reality ...time was not plentiful.  We savored this time.  Phoebe had spent this night at  home.  Brigid and Deirdre had come over, just returning for the long weekend from college.  They made plans for Saturday after the SAT.  We would be leaving early Sunday, so she had to squeeze in a visit with them before they headed back to school.  It wouldn't be until Thanksgiving that she'd see them again.  Alyssa would be home soon, an odd break in her college calendar.  These friends were important to her.  She missed them.
I drove the long dark road home, had come into the house to find Phoebe asleep, snuggled in her down comforter.  I would wake her in the morning.  I whispered goodnight, rubbed her foot and told her I loved her.  I set the coffee for the morning, put together a snack for her to take to the SAT ...and went to bed.
Tonight, I drove that same long dark road home again.  Only this time, there was no Phoebe to say goodnight to.  I always look up at the night sky, something my father taught me ...there's a story up there in the constellations.  "Mom, look how bright that star is," my daughter says.  One solitary star shines brighter than the rest ...that's what some stars do.
I believe God writes the perfect story.  I've said that before, and I mean it.  I want the next chapter to be different than it is.  But each day unfolds something new, something I never would have thought of or considered.  He is generous beyond all words.  If I am deprived, for now, of Phoebe, I trust the reunion with her is well beyond my wildest dreams.  Friends remind me of this ...keep me sane.
My house is quiet, my husband and youngest son sound asleep, for now.  Sleep is not a guarantee for me or my  husband.  Many nights find us restless, sleepless, chasing what might have been.
I can't rewrite what was done, but if  I could, perhaps I would ignore the alarm and let Phoebe sleep in, take her to the soccer games with us.  It could all be different.  It could be alright.
I miss my girl, my Phoebe.  It helps me when people tell me how they miss her too, show me their own sadness.  I've been reminded this week of some funny car rides where people watched the two of us interact, playing off each others comments and jokes.  From the backseat, they sat back and listened ...saw a mom and her girl having a blast.  If you ever knew Phoebe, really knew her, chances are you know what a blast she was ...she kept life going ...and made all of us a little greater than we thought we could be.

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