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.