Sunrise

From my kitchen I can look towards the neighborhood dock.  This time of year, with all the leaves gone from the trees I can see towards the water a bigger patch of sky.  Like life itself, the seasons expose different beauty, particular and special.  I look at the sky, the sun just risen and take in the pink, the beautiful beginning of day.  Each rising of the sun catches my breath since that morning last year, the day after Phoebe died.  My husband and I watched the sky lighten and wondered at how the sun could rise again when such a girl was no longer here.  We were stunned by that fact, and yet so grateful.  For me, the sunrise is a great message of hope, starting new and fresh ...every day.  No day, or moment for that matter, is ever the same.  And God of a trillion chances, gives us an undeniable new beginning with each rising of the sun, each lightening of the sky after dark.
I'm learning, and relearning, this new life, the one that leaves me wanting Phoebe so badly.  And each morning, I am reminded to begin again.  At first, it took so much to do that without her.  Now, I do it for her and with her in a very different way.  I consult with her on so many things, and though she doesn't answer me, I believe she is right here.
When I look at the mother so new to this loss, my heart breaks again, not for me, but for her.  I listen to her words, the greatest missing of all.  We've all been there, those of us in this room ...we know the relentless, stabbing, biting, burning pain that takes over every cell in your body.  She will forget him she is certain, she will forget his hands, the way they move ...she can't go on if it means forgetting him.  We know.  But what we also know now too, is that even in the horror, the nightmare which holds captive that initial phase of grieving (which can be as long as two years for a parent) you will never, ever forget.  I tell her about Phoebe's hairline, the touch of her cheeks under my fingertips, her smell, the way she wiggles her hand while directing me.  I tell her the burst of laughter, the shaking of her head in such a way, her toes in my hand as I shake her awake. I hear her, see her, smell her, feel her ....still.  It doesn't take away the missing, but it holds the memory, keeps them close and remembered in a vibrant way, far different than remembering a child still alive.  I tell her she will never forget her son, and each head nods, and she smiles for a shadow of a second.  The tissues get passed as we cry for our own, but more in this moment, tears spill for the one so new in this place, this group no one wants to be part of.  Words come out garbled, erratic ...and we know, we understand.  Grief is not linear, tidy, composed.  Someone is here she knows, worked side by side with through their own loss.  She is reminded how she helped by being kind, not judging, staying...speaking his name, the child gone.  She thought she knew she says, thought she understood, but now knows ...she had no idea the pain of this.  Neither did we, no matter how we thought we could imagine, until we walked this path. Whether we realize it or not, God's grace, pulls us along, shapes us and molds us into the person who can carry it.  Through prayers and offerings of all kinds God builds the bridge.  We watch people come, people leave, people stay ...all as it should be, all as people can.  Some can stay with us, but some have to leave ...and in each coming, each staying and even each leaving you see the sunrise, the gift, the tapestry of your life.  You see the struggle, the pain, the losing, the losing again and again as a treasure that will form us into the person, the people our children now know we were meant to be all along.  Sadly, their passing is part of that.  We had to lose them ...to become, to rise with the sun.

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

Shining lights

Second night in a row my house is quiet earlier than usual.  I get time to just be in my thoughts, press these keys. We started early, bundled up, though some of us not enough and headed to the road race that last year had Phoebe's team.  Last year we were there because it was our lifeline, pulled us forward.  This year we were there to be with friends, start the official day of giving thanks with people we could never thank enough.  Last year I was desperate, raw, completely broken, doing everything I could to make it to the next minute.  Every second was spent gauging each child, my husband, myself.  We were on the brink, so early on, too early to tell the path we would take.  I saw her face over and over on the t-shirts crossing the finish line ....and it had to be enough that day.  This year, this day, like every other, first thought is of her, greeting her, looking for her ... and though the pain is still there, it's not as raw.  We can go, want to go, so we can laugh and enjoy ...and we did.  And all through this day, little gifts sprinkled themselves on us. 
I see this young woman approach, beaming ..this young women who wept while she cut my hair for me the day I waked my daughter.  I sat on my porch in disbelief that I needed to get my hair done so I looked better for Phoebe.  Julie stood behind me snipping away, as she had done before, but this was different ...it was for Phoebe.  One time she cut my hair and straightened it.  When I returned home my kids cried.  I have fuzzy hair ...sometimes I'm lucky and its curly, most of the time it is just a fuzzy ball that I can bend in different directions.  Straightening it is an extreme detour from the norm.  My kids usually remind Julie of that time she nearly destroyed their love for their mother.  This morning she didn't have any scissors with her, but she had a big smile, and after a big hug "guess what Mrs. Walsh..." and as she reaches for her glove I shout as the ring on her finger shows itself.  Me and my girls ...along with so many others, of course, are wide with smiles ...we're just happy, plain happy.  She tells me I can be 'second mother of the bride,' and I tell her I'm maid of honor, or I can be both.  This big family shares and gives ...and takes so little, expects nothing and just keep pouring out love and care and joy ...  Other friends were there too, lamp lights, just like we're supposed to be for each other ....witnesses to me of how we can love each other well, through hardship, through joy and celebration ...through life.
Messages come my way ...remembering us, this day without our girl.  On the other end of the line is a voice so full of gratitude and we jabber on about being in her own kitchen, setting her own pace, music, cooking, being.  She laughs as she tells me the river runs through her yard, under her house.  No stranger to hardship, to loss and pain ...she laughs, not a cynical laugh, but one that speaks of God's grace and gifts.  Where she could complain and whine, ask "why me?" she speaks of this place, her home, her life ...with such joy, with eyes always on God, always with gratitude.  She's checking on me, always does.  She laughs with me, plays with me ....but every once in a while she'll tell me she cannot imagine, and yet she watches me go on, watches me smile and live life with my kids ...but says she knows it is hard ...knows I miss my girl ....and so does she.
We remember her together, talk about our kids, send off hugs and kisses ...and carry on.
My sister arrives.  I haven't spent a holiday with her in years ...her daughter too.  She hands me a box.  "Phebes" it reads ...we called her that.  A candle, a bedtime melody it says.  "I think Phoebe wants you to get some rest."  Probably ...I really don't sleep anymore, fading in and out all night.  We keep watch over our children.  We wait for the last one to come home, until each pillow holds a head, and I just can't seem to find that rest, that rhythm a mom has when her kids are safe and sound.  She isn't here, won't ever be in the way I like best. 
The day is soft and sweet, the air is crisp, the food is good ...and there is much to be grateful for.  I think of these people gracing our lives today and hope I can be like them too.  These generous, so generous souls, who give, expecting nothing in return ...no debit sheets, no ulterior motive, no waiting for us to mess up and do the wrong thing ...I think much like God does.  Their faith is strong, solid, a compass ...full of love, not fear, full of giving and freedom and joy.  Lives that are not easy or simple ...and yet filled with radiating joy and gratitude.  Crosses carried with joy ...even the heaviest, bear the greatest witness.  I hope one day I can get there ...to a place I can radiate joy, even through my loss and my great missing.  I have great examples surrounding me ...and I am very grateful for their witness.

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

Thanksgiving

Tomorrow I'll take my place once again in my kitchen on this day of gratitude.  Last year we were whisked up, cared for, tended to ...distracted and loved through our first holiday without her.  It was hard, I remember.  We gave it our all and rallied ...we survived.  This year, our day will start with some of those same friends and then we'll gather round our table in honor of gratitude.  My house is quiet now and much of the work done.  I'll rise early and put the turkey in the oven, we'll head out to the outdoors and I will know full well it is our second day of giving thanks without her.  I miss her, I really do, deep down and hard ...and how do I say 'thank you' for that? Somehow I do because I believe through and through God is to be trusted, if not understood.
Owen came home the other day from school, backpack full.  I headed out with my two youngest for an evening walk.  Only one star shone at first.  I listened to him tell me all about William Bradford, the trip over on the Mayflower, then Squanto.  Without a beat missed he discussed Wayne Groetsky (sp?) and how he had always wanted to be a baseball player but ended up playing hockey.  From there he told me about water being found on Pluto and the possibility of us living there one day, about the size of stars.  We looked up and the sky was full of them by now.  Phoebe had loved all her siblings, but Owen was special to her ...and I think about how she'd enjoy hearing how he saw the world, all he was discovering, all that excited him ...made him think.  And I wonder, does she listen, does she know how wonderful he is today?
At home, his cheeks red, he pulls a placemat from his backpack he's made at school.  I laugh while I read what he is grateful for and look at the picture he's drawn of us gathered round the table.  Only eight ...she isn't there, because to him, day to day, she isn't there, here.  It's how he sees the world now, without her ...and it stings, not because it should be any different for him, but because for me she will always be my day to day.  I share this later with other parents who know, who've lost, and they nod.  That wound, that  hole will never leave ...and I know they know my missing, how I long for her just once more ...please.  Can I be grateful when it hurts so bad?  When all I want is to be pulling into our driveway right about now, returning from gathering her from her dorm room.  She would have insisted on driving and controlling the music ...but we had grown more likeminded, and the songs would have been pleasing to me.  I wanted the chance to wave and see her big smile and twinkly eyes after missing her.  I wanted the chance for the missing to stop for a bit.  That will never be, its part of my life now ...and it weakens me a bit, pulls me away from people and places who will never understand ...even though they think they do.  It's no one's fault, just a simple reality.
Owen writes his letter to Santa, works diligently ...a list of fifty things.  "Mom, will you read my letter to Santa?" he smirks.  He's let on he knows the real deal ...he thinks, but about ten percent of him isn't positive.  Santa could be real ...so he's going along to make sure he covers his bases.  I take it in hand, and we first talk about the real meaning of Christmas, and then I read ...and laugh.  "Dear Santa, how are you this year?  I hope you're ready?  I have a BIG list this year.  Well, enough of the chit chat, let's get down to business" ...and he asks for some ridiculous things ...one of Santa's reindeer, a king size bed.  His big brother tells him he might not want to be so casual, while so demanding with Santa.  He asks me later to read it, and I do, tell him I love it, I think Santa will too.  And again he asks me, and I do.  "Read all of it" he says.  I tell him I did.  "No, read ALL of it."  It's not until this morning, first one up, alone in my kitchen, I pick it up again and see the tiny letters at the bottom "please look on the  back."  I turn it over and the tears spill as I read his final request #51  ..."and for Phoebe to be home for Christmas."  He misses her, my little boy, all of eight just wants her home.  He gets up and brings it to me again.  "I saw it Owen, me too."  And he smiles that boy smile that's meant to hold back tears .."you missing her?"  He nods his head. 
How does it feel for a little boy to miss his big sister, his biggest sister, the one who taught him to ride a bike, swing high on the rope swing, jump off the cliff? 
Mom's make things better, we sooth wounds, settle upset tummies, turn frowns to smiles ...but sometimes we can't.  He doesn't live in his sadness, but it is still there, his own missing.
So we'll gather round our table, and each in our own way, remember the girl who should be sitting there.  We're the family missing Phoebe, but we're also the family who had the great blessing of loving her. 
I'm thirteen months closer to seeing her and I have many more ahead, but moment by moment I take the grace God offers to pull me along ...and I am grateful.  I'm grateful for these kids who make my house loud and lively, who knock things over and leave their socks in random places.  I'm grateful for Phoebe's sisters who wear some of her shoes and clothes, then leave them lying in places they don't belong, just as she would have, making me feel like she still might be just around the corner.  I'm grateful I am so sad ...because it means I loved her well.  I'm grateful for the friends who understand, who get it, who let me be and are kind, gentle, loving, patient. 
I'm grateful God is wider and deeper than I can imagine ...I'm just grateful ...even in my crankiness for the weight of all this sadness and missing, longing and wishing ....because I trust Him, and I trust He has her close and that she is well.
Happy Thanksgiving.

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

Identity II

Secondary loss. I didn't know what that was in the beginning.  But I've become very familiar with it over these past thirteen months.  It's like the aftershocks of an earthquake ...just as you think you've found some stable footing, you're jolted, dislodged.  No area of your life is exempt ...it's part of the gig of losing a child, as if to reaffirm the gravity of loss.  So we thought we'd pretty much covered most aspects until a note from the IRS.
Imagine other adults stealing your child's name and claiming her as their own.  Identity.  Three other people have laid claim to Phoebe ...called her their daughter so they could get a tax credit.  Imagine. 
My identity is fused with Phoebe as my daughter, alive or dead ...she is mine, ours ...God's.  Yet others, like vultures, lay claim to her.  And the trail of making sure she is protected ...falls on us.  The IRS, FTC, Social Security, along with a list of others, send us to the next phone number, forms ...off we go, still fighting to name her our own.  We have to prove she is ours ...and I wonder, should I take them to her grave, show them her sneakers, her hand print ... my heart.
What kind of person lays claim on another's child? 

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

Identity

Probably for most people someone close dying forces us to question who we are, what we're about ...maybe even figure out where we're headed.  That's certainly been true for me since Phoebe died.  And that experience, the gleaning out, the defining ...has to be ours alone.  But its hard, hard stuff, to figure yourself out.  So much of that has focused on my relationship with Phoebe, at first primarily surrounding her death by suicide, and then, as time passes, it branches out into the bigger picture of life with this girl.  My life isn't a composite of days spent with Phoebe, the year mourning her ...it's far more than that.  Each child shapes me, my marriage too.  But mostly for me, it's been a struggle to say who I am with God.  And that is, I think, the most intimate, personal questioning of all.  So intimate words could not possibly express, so personal, exposing my greatest vulnerabilities, it could only be whispered between God and myself.  We can speak in generalities, give suggestions, for enhancing, embracing a life in God ...but we can never, ever assess another's relationship with God.  We can pray for another, beseech God to enter a person's life, to open one's heart ...but to presume we understand or 'know' another persons relationship with God, really know it ...I pray I don't go there.  That struggle for my identity, who I am, before God will be lifelong.  It's meant to be.  For me there was my relationship with God the moments before Phoebe died, and then there is the one now that began the moment I knelt beside my lifeless daughter and held her for the last time.  In that moment I said goodbye to her ....and with my whole heart I told God I would trust Him, no matter what, that I would choose Him always.   We all have moments where we choose God ...ignore Him, reject Him outright.  That is the challenge of our fallen nature.  But I know with every inch of me that from the second of that panicked phone call, my voice and my heart went straight to God and the Blessed Mother.  And I know as I pressed my own shattered heart against the silent one of my daughters and moaned and screamed in utter brokenness, He was there, and I held His hand and trusted Him as best I could.   That doesn't mean I haven't, or won't again, shake my fist at God, question Him.  It doesn't mean every step is one of peace and ease.  I stumble ...a lot.  And in every argument I have with Him, He reveals Himself just a bit more ...and I can go on.  I wish I could remember where I've read that the further away you seem from God, when you are striving to live in Him, the closer you actually are.  Even the most ardent atheist, in the hidden recesses of his or her heart, might speak with God and question Him unceasingly ....like a child.  And only God and each person knows the whispers they share ...no one can assume they know that ...its the most intimate and holy aspect of a person's life ...not to be shared, assessed or critiqued.  It's the very essence of each soul ...so precious and delicate ....a gift ...a pure grace from God.  And it is also a hope ...our purest, truest identity.
The other morning, when I actually had a few moments of quiet, I read again the story of the Last Supper.  How many times have I read or heard that story told, re-told?  I remember hearing it from Sister Charlotte who told me in first grade with her sweet voice, Sister Anne Catherine told me in third grade, Sister Mary Florence matter of fact told all of us in sixth grade and we really listened because she used to be Mother Superior, Sister Mary yelled it at us in seventh and Sister John Francis read it to us in eighth and then left the room.  My mother, Fr. Callahan, Fr. Chain. told me countless times too.  And these recollections are just a fraction of how many times I've heard this story told.  But when I read it just recently I saw something I hadn't fully realized ...Christ knew, fully and wholly, what was to come just hours later.  He knew the brutality, ultimate cruelty mankind would inflict on Him.  He knew He would be kicked, spit upon, chained, whipped ...that flesh would hang from His bones ....and that every drop of blood would poor out from His body.  He knew He would redeem us, that the price was high ...and yet, because of His divine love for us and His unyielding desire for our salvation ...He chose us.  Christ chose to suffer and die for each and everyone ...even me ...amazingly.  And fully knowing this, He broke the bread, the first Eucharist, His body and blood was shared that night, and forevermore with those of us who partake ...even while He knew what was to come.  He knew I would hurt Him, knew the cruelty of humanity on that night and the following days, but also the long years ahead ...and He still gave every last drop ....and a lifetime of moments to choose Him again and again.  He is not a God of second chances ....He is a God of trillions of chances to choose Him.  He knows each of us so well, so intimately, He knows we need an infinite number of moments to say yes, and that not one of us follows a straight line diligently after Him ...just read the lives of the saints.  Christ is not a God of resentment.  He does not smile upon us, all the while keeping a debit log of how many times we've said things to Him He didn't like when we've bared our soul ...only to whip it out and use it against us later, change its meaning.  He is not a God who sits silent and misconstrues what we say to throw it back at us when we're not looking, hitting our most precious aspects of our lives, casting a blow to our greatest vulnerabilities ...That is not the God I know.  And if I do those very things to another, then I am not a follower of Christ ... in that moment. I want my identity closely linked with Him.  Do I spread the kind of love He wants me to, the kind that shows His infinite love all the while remaining steadfast in Truth?  Can I speak the Truth without wounding a soul ...making God seem out of reach?  Sometimes we speak the Truth and people are offended ...that's part of discipleship ...but there is never a need to wound.  Christ does not wound us ...and when we wound another, hurt their soul, we are not working with Him?  I don't want to be that person.  I want to be a window or at least a door to Christ. 
I've looked back at so many moments with Phoebe and see plenty I wish were different.  Could I have been more patient?  For sure.  Listened better? yes.  Watched that movie she wanted me to see with her? Of course.  Could I have loved her more, with a fuller heart? No.  I loved my girl with so much, I pulled it from the bottom of my toes ...I loved her with intensity and passion, but I am imperfect.  And that imperfection is part of my identity ...and God sees it all, every bit of it ...and still He loves me, still He gives me chance after chance, moment after moment ...and pulls me along and away from the distractions.  God knows my ways, and He knows my hurt, the sleeplessness, the sadness ...the missing.  In the midst of the laughter and silliness of this household ...He sees me.  When people ask me to tell them about Phoebe and they respond back over and over how they can see her, hear her, feel her by the way I tell them about her, and that they can see how much I loved her ....God sees.  When people say things that sting and hurt, when they are cruel or clueless, and my heart drops, but I still smile ...God sees.  When my husband and I share a million words with just a look ...and he says silently "she's still not here"  God sees.  When I grow angry and tired, when the wounds burn and I am drained ...God sees.  He sees an imperfect women striving to  love Him and thank Him for everything, to even smile at the loss because I trust Him.
I struggle to figure out who I am everyday, but I know the things most important to me that have been the same, in the same order for years now:  God, striving to know Him, love Him and serve Him always comes first for me.  My family is second ...my kids, my husband, caring for them, serving them ...enjoying them with as much laughter as possible (which isn't always easy!). Third are my friends, of which I've been blessed with extraordinary ones in my life.   Other things are there, but these are central and unchanging.  They anchor me, let me see myself clearly, even while bombs get tossed my way, I can see where I'm rooted. 
And have I figured out where I'm heading ...I'm hoping to one day be with God ...and once again chase after my girl, Phoebe, while she looks back at me with her big blue eyes, bun flopping to and fro, giggling.  I want lots of stories to tell her, lots of laugh lines, and as little wasted time as possible. I want Phoebe, and all my kids, to remember me for the love I showed them and others.  Today I'm headed to a day of joy and laughter, even with the weight of sorrow I'll always carry.  Today, I hope my eyes twinkle, I hope I see the cardinals eat the berries on my holly tree.  I hope I stop for a moment to see our resident squirrel dine once again on the pumpkin, chasing his friends away.  Today, I'll put a finger up the middle of Mary Claire's bouncy curls, and answer the kitchen door she knocks on with a basket full of dolls, begging for a place to rest as she travels with her babies to New York City.  I'll be the innkeeper, and I'll say yes.  Today, I'll greet my husband after a long nights work, and hold his hand as he looks around for her.  Today, I'll pour the ginger ale, make tea, and hold my precious Olivia, as she sweats out her fever.  I'm headed toward today, with a mission to give ...not counting, keeping a log, of what I get.   I guess really I'm heading to the place where my heart isn't broken anymore ...and there is only one place for it to be made whole again ...and that is in Christ ...who makes all things new.

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

The Power of a Smile

One early morning, caught in my own thoughts, I walked into a familiar shop to grab a cup of coffee on my way to work.  I had been there enough to recognize the people behind the counter, younger than me they mark the sign of our times with tattoos and piercings, interestingly maintained facial hair, low hung pants ...styles that at times disturb me.  I'm just not as open to all of these expressions as some might be.  And in my limited world, without meaning to, without even being aware of it, I might judge or dismiss these individuals for being 'sucked in by the culture', or choosing a less desirable path.  I don't like to admit I do this ...but I do.  "Not my child," I've thought.  Even in the wake of Phoebe's death, I've found myself thinking those things.  Amazing and sad that I still do just that.  I've been judged, and known it ...and it hurts very deeply.  There is a great difference between offering guidance, a new perspective ...and just being judged because a person's way isn't as I think it should be.  Truth is, I'd take Phoebe tattooed and pierced, and wrap her in my arms.  So many things, once important, seem silly ...ridiculous, distractions that keep us away from the heart of each other.  I know this, but still, while I point my finger at the pierced and tattooed (or anyone else for that matter) for being sucked into the culture, I find several more fingers, from my own hand pointing back at me.  And it is there that I should shake my own head in discouragement ...not at someone else. 
So as I walk in, deep in thought, I look up to a smiling face, light bouncing off his big diamond earrings.  I tell him what I want ...and wait.  Two people are ahead of me waiting too, but mine comes first ...with a note.  My glasses aren't on, so I squint and the big workman ahead bellows "hey, you get a note.  I didn't get a note." The guy ahead of him chimes in "I didn't get a note either ...hey, what does it say."  My glasses are finally on and I read the thick dark ink that travels around the top of my cup ..."Don't forget to smile.  Have a nice day!" I look back at this young man who is beaming, ear to ear, still sparkling from those big diamonds and say "Thank you."  Everyone's laughing, and I say "It's true, I need to be reminded, life is better with a smile."  I walk out with two strangers, sleep still in all our eyes, the sun just beginning to lighten the sky ...and we're all smiling, wishing each other a great day.
When I arrive on my floor, the nurses and aides have had a long night, some challenges kept them busy and worried all night.  The nurse picks up my cup and reads it ....she asks me if I wrote that.  No, I tell her, the young man at the coffee shop did.  She gasps, "didn't that make you mad, I can't believe he did that."  "No, it made me smile."  And soon enough, with all the banter, everyone is smiling and laughing through report, the change of shift, we are inheriting the problems, the worries, the struggles.  "It's gonna be a great day!" I say. My fellow nurse, one of the young ones, with marks of the culture smiles back "yes it is!"  And it was.
I had decided a few weeks ago that I will meet Phoebe again with far more smile lines than frown lines.  I must have forgotten and this young man reminded me, helped me along.  
The power of a smile ...far more powerful than words, and far more contagious.  Smile today at someone, anyone, everyone for that matter.  Just smile.

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

The Blessing

Phoebe had a beautiful voice, one I miss hearing in the background of our home.  I imagine she might be singing this song to me and all of us who loved her.  It brings me a bit of comfort, maybe it will some of you too ...

The Blessing

In the morning when you rise
I bless the sun, I bless the skies
I bless your lips, I bless your eyes
My blessing goes with you

In the nighttime when you sleep
Oh I bless you while a watch I keep
As you lie in slumber deep
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do

And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too

When your weary heart is tired
If the world would leave you uninspired
When nothing more of love's desired
My blessing goes with you

When the storms of life are strong
When you're wounded, when you don't belong
When you no longer hear my song
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do

And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you
And you bless me, too

I bless you
And you bless me, too


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

Essential Read

This is one of the best, if not the best,  parental pieces of writing I have ever read ...ever!  Elizabeth Foss' blog In the Heart of My Home has been one I've read for a few years now.  I found it informative, inspiring, but mostly ...just plain HONEST ..and real.  At first I titled this "Worthy Read", but after a second look changed that to "Essential Read."
So, make a cup of tea, grab the tissue box ...and get ready for real, genuine conversations with friends ...the perfection of parenting, of being a child of God ...is in the imperfection.  I learned that the hard way!


http://www.elizabethfoss.com/reallearning/2011/11/what-im-never-going-to-tell-you.html#comments


And pray in gratitude for Elizabeth's courage, audacity and service.


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

Feast of All Saints and All Souls

These are great days in the Church, a wonderful time for us to unite with the Church Triumphant ...those in Heaven.  And it is a special time for us to remember the souls waiting for Heaven, the souls in Purgatory, awaiting the promise of eternity with their Creator.  I like to pray hard for them.  So many are forgotten and that's a sad thing.  I know how much I want Phoebe to be in Heaven and how hard I pray for that.  I know others do too ...with their whole hearts, genuinely begging for this girl of mine.  Other souls aren't so fortunate.  They're forgotten, or so many assume, or have been taught, that everyone goes straight to Heaven ...no accounting.  We hope they are united with God in Heaven, but pray as if they need every prayer they can get ...and more.
We are truly blessed over these days.  Three Masses were offered for Phoebe ...its the best we can do for her now.  It came about in an interesting way, after some increased sorrow and pain for both my husband and myself.  Late nights by the fire found us remembering Phoebe in newer ways.  The reality that our relationship with her has stopped here is a tough one.  While people, and us too, question and pursue new relationships, we have one that has left us. We can't improve our relationship with her, have conversations, build memories, share our lives with her ...those chances are gone for good.  We know this is just a small part of our total lives, but while we're still here ...it's an enormous loss.  Sometimes, in all of it, people, places and things can seemingly pour salt into a raw wound.  Seeing something that was hers at just the right time, or smelling something that reminds us of her, or perhaps hearing a word or phrase that suggests something so deeply personal and missed, can bring everything up front ...and it's difficult to navigate while we are stunned and hurting.  But then something like this happens ...Masses ...for her, and we are calmed, and our children smile, and begin to chatter about their sister once again, laughing as if she is among them ....because she is.  The saints I think are at work here, and I am grateful.
During these hours of power in the Church I have a few prayer requests.  We know that God is timeless and lives outside of the clock we live by, so I beg for prayers after the fact for the surgery, but also for the ongoing recovery of a little girl whose spine was fused today after many, many hours of surgery.  This little girl does not speak, or walk ...she's merely a vessel of joy, a bundle of God's creation.  She's impacted plenty of people, please pray for her, that all will be well.
We have a friend who also is a vessel of joy.  He is warm and bright.  He would stand at the top of our street and shout to Phoebe as she skateboarded barefoot ...hooting and hollering  "that's how its done Pheebs" he would yell, arms high in the air.  When the Bruins won the Stanley Cup, we all said he must be going crazy with excitement, and sure enough the next day, he stood at the end of our driveway looking up at our house yelling "that's how its done," arms high in the air.  The common cold is a danger to him, so when he mentioned a sore throat the other day, I decided to ask others to pray for him, as the fear raced through me.  Please pray for our friend ...that he continues to beat the odds.
A wee little one is growing, but the mother is nervous.  It's early on ...and she knows too much to settle down and trust, right now.  Her two other children are older, out of diapers for a while.  We had a funny text message exchange where she was trying to tell me she was pregnant and I wasn't understanding her at all.  When I finally got it, I cried ...it made my day to know this little one was on the way.  I sent a message back and she said it made her cry too.  She's had her share of challenges and sorrow and struggle ....maybe more than most, and it would be wonderful for her to just enjoy the months ahead, embracing the gift she and her husband are so open too.  Please pray for this little baby, that in the next few days the heart beats strong for momma.
And finally, pray for the parents and sister of a nineteen year old girl whose life ended this weekend.  I can't put this into words.  I don't know them, a friend asked me if I did ...I don't, but I know part of their walk right now.  Pray for their consolation.
Its been over a year now, but as so many know, the wound is wide open ...a newness to our lives we never expected or wanted.  In the moment I laid eyes on Phoebe and held her lifeless I made a choice to trust God, and I have.  It doesn't mean I understand, or accept, or find peace.  Sometimes I do.  What it means is that God has remained first in my life.  God's place in our lives is deeply personal and intimate, and really there is no way for anyone to measure another's intimacy with God ...regardless of outward appearances or perceptions.  I share some of mine here, but no one will ever be able to perceive it in its entirety, its nakedness ...just as I never could another's. I believe I experienced a profound grace when I made that choice and my vision in that moment was of my daughter falling into the arms of the Blessed Mother.  Because of that, I've found a great comfort.  Though I've continued my prayer and devotion over this past year, I rarely look at the Blessed Mother eye to eye.  Only now am I beginning to do that ...look her in the eye once again.  And as usual, God's perfect timing coincides with distractions that could throw me into despair, and I get to choose what He offers ...and this prayer came in one of those moments ...and it is beautiful.  Perhaps you will find it the same.

St. Louis Marie de Montfort's Prayer to Mary

Hail Mary, beloved Daughter of the Eternal Father! Hail Mary, admirable Mother of the Son! Hail Mary, faithful Spouse of the Holy Ghost! Hail Mary, my dear Mother, my loving mistress, my powerful sovereign! Hail my joy, my glory, my heart and my soul! Thou art all mine by mercy, and I am all thine by justice. But I am not yet sufficiently thine. I now give myself wholly to thee without keeping anything back for myself or others. If thou still seest in me anything which does not belong to thee, I beseech thee to take it and to make thyself the absolute mistress of all that is mine. Destroy in me all that may be displeasing to God, root it up and bring it to nought; place and cultivate in me everything that is pleasing to thee.

May the light of thy faith dispel the darkness of my mind; may thy profound humility take the place of my pride; may thy sublime contemplation check the distractions of my wandering imagination; may thy continuous sight of God fill my memory with His presence; may the burning love of thy heart inflame the lukewarmness of mine; may thy virtues take the place of my sins; may thy merits be my only adornment in the sight of God and make up for all that is wanting in me. Finally, dearly beloved Mother, grant, if it be possible, that I may have no other spirit but thine to know Jesus and His divine will; that I may have no other soul but thine to praise and glorify the Lord; that I may have no other heart but thine to love God with a love as pure and ardent as thine. I do not ask thee for visions, revelations, sensible devotion or spiritual pleasures. It is thy privilege to see God clearly; it is thy privilege to enjoy heavenly bliss; it is thy privilege to triumph gloriously in Heaven at the right hand of thy Son and to hold absolute sway over angels, men and demons; it is thy privilege to dispose of all the gifts of God, just as thou willest.

Such is, O heavenly Mary, the "best part" which the Lord has given thee and which shall never be taken away from thee - and this thought fills my heart with joy. As for my part here below, I wish for no other than that which was thine: to believe sincerely without spiritual pleasures; to suffer joyfully without human consolation; to die continually to myself without respite; and to work zealously and unselfishly for thee until death as the humblest of thy servants. The only grace I beg thee to obtain for me is that every day and every moment of my life I may say: Amen - so be it, to all that thou didst do while on earth; Amen - so be it, to all that thou art now doing in Heaven; Amen - so be it, to all that thou art doing in my soul, so that thou alone mayest fully glorify Jesus in me for time and eternity. Amen.

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