Leading Forward

We get lots of different blessings.  I'm trying to train myself to be habitual in seeing all things as a blessing, a teachable, moldable moment that will bring me closer to God, where He wants me to be.  But that's hard, because I'm human, stubborn, tired, hurting, sad ...and often, even with so many people around me, very lonely.  There is a certain, and in that I mean absolute, alone-ness, that comes with losing a child.  Sharing that kind of loss allows us to understand each other in ways no one else can.  But what no one can do is understand the loss of a particular child for a mother ...or father.  A year has passed, and in so many ways, it is easier. I've said before ...its not that the current weakens, we just become stronger swimmers, better at navigating the pull.  Stronger now, so that the harsher reality can present itself, so we can take on a little more pain.  God is gentle with us ...he only allows so much at a time, but there is no escaping.  The journey to survive continues and we must carry on.  Those around us play an important role in our survival and how we do that.  Some listen and cry with us, some touch base and encourage, some include us, invite us in, some just plain out leave ...which is sad and confusing, but forces us to trust God even more.  And some lead.  I have two friends, old friends who do not talk about it, do not encourage me ...they just lead, and expect me to follow.
We were fifteen when we met.  Our friendship has spanned decades.  One is a talker, the other is quiet. It is rare we are altogether, but this past week we were and they led.  I can talk about anything with these women.  With them, I am seventeen ...free, open and hopeful.  They were there when Phoebe was born, and they were there when she died.  Way back when, as boys didn't return crushes and college rejections rolled in, when one of us couldn't go to a party the other two could ...they simply led, with no words. Most likely, the party would be forfeited and we'd be together.   All of us are orphans, all our parents have died ...we're at the forefront now of our families.  It doesn't sound like anything, but it is, to be alone and without parents who paved the way in good and bad ways.  There is no one ahead of us whose wisdom we can call upon. Decades of experiences bind us, and in this rare moment we have time to spend in each others' company
We head to Taos, NM and they talk about this place filled with people who changed their lives ...made a new start, a fresh start.  It happens they say aloud, to no one in particular, just a fact ...opportunities present themselves for lives to be changed when people are hurting or stuck.  Come at it from a different angle, look at it from the south, not the west.  I pay attention.  "How did they cross the Rio Grande?" we ask as we look down the depth of the gorge.  How?  Where?  We drive an hour north, my friend flags someone down, asks some questions.  I'm along for the ride, and it gets bumpy as the road turns to dirt with huge holes and sheer cliffs flank the passenger side.  I'm laughing, scared out of my mind, no idea where we're headed.  This great adventurer of mine keeps driving, snickering as we wind our way up and then down to the river.  We come to a little bridge about six feet wide with a plaque that tells us this is where they crossed.  Today the river is low and calm, but when the mountains thaw this river will be raging and full, making that bridge impassable.  People would have to wait to cross, patience would be needed.  I think about this.  I want a wider, sturdier, safer bridge for my own crossing.  My friends are wordless, not even aware perhaps of the lesson they are teaching me.  I can cross, and I will, but it will not be simple or easy.
Our drive is long with the mountains ahead of us, seemingly unreachable. They get closer, beautiful.  Even in the dark you can catch a silhouette and be stunned by its magnificence.
The next day we head to the mountains, the Rockies ..big and looming in the distance.  We find the trail head and there is snow ...a lot.  The other seasoned hikers here are surprised, and so am I.  We're climbing the back side of Pike's Peak, the view is worth it we're told.  I hadn't expected so much emotion to bubble up towards the surface, but it does and I can barely hold myself together.  This landscape reminds me too much of Phoebe.  She would have loved all of it, the density of Pine, only to open to a wide landscape of rising red stone, the quiet and then the gurgle of mountain streams.  We just follow and I straggle a bit behind, the altitude leaves me breathing heavy at 9,000 feet.  I look down and see a print in the snow, and then another,  I follow it for about fifteen minutes.  "These are mountain lion prints in the snow, do you see them?"  My friend doesn't look back at me, or answer.  I see more all along our trail and decide it's a good time to say my rosary.  We stop for water, "hey, look at these tracks, they're mountain lion tracks, I know, Owen and I studied these."  My friend dismisses me, its a dog, she tells me.  My other friend argues over distance, we've gone much further she thought.  I still fixate on the tracks all around me, but I am calm, and I follow.
We meet two other seasoned hikers, they can't find the trail they've done several times, tell us the routes they've tried. They tell us they're turning back.  My friend is undeterred.  I have no choice but to follow her, after all, I'm in the Rockies and I have no idea how to get out of here, the only footprints to follow now are hers ...and the mountain lions.  We make our way, bit by bit, zigging and zagging through the heavy snow.  We're not dressed right, but we move on and the sky begins to open wider.
We find the crest, and I am full of emotion, ready to burst the sadness is so heavy in me.  I want to tell Phoebe where I am, she would be so excited, ask me all the details, but I don't say her name.  I stay silent.
I look out over the expanse and wonder how people ever crossed from coast to coast.  My friend tells me to stay here on this rock in the sun, while they walk a bit higher.  She sits next to me  "Phoebe did this you know, in Outward Bound, she had to be alone in the wilderness for twenty four hours, remember.  You can handle fifteen minutes."  I lay back in the sun, and cry, releasing all that bottled up pain and missing as they head off.  I am alone.  I think of Phoebe and the mountain lion, hear a rock tumble, certain the mountain lion has found me, giving itself away as it steps on loose rock.  Silence returns.  My friends are back, see my stick.  Giggling "is that for the mountain lion, cause it wouldn't save you," I'm asked.  We make our way down, meet other hikers, and my friend tells them the conditions, they decide to turn around.  She never let on to us that it was tough going, never let me stop, or turn around.  She just led.
Back at her house, I see her husband and describe the print I saw in the snow ..."mountain lion" he says.  His disposition is serious as is his experience in mountains.  "She told me it was a dog, I didn't believe her."  He assures me it was a mountain lion.  My friend from across the room turns and looks at me, "but you did it, you made it" and she smiles.
This wasn't a trip to talk about Phoebe, to bear my soul, to weep in the safety of friends.  This was a trip to be led, shown that passage is uncertain, rickety, maybe even unsafe at times with danger lurking all around.  But its a trip I can do, and will.  And every once in a while, the ones who lead will step in front, and without words or tears or sorrow, they will just expect me to follow ...and I do.  God's hand is everywhere, using what he knows I need to make my way. 

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