Christmas arrived. A different journey this year for sure. Last year, with Phoebe gone just a few months, it was all about surviving. It felt as if at any moment I could die. I mean that. Life was so precious and the emotional pain was devastating, despairing. But the physical pain was piercing and blinding. It didn't feel possible to sustain that level of suffering. That particular aspect resisted words and stayed hidden deep inside, but it was there. Only now, a year later, I can name it. Grief moves through your body, settling differently over time, but always settling, making a home. This year making it through, living Christmas without Phoebe was almost harder. Early on there is that great hope that the nightmare will fade and life will resume as it was. But now there is no denying the reality of loss ...the simple, harsh fact that she is not to come home. I wanted her home last year, but wanted her home even more this year. Some of the fog has lifted and the stark reality she is gone takes root in my bones. I'm extraordinarily sad and wondering about God's great plan, still trusting, but not understanding the wisdom or the thread woven into the tapestry of eternity.
I see her friends and am glad. I see their own sagging hearts, waiting and hoping their great friend might return in some way, bring that freshness, that vibrant audacity to fully live back around them.
I look at Christmas cards, families robust and full, everyone there smiling. I love those cards. We compare them over the years, how people have grown and changed. I can't click my camera yet and capture my own crew without her. How do I say ..."this is my family ...here they are," when such a one is missing.
Last year I huddled by the manger, trying to catch a glimpse ....and I did. Generosity, open hearts of others in that time, brought that to me. I will never forget that soothing, peaceful day. But this year, I am behind the crowd and I don't have the fight in me to jump up and see above those taller than I am. He knows I am there, I trust that.
Life goes on, we all know that. I've learned so much this past year, so much my own daughter tried to teach me herself. Did she have to die so that I might see the truth of so many things? I would like to hold her hand, smell her freshly washed hair, make her a cup of tea she requests. I want to make that tea like I would and give it to her so she can once again set it on the counter, blow on it, take one sip ...and then leave it there until it is cold and I dump it out. I want things to be whole again, like it was. I want her back.
And so much of my life now is about accepting the unquenched wanting, living with a desire never to be filled. Maybe the message is that the quenching, the satisfaction, the balm, is only in the surrender and acceptance of losing. Maybe this great loss is really my great gain. I can see through worldly eyes ...or I can pray for God's lens to focus for me what it is He wants from me.
I look around me at these beautiful children and know the greatness of them. They are mine for so short a time. I watch their eyes twinkle, the giggles, the sneers even ... and strive to embrace it all in that moment, being grateful for even the little annoyances.
They remind us that grieving the loss of your child is the hardest work you'll ever do ...and I must remind myself of that. It is hard, hard work for sure. And I am tired through and through. I don't have great words or deep wisdom to share here. By a thread, I trust ...by a simple thread.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
New Friends
From the evening of Dec. 11th.
Tonight we went to the annual candle lighting service for Compassionate Friends, the place we go that has helped us survive. Everyone there has lost a child, everyone knows this walk ...and they know the challenge of living among so many others who, fortunately, haven't had to manage life without a child. So gathering together to specifically name and acknowledge our children is powerful, especially when two hundred or more names are read and candles are lit in one space. But more, that it is tied to a worldwide candle lighting for all the chapters throughout the world, and around the globe all these children are remembered. It is the largest candle lighting ceremony in existence ...and it is quite powerful. Lots and lots of tears fall, streaming the faces of big, strong, mighty men ...the dads. Its a safe place for them to miss their children. Us moms cry too, we all do.
One of the saddest aspects of living life without Phoebe is not being able to watch in wonder (and sometimes aggravation) the harmony of her and her dad. They were best friends, plain and simple. I knew that all along, but never put it to words until after she died. They shared lots of words, but few were actually needed. They just understood each other ...felt each others pulse ....loved each other deeply. I miss seeing them heading off to check the surf, discussing some idea, laughing about some quirky thing, scraping the last bit of mango off the rind, discussing the merits of apples over grapes ....all sorts of things. They debated hot topics too, but they both loved the intensity, the powerful search for the truth. Truly, in every moment they shared, they both gave their all, got as much out of it as they could.
I had my own closeness with Phoebe, our own way, but my role was to ground her, transition her through the process of life, take care of business. It wasn't always easy, but as she got older she began to recognize and appreciate all of that, knowing it was as important as the adventure and exploration. She was growing up and we were sharing more and more. I miss that too, that lost opportunity. But ...what catches me most often is the loss of father and daughter ...two peas in a pod, and how they found the essence of life in the simplest ways.
Like all the other parents there, we were sad. Songs were sung, lives were remembered, ornaments exchanged and candles lit. It was a somber time.
Last year, we blubbered through all of it, so new to the loss. How would we ever be able to live? We were shattered and splintered and searing with pain. Every day, every breath was agony. And yet somehow, a year later, with the same disbelief, still the pain, we have made it to another night of lighting a candle for our girl.
We muddle through to the social part of the night, with lots of hugs exchanged, anniversary's acknowledged.
"You made it, you did it, you survived?" I say to my new friend. Today marks the first anniversary of her son's death. "Yes, I did" and she smiles ..."I didn't think I would." Those are the simple exchanges that take place among us. Words don't manage to capture all that could be said.
The connection between our kids stops us in our tracks often. They've woven our lives together ...and perhaps theirs too. A few glitches with lighting, music, seating had one of the coordinators comment to me. "As that is happening all at the same time, I'm thinking of all of our kids and what they could be up to ...I figured for sure they were playing games with us, laughing it up." Perhaps.
New faces are in this room, people find me "Someone wants to meet you." Okay, I think, figuring they are someone's spouse, grown child ...and some are, but some have just asked around. I couldn't figure out why, until I make the rounds ...they don't want to meet me ...they want to meet Phoebe's mom. They hug me, these five or so different people, disconnected from each other ...but they all say the same thing ..."I don't know why, but I feel very connected to Phoebe, I think about her a lot ...tell me about her. There was something special about her." "Like all our kids," I say. "Of course" they tell me, but there was something about her. Yes, there is something very special about my Phoebe ...and if you knew her, really knew her, you'll nod your head. She was not a type, like no other ...she lived like no one else I know. And she died as few will. There is no romance or applause in her choice to die. But we can all learn a few lessons from her and how she lived.
New friends, we smile through the tears, laugh and share stories and usually finish with a long sigh and a hug ...for what might have been ...and for who we miss, glad to know our children can be together ...out of harms way now ...safe and free.
Light a candle one night for Phoebe if you care to.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Tonight we went to the annual candle lighting service for Compassionate Friends, the place we go that has helped us survive. Everyone there has lost a child, everyone knows this walk ...and they know the challenge of living among so many others who, fortunately, haven't had to manage life without a child. So gathering together to specifically name and acknowledge our children is powerful, especially when two hundred or more names are read and candles are lit in one space. But more, that it is tied to a worldwide candle lighting for all the chapters throughout the world, and around the globe all these children are remembered. It is the largest candle lighting ceremony in existence ...and it is quite powerful. Lots and lots of tears fall, streaming the faces of big, strong, mighty men ...the dads. Its a safe place for them to miss their children. Us moms cry too, we all do.
One of the saddest aspects of living life without Phoebe is not being able to watch in wonder (and sometimes aggravation) the harmony of her and her dad. They were best friends, plain and simple. I knew that all along, but never put it to words until after she died. They shared lots of words, but few were actually needed. They just understood each other ...felt each others pulse ....loved each other deeply. I miss seeing them heading off to check the surf, discussing some idea, laughing about some quirky thing, scraping the last bit of mango off the rind, discussing the merits of apples over grapes ....all sorts of things. They debated hot topics too, but they both loved the intensity, the powerful search for the truth. Truly, in every moment they shared, they both gave their all, got as much out of it as they could.
I had my own closeness with Phoebe, our own way, but my role was to ground her, transition her through the process of life, take care of business. It wasn't always easy, but as she got older she began to recognize and appreciate all of that, knowing it was as important as the adventure and exploration. She was growing up and we were sharing more and more. I miss that too, that lost opportunity. But ...what catches me most often is the loss of father and daughter ...two peas in a pod, and how they found the essence of life in the simplest ways.
Like all the other parents there, we were sad. Songs were sung, lives were remembered, ornaments exchanged and candles lit. It was a somber time.
Last year, we blubbered through all of it, so new to the loss. How would we ever be able to live? We were shattered and splintered and searing with pain. Every day, every breath was agony. And yet somehow, a year later, with the same disbelief, still the pain, we have made it to another night of lighting a candle for our girl.
We muddle through to the social part of the night, with lots of hugs exchanged, anniversary's acknowledged.
"You made it, you did it, you survived?" I say to my new friend. Today marks the first anniversary of her son's death. "Yes, I did" and she smiles ..."I didn't think I would." Those are the simple exchanges that take place among us. Words don't manage to capture all that could be said.
The connection between our kids stops us in our tracks often. They've woven our lives together ...and perhaps theirs too. A few glitches with lighting, music, seating had one of the coordinators comment to me. "As that is happening all at the same time, I'm thinking of all of our kids and what they could be up to ...I figured for sure they were playing games with us, laughing it up." Perhaps.
New faces are in this room, people find me "Someone wants to meet you." Okay, I think, figuring they are someone's spouse, grown child ...and some are, but some have just asked around. I couldn't figure out why, until I make the rounds ...they don't want to meet me ...they want to meet Phoebe's mom. They hug me, these five or so different people, disconnected from each other ...but they all say the same thing ..."I don't know why, but I feel very connected to Phoebe, I think about her a lot ...tell me about her. There was something special about her." "Like all our kids," I say. "Of course" they tell me, but there was something about her. Yes, there is something very special about my Phoebe ...and if you knew her, really knew her, you'll nod your head. She was not a type, like no other ...she lived like no one else I know. And she died as few will. There is no romance or applause in her choice to die. But we can all learn a few lessons from her and how she lived.
New friends, we smile through the tears, laugh and share stories and usually finish with a long sigh and a hug ...for what might have been ...and for who we miss, glad to know our children can be together ...out of harms way now ...safe and free.
Light a candle one night for Phoebe if you care to.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Christmas Candy
I bumped into a friend the other night. She doesn't read here. But she mentioned she'd just received an invitation to a recipe exchange ...not even needing to prepare anything, just provide a recipe. She said she just couldn't take even that on right now. I laughed with her as we reflected on the busyness of now. We all get caught up in it somehow ...not even the shopping ...the frenzy in the air. I told her I'd posted a cookie recipe swap on my blog and only one responded ...maybe no one's really interested, or maybe it's that one little thing proving to be too much. So ...instead, I'll give you a few of our Christmas staples that will get made no matter what ...even if not until Christmas day.
Toffee
Back when I was a kid, a woman we knew would make us this delectable toffee that once opened would last about 1 minute and 42 seconds. For years we waited for this to come out on Christmas Eve. My mother hid it well. A few years after we stopped receiving this treasure, I found a recipe for toffee and started making it for my family. It has remained a staple of this season since then, being made to give as gifts or just devour ourselves. I taught Phoebe how to make it, so she became the maker of toffee, and held that role with serious protection. Two years ago, I taught my next oldest daughter the tricks of perfect timing, only to be discovered by Phoebe who immediately took command and let us all know no one was to take her rightful place as commander of toffee. We all obliged. She had wanted that one little thing to be hers ....and so it was. Last year, our first Christmas without her, still deep in fog and confusion and bitter sadness, a few batches were made, but half heartedly ...and so not well.
This season, Olivia stirs and waits, stirs and waits ...with Lucy standing by waiting her turn to make a batch for some of her teachers. Hannah lingers close by, snatching pieces of chocolate, making comments on color and timing. It's a new season, a shared season of toffee making in our house.
I've shared the recipe lots of times, and most report being unable to make it.
The trick is in the timing ...and in cooking it until you're pretty sure it will burn and the pan will catch on fire.
I don't use a thermometer, though I am sure there are plenty of recipes out there that do, and if you are all about precision then perhaps this isn't a recipe for you. I have a choleric temperament, naturally impatient, so when I write to cook over medium heat, know that I am constantly nudging that dial up to high ...but it works for me.
One cup of butter (2 sticks)
One cup of sugar
1tbs water
1 large candy bar, broken into pieces ( I use symphony bars with toffee and nuts)
pecans (though any nuts you want)
Use a regular saucepan and wooden spoon
Melt butter over medium heat, add sugar and tbs. of water.
Stir continuously over heat
Gradually, it will turn tan to caramel.
When it starts to have darker, coffee colored streaks as you stir, whisk it very fast, pause three seconds, whip again and pour immediately onto a cookie sheet (ungreased).
Spread around to make a nice sheet
Sprinkle choc. on top, let sit about 2 minutes, spread with knife
Sprinkle with nuts
Put in fridge, or even freezer to harden.
Break into bite size pieces.
Another regular, which is time consuming, so reserved for just a few who are far away ... well worth the effort. Olivia is my official helper with these tasty treats.
From Rosie's Bakery (Boston based)
Cappuccino Shortbread Sales
2 Tbs. instant coffee powder
1 3/4 c. plus 2 Tbs. flour
1/8 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
6 Tbs. sugar
3 Tbs. light brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 cup unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1" thick chunks
1 Tbs. strong brewed coffee
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
Glaze
7 oz. bittersweet choc. (I use semi-sweet)
1 1/2 cups finely chopped, toasted almonds
Place instant coffee, flour, baking powder, salt, sugars, and cinnamon in food processor and process 5 seconds.
Distribute butter over flour mixture and process until mixture resembles coarse meal, 10 secs.
While processor is running, pour coffee and vanilla, process about 45 seconds
Place dough between two sheets of parchment paper and roll out to make a 10 inch square, 3/8 inch thick
Slide square onto baking sheet and put in fridge for 45 minutes.
Preheat oven to 300 degrees,
Cut dough into 25 squares, then cut diagonally to make triangles.
Carefully transfer squares to baking sheet, bake until lightly golden and firm to touch ..25 to 30 minutes.
Prepare glaze over double boiler, melt choc.
Dip one edge of cooled cookie into choc., then into nuts.
Let harden for several hours
Ginger cookies
Not much ginger in these cookies, but they are a staple and well loved by anyone whose tried them. I think my kids like these even better than chocolate chip ...which says a lot. I've been making these cookies for fifteen years, at least, and they are still a favorite.
2/3 cup corn oil
1 cup sugar
1 egg
4 Tbs. molasses
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 tsp ginger
Mix all together, roll into balls, roll in sugar
Bake on greased cookie sheet, 350 degrees, 10 - 12 minutes.
So from our kitchen to yours ...maybe this will add a little sweetness.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Toffee
Back when I was a kid, a woman we knew would make us this delectable toffee that once opened would last about 1 minute and 42 seconds. For years we waited for this to come out on Christmas Eve. My mother hid it well. A few years after we stopped receiving this treasure, I found a recipe for toffee and started making it for my family. It has remained a staple of this season since then, being made to give as gifts or just devour ourselves. I taught Phoebe how to make it, so she became the maker of toffee, and held that role with serious protection. Two years ago, I taught my next oldest daughter the tricks of perfect timing, only to be discovered by Phoebe who immediately took command and let us all know no one was to take her rightful place as commander of toffee. We all obliged. She had wanted that one little thing to be hers ....and so it was. Last year, our first Christmas without her, still deep in fog and confusion and bitter sadness, a few batches were made, but half heartedly ...and so not well.
This season, Olivia stirs and waits, stirs and waits ...with Lucy standing by waiting her turn to make a batch for some of her teachers. Hannah lingers close by, snatching pieces of chocolate, making comments on color and timing. It's a new season, a shared season of toffee making in our house.
I've shared the recipe lots of times, and most report being unable to make it.
The trick is in the timing ...and in cooking it until you're pretty sure it will burn and the pan will catch on fire.
I don't use a thermometer, though I am sure there are plenty of recipes out there that do, and if you are all about precision then perhaps this isn't a recipe for you. I have a choleric temperament, naturally impatient, so when I write to cook over medium heat, know that I am constantly nudging that dial up to high ...but it works for me.
One cup of butter (2 sticks)
One cup of sugar
1tbs water
1 large candy bar, broken into pieces ( I use symphony bars with toffee and nuts)
pecans (though any nuts you want)
Use a regular saucepan and wooden spoon
Melt butter over medium heat, add sugar and tbs. of water.
Stir continuously over heat
Gradually, it will turn tan to caramel.
When it starts to have darker, coffee colored streaks as you stir, whisk it very fast, pause three seconds, whip again and pour immediately onto a cookie sheet (ungreased).
Spread around to make a nice sheet
Sprinkle choc. on top, let sit about 2 minutes, spread with knife
Sprinkle with nuts
Put in fridge, or even freezer to harden.
Break into bite size pieces.
Another regular, which is time consuming, so reserved for just a few who are far away ... well worth the effort. Olivia is my official helper with these tasty treats.
From Rosie's Bakery (Boston based)
Cappuccino Shortbread Sales
2 Tbs. instant coffee powder
1 3/4 c. plus 2 Tbs. flour
1/8 tsp. baking powder
3/4 tsp. salt
6 Tbs. sugar
3 Tbs. light brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 cup unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1" thick chunks
1 Tbs. strong brewed coffee
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
Glaze
7 oz. bittersweet choc. (I use semi-sweet)
1 1/2 cups finely chopped, toasted almonds
Place instant coffee, flour, baking powder, salt, sugars, and cinnamon in food processor and process 5 seconds.
Distribute butter over flour mixture and process until mixture resembles coarse meal, 10 secs.
While processor is running, pour coffee and vanilla, process about 45 seconds
Place dough between two sheets of parchment paper and roll out to make a 10 inch square, 3/8 inch thick
Slide square onto baking sheet and put in fridge for 45 minutes.
Preheat oven to 300 degrees,
Cut dough into 25 squares, then cut diagonally to make triangles.
Carefully transfer squares to baking sheet, bake until lightly golden and firm to touch ..25 to 30 minutes.
Prepare glaze over double boiler, melt choc.
Dip one edge of cooled cookie into choc., then into nuts.
Let harden for several hours
Ginger cookies
Not much ginger in these cookies, but they are a staple and well loved by anyone whose tried them. I think my kids like these even better than chocolate chip ...which says a lot. I've been making these cookies for fifteen years, at least, and they are still a favorite.
2/3 cup corn oil
1 cup sugar
1 egg
4 Tbs. molasses
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 tsp ginger
Mix all together, roll into balls, roll in sugar
Bake on greased cookie sheet, 350 degrees, 10 - 12 minutes.
So from our kitchen to yours ...maybe this will add a little sweetness.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Cookie Swap
For years we participated in cookie swaps, sometimes more than one each Christmas season. We all enjoyed it, loved seeing and tasting the different cookies. Often even the wrapping of some cookies were so lovely we didn't want to open the package. The funnest part for all us though was my husband's self appointment as official cookie taster. He would award the top three ...in our own home, and it was the rare person who knew the cookies were under such scrutiny. We laughed so much as we watched him line the cookies in front of him with a big glass of milk. He hammed it up discussing presentation, texture, flavor, size, originality. One friend would call me the next day and find out where she placed after the judging. She wasn't a natural baker, so she was often relieved to find her cookie in the top three. My girls have talked about doing it again, but I haven't initiated one. Maybe they're still happening out there. I hope they are since they're such a nice event to prepare for and enjoy.
I'm not up for hosting one yet, but I thought ...well, why not here. No actual cookies perhaps, but we could certainly share recipes of a favorite cookie that has established itself as part of the Christmas tradition in our own homes. If you want to participate, write your recipe in the comments, or email it to me at carolynwalshpiw@gmail.com, and I'll post it here for everyone.
Phoebe loved our cookie swaps ...and I'm sure she'll enjoy this one too!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I'm not up for hosting one yet, but I thought ...well, why not here. No actual cookies perhaps, but we could certainly share recipes of a favorite cookie that has established itself as part of the Christmas tradition in our own homes. If you want to participate, write your recipe in the comments, or email it to me at carolynwalshpiw@gmail.com, and I'll post it here for everyone.
Phoebe loved our cookie swaps ...and I'm sure she'll enjoy this one too!
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Remembering St. Joseph
A friend sent this along. It is a beautiful reminder of this quiet saint and his life with Christ.
St. Joseph:
How awesome a gift to be given, to raise the Savior of the world. The fear in your heart must have been tremendous, but trusting in God, you took on such a seemingly impossible task.
You were chosen to be the only one to help your beloved wife with the birth of the Blessed Infant. Surrounded by rejection, what fear must have pierced your own heart as you watched Mary struggle, while searching for anywhere for Jesus to be born. What conflicting feelings you must have experienced as you found a shelter, but only in the most humble of places.
What joy much have filled your heart as you held the tiny Savior in your arms. The trust and faith He had in your strong arms must have been an incomprehensible comfort to you. God trusted you with His Son, a helpless Newborn.
Holding His unharmed hand as He took His first steps. Placing a hammer and nail carefully in His hand to teach Him your trade. Patting His back as you laughed with Him and His Mother. Growing in holiness under the Hand of the Father. Clinging to the Hand of your Son as you took your last breaths. And finally kissing the pierced Hand of Jesus as He welcomed you into the kingdom, where you remain with Him for all eternity.
Teach us also, St. Joseph. Teach us to trust in God's plan for each of our lives. As you learned, our lives all have a purpose, one beyond our own comprehension.
St. Joseph pray for us.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
St. Joseph:
How awesome a gift to be given, to raise the Savior of the world. The fear in your heart must have been tremendous, but trusting in God, you took on such a seemingly impossible task.
You were chosen to be the only one to help your beloved wife with the birth of the Blessed Infant. Surrounded by rejection, what fear must have pierced your own heart as you watched Mary struggle, while searching for anywhere for Jesus to be born. What conflicting feelings you must have experienced as you found a shelter, but only in the most humble of places.
What joy much have filled your heart as you held the tiny Savior in your arms. The trust and faith He had in your strong arms must have been an incomprehensible comfort to you. God trusted you with His Son, a helpless Newborn.
Holding His unharmed hand as He took His first steps. Placing a hammer and nail carefully in His hand to teach Him your trade. Patting His back as you laughed with Him and His Mother. Growing in holiness under the Hand of the Father. Clinging to the Hand of your Son as you took your last breaths. And finally kissing the pierced Hand of Jesus as He welcomed you into the kingdom, where you remain with Him for all eternity.
Teach us also, St. Joseph. Teach us to trust in God's plan for each of our lives. As you learned, our lives all have a purpose, one beyond our own comprehension.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Old Friends
Today one of Phoebe's friends turned 18. I learned about her coming the day after Phoebe was born when my friend came to see me and told me she would have her first baby the following December. We were both excited our children would be close in age, and I secretly wished for a girl. I didn't know then that my friend would move far away five years later, and I didn't know then that my girl wouldn't make it to 18, and that this precious girl would. And back then I didn't know the heartbreak we would all feel one beautiful October day. I didn't know back then how much our lives would change.
The more days that pass, the more I come to know how love stories are lived and written, and that even when they seem to end, they don't really, they just start another chapter, equal in love, intensity, desire. Back when I was new to high school, I blended with two other girls and our lives intertwined, we shared history, adventure, broken hearts. And we still do. It's a story that won't end ...we're just too far in. I've been blessed with friendships like that. These two have been part of my life for over thirty years ...that's a long time to walk this life together.
Today we laugh and remember and shake our heads at how we celebrate this milestone so quickly. There's no cost to either one of us ...there never is with genuine friendship, where we can just be. We can mourn Phoebe's absence while celebrating Annie's life. It hovers between us that Phoebe never turned 18. She was the first girl of all our girls, the leader so to speak, the one who went first. I know their plan to celebrate and send off my birthday wishes. I check in, excited to hear any news about after graduation ...what she's looking toward, what she's up to ...all the good stuff. My friend knows this, that even though I lost out on that, I still want for her, I still care. New phases and challenges come along, launching a child into adulthood can be scary business, things come up, choices get made a parent might not like ...it brings up fear, frustration. Our other friend is in on all of it too ...not quite there yet, she will be in a few years when her first is ready to head out. We see things differently than we thought we would ...before we stood in that place of our child becoming an adult. "She's smart and wise, you've taught her well, given her the tools ....trust her," I tell my friend. "I would give anything to struggle through this, to have Phoebe back." And she knows, she would too. Phoebe is so much a part of who we are. Our first girl. And she's gone.
How does this love story continue? How does she still hold so much of my moment to moment? How can it be that my other kids are such an active and dynamic part of my life, so full of life and joy, growing and thriving, demanding and insistent ...and yet I seem almost present in two places? I think it is just part of God's mystery and generosity, that He can expand time and moments ....and hearts.
Tonight I started my Christmas shopping, I'm wearing her coat as I walk the aisles of these familiar stores. Her scarf is around my neck, the one from this store. She had asked me for it, I said no, she had enough, and somehow there it was at the register along with her twinkly eyes ..."pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease" she'd said. She didn't wear it long, so now I do. Phoebe took charge at Christmas, ordering me about, telling me what to do, who needed what, who should get what. "Are you kidding mom?" I can hear her saying to me as I look at pajamas for her sisters. I put them back ...they're too fuddy duddy ...to momish. Phoebe knew her siblings, understood them. Now I'm on my own, missing her as I pull it together, figure out how to make it all happen. I talk to her through the store, imagine her there with me, remember what it was like ...and miss her ....a lot.
This year is different than last, when it was so new. They told us this, the others before us, that the pain wouldn't go away, it would just be different. I didn't want to hear that then, I wanted to be told I'd hurt less, feel better. They were right too in telling us that it couldn't be described, but we would come to understand. And we do.
Our lives are lived fully today. And if you looked at us from the outside, you likely wouldn't suspect any great loss. We smile, laugh, live, embrace. I write it here, but I don't wear it on my sleeve. I carry it, but I don't often hunch over. And isn't that the Christian walk, that our burdens should not be obvious as we go about our lives ...isn't it that we should be a witness to God's great love, a witness to trusting and hoping in Him through all things. It's just that sometimes, when life is still, and milestones are reached, and children who laughed and played ...and couldn't wait until they could burst out of the car to run and find Phoebe, of all the other kids ...it's when they grow up and beyond where Phoebe reached, that I feel weak and terribly sad. Does she know the greatest missing of all?
We've been outrageously blessed with so many who love us ...they walk side by side as this story continues to be written. There are no shoulds or coulds, there is just the moment. I have my old friends who know that beneath the smile and laughter ...there is great pain. I have old friends too, who haven't been on the scene as long as my two from high school, but I consider them 'old friends' because I know our friendship transcends time. They come from all walks of life, some of them with tremendous burdens you would never know they had because they simply radiate joy ...they lead me ...these remarkable women. Like a posse, they've surrounded and guarded me when my heart staggers, protected and carried me when ignorant people toss hurt at me or my family. These women do not pose as something they are not. Their stories are true, real, forever. They watch my daughters, love them through the heavy path they travel. They delight in my youngest and oldest, checking in, observing ...caring. And strangely, in all the tending of us they do, they know I do all I can, in my great weakness, to tend to them too. That is true, pure, lasting friendship. It's not about praising each other, building each other's ego. It's about carrying each other through the treacherous path ...and not calculating the cost. True friendship is free. Without living the death of their own child, they know, somehow, the price, and expect nothing more from me. They do not assess or evaluate us, suggest we should be different than who we are, indicate we lack authenticity or true faith. They are not mean-spirited, all knowing. They just are. They don't even have to be physically present, or even touch base all that often. And I am so, so grateful for that in a world so contrived, so fixed on image, they are there.
No book teaches you to be a good friend, teaches you how to lose a child and grieve them in the "proper" way. No book has the answers on an authentically good heart ...that comes when you are open enough, when you've surrendered your life, your whole life, even the aberrations of your life to God. I've learned it's only in gratitude, especially in the darkest moments, the most grueling heartbreak, that my heart will be open to His grace.
And so as this day closes, and my little friend crosses that milestone, I pray she is blessed with the kind of friends that her mother is ....authentic, generous ...at no cost. And I pray that somehow, Phoebe celebrates with her old friend ...the one who loved the great adventure of being with her ...the one who simply loved Phoebe as she was, delighted in her feisty personality ...always.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
The more days that pass, the more I come to know how love stories are lived and written, and that even when they seem to end, they don't really, they just start another chapter, equal in love, intensity, desire. Back when I was new to high school, I blended with two other girls and our lives intertwined, we shared history, adventure, broken hearts. And we still do. It's a story that won't end ...we're just too far in. I've been blessed with friendships like that. These two have been part of my life for over thirty years ...that's a long time to walk this life together.
Today we laugh and remember and shake our heads at how we celebrate this milestone so quickly. There's no cost to either one of us ...there never is with genuine friendship, where we can just be. We can mourn Phoebe's absence while celebrating Annie's life. It hovers between us that Phoebe never turned 18. She was the first girl of all our girls, the leader so to speak, the one who went first. I know their plan to celebrate and send off my birthday wishes. I check in, excited to hear any news about after graduation ...what she's looking toward, what she's up to ...all the good stuff. My friend knows this, that even though I lost out on that, I still want for her, I still care. New phases and challenges come along, launching a child into adulthood can be scary business, things come up, choices get made a parent might not like ...it brings up fear, frustration. Our other friend is in on all of it too ...not quite there yet, she will be in a few years when her first is ready to head out. We see things differently than we thought we would ...before we stood in that place of our child becoming an adult. "She's smart and wise, you've taught her well, given her the tools ....trust her," I tell my friend. "I would give anything to struggle through this, to have Phoebe back." And she knows, she would too. Phoebe is so much a part of who we are. Our first girl. And she's gone.
How does this love story continue? How does she still hold so much of my moment to moment? How can it be that my other kids are such an active and dynamic part of my life, so full of life and joy, growing and thriving, demanding and insistent ...and yet I seem almost present in two places? I think it is just part of God's mystery and generosity, that He can expand time and moments ....and hearts.
Tonight I started my Christmas shopping, I'm wearing her coat as I walk the aisles of these familiar stores. Her scarf is around my neck, the one from this store. She had asked me for it, I said no, she had enough, and somehow there it was at the register along with her twinkly eyes ..."pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease" she'd said. She didn't wear it long, so now I do. Phoebe took charge at Christmas, ordering me about, telling me what to do, who needed what, who should get what. "Are you kidding mom?" I can hear her saying to me as I look at pajamas for her sisters. I put them back ...they're too fuddy duddy ...to momish. Phoebe knew her siblings, understood them. Now I'm on my own, missing her as I pull it together, figure out how to make it all happen. I talk to her through the store, imagine her there with me, remember what it was like ...and miss her ....a lot.
This year is different than last, when it was so new. They told us this, the others before us, that the pain wouldn't go away, it would just be different. I didn't want to hear that then, I wanted to be told I'd hurt less, feel better. They were right too in telling us that it couldn't be described, but we would come to understand. And we do.
Our lives are lived fully today. And if you looked at us from the outside, you likely wouldn't suspect any great loss. We smile, laugh, live, embrace. I write it here, but I don't wear it on my sleeve. I carry it, but I don't often hunch over. And isn't that the Christian walk, that our burdens should not be obvious as we go about our lives ...isn't it that we should be a witness to God's great love, a witness to trusting and hoping in Him through all things. It's just that sometimes, when life is still, and milestones are reached, and children who laughed and played ...and couldn't wait until they could burst out of the car to run and find Phoebe, of all the other kids ...it's when they grow up and beyond where Phoebe reached, that I feel weak and terribly sad. Does she know the greatest missing of all?
We've been outrageously blessed with so many who love us ...they walk side by side as this story continues to be written. There are no shoulds or coulds, there is just the moment. I have my old friends who know that beneath the smile and laughter ...there is great pain. I have old friends too, who haven't been on the scene as long as my two from high school, but I consider them 'old friends' because I know our friendship transcends time. They come from all walks of life, some of them with tremendous burdens you would never know they had because they simply radiate joy ...they lead me ...these remarkable women. Like a posse, they've surrounded and guarded me when my heart staggers, protected and carried me when ignorant people toss hurt at me or my family. These women do not pose as something they are not. Their stories are true, real, forever. They watch my daughters, love them through the heavy path they travel. They delight in my youngest and oldest, checking in, observing ...caring. And strangely, in all the tending of us they do, they know I do all I can, in my great weakness, to tend to them too. That is true, pure, lasting friendship. It's not about praising each other, building each other's ego. It's about carrying each other through the treacherous path ...and not calculating the cost. True friendship is free. Without living the death of their own child, they know, somehow, the price, and expect nothing more from me. They do not assess or evaluate us, suggest we should be different than who we are, indicate we lack authenticity or true faith. They are not mean-spirited, all knowing. They just are. They don't even have to be physically present, or even touch base all that often. And I am so, so grateful for that in a world so contrived, so fixed on image, they are there.
No book teaches you to be a good friend, teaches you how to lose a child and grieve them in the "proper" way. No book has the answers on an authentically good heart ...that comes when you are open enough, when you've surrendered your life, your whole life, even the aberrations of your life to God. I've learned it's only in gratitude, especially in the darkest moments, the most grueling heartbreak, that my heart will be open to His grace.
And so as this day closes, and my little friend crosses that milestone, I pray she is blessed with the kind of friends that her mother is ....authentic, generous ...at no cost. And I pray that somehow, Phoebe celebrates with her old friend ...the one who loved the great adventure of being with her ...the one who simply loved Phoebe as she was, delighted in her feisty personality ...always.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Immaculate Conception
I love this feast day. I love thinking of the Blessed Mother in her first moments ...becoming a girl, so pure and holy, so prepared to carry Christ. I imagine the angels singing, the bending of their knees as Christ's first tabernacle formed and grew. One of God's most beloved angels fell and roams the earth seeking our ruin, all because of the thought that Christ Himself would be born to us through a mere human. I tell the kids I go to her often, because she is so perfect, and they can rest assured when I am not at my best, when I drop the ball, get frustrated, overtired, overwhelmed, I call on her to step in and take over. Maybe they can lean on that when I am remote, not as I could be. I know for sure she was there as Phoebe died, and she held her for me. That brings me tremendous comfort. Phoebe had two Masses offered for her on this day, actually three. I like having them offered on feast days, it seems as though the bridge between her and us gets traveled both ways...that I can be with her for just a bit.
Today we celebrate the feast of St. Juan Diego, three days before Our Lady of Guadalupe. One of the many blessings of a large family is getting to watch them all learn about these great stories and truths of our faith ...as the years go by. For my older kids it's almost like "yeah, yeah, heard that, we know ...enough already." But for Owen and Mary Claire, each time they hear it they are amazed and awed. This morning I told them the story again and the questions led us to looking up the basilica on line, examining the tilma with Our Lady's image. I get to tell this story over and over, and hear their eagerness and amazement. It mirrors back to me the awe I should live every day. Shows me the awe great faith cultivates. I have a ways to go, I know.
I think about Phoebe and know she lives in a time structured so differently from what we know, and I imagine her living these days of saints' lives, understanding them fully, seeing their purpose. I see her ahead of us, exploring, uncovering, examining and being so well pleased with all she sees and knows. I wish she could tell me everything, share it with us, assure us.
I think about what Phoebe knows fully about God, what she experiences. I want all my children to be with Him one day, forever. I just didn't want it for Phoebe this way. I miss her.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Today we celebrate the feast of St. Juan Diego, three days before Our Lady of Guadalupe. One of the many blessings of a large family is getting to watch them all learn about these great stories and truths of our faith ...as the years go by. For my older kids it's almost like "yeah, yeah, heard that, we know ...enough already." But for Owen and Mary Claire, each time they hear it they are amazed and awed. This morning I told them the story again and the questions led us to looking up the basilica on line, examining the tilma with Our Lady's image. I get to tell this story over and over, and hear their eagerness and amazement. It mirrors back to me the awe I should live every day. Shows me the awe great faith cultivates. I have a ways to go, I know.
I think about Phoebe and know she lives in a time structured so differently from what we know, and I imagine her living these days of saints' lives, understanding them fully, seeing their purpose. I see her ahead of us, exploring, uncovering, examining and being so well pleased with all she sees and knows. I wish she could tell me everything, share it with us, assure us.
I think about what Phoebe knows fully about God, what she experiences. I want all my children to be with Him one day, forever. I just didn't want it for Phoebe this way. I miss her.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Advent revisited
Last year I threw myself headfirst into Advent. Generally, I love Advent, the march towards Bethlehem, the readying for Christ's birth, making room for Him in our souls, ridding ourselves of clutter, possessiveness. I followed the Blessed Mother through the trails of my backyard so many times, trusting she would lead me forward. And she did, walking the paths my daughter had treaded. Advent last year salvaged me in so many ways, on so many levels ...and Christmas arrived with new hope, joy ...a chance for peace and stillness in this mother's restless soul. As I remember, it was agony, each step ...hard to capture in words. I needed to make Christmas promising and new for my other children ...Phoebe's siblings. I needed to show them our life was wounded indeed, our family was deeply wounded ...but we were not broken. More than anything, I wanted them to trust God. I know as much as I wanted that for them ... they didn't. These trusting souls, listening to us, watching us put God at the Center ...were shattered.. Why would this God we believed in above all things, allow ...or even cause, Phoebe to end her life? A fair question ...they're still asking. I let them be, still do ...just trusting that God, who does not force us to love Him, is working on them in His way ...in their way. So it was more about seeing them smile on Christmas morning to assure me they still could. It was a Christmas I will always remember ...because Phoebe wasn't with us for the first time, but more ...because of all the graces that came that season, that day. It resonates still, the meeting of Joy's mother, the invitation to feed the animals at the stable Christmas night, the relics of the Holy Family. No human could possibly orchestrate that great journey of Advent for me last year. I don't ever expect it will come close to that again for me. I found peace then ...if only for a bit, but I remember how it was ...it stays with me still.
This year, Advent is different. It's more about being present with God ...with my kids, than it is about searching. This year it seems to me the peace will come in moments when I can be truly present, in the moment, giving thanks and praising God for every bit of it ...even the hardest of moments, the one's we most dislike. I try it in simple, obvious ways ...a demand from a child that seems unreasonable and yet they are convicted they deserve some thing, some opportunity beyond their years. Often this would prompt me to bite back, now I try to stay still and listen. I fail most times, but every once in a while I can really pause and be present with them in their own struggle and absorb that great earnest friction like a bath, a grace that permeates me, so I can see them as they grow right before me, I can see them become. It offers me a chance to be better than I was just a moment ago. That desire to be present also allows me to let go of people, places and things that clutter our lives, my life. And hopefully, allows others to let go of me too, if I clutter and disturb their lives
I've chased the perfect life most of my days, the one marked by chronic peace, with minimal disruption. In my simple mind I've thought if I was obedient and faithful ...a good girl, I could find a groove that would protect me and my family from serious struggle. I thought thriving meant avoiding struggle, hurt, broken hearts, loss. I thought in my simple mind I could stave off hardship ...if I just lived and prayed the right way, When you live that way, it's hard to be grateful most of the time because you tend to be disappointed a lot. Losing Phoebe has taught me to take the moments, let go of the fear ...to watch and listen far more than I act and talk ...with my kids anyway. And with others too. As I do this, with a lot of begging for God's guidance, I see so much more of who they are ...each one, and as that happens I appreciate the moments ...the tossing of the hair, the snarly attitude, the retelling of a playground antic, the unreasonable demand ...I begin to see all of it more and more as a gift, a great grace. Where before I saw grace only where I saw peace ...I see even more grace in the moments of struggle, where it costs me the most, takes more of me than I think I can give ...than I think I have ...is in fact God's most generous grace. And believe me, in a house with plenty of preteen and teenage girls, there are many, many moments of grace ...in a single minute.
How can I possibly be present with God, allow Him to be present with me, if I can't be in the moment with my own children? And how can I possibly appreciate and be united, physically united with Christ through the Eucharist, be present ...if in the moments of my day I fail to truly be in that moment. I'm realizing what a slow learner I am. I've lived with a true desire to know God for a long time now, but I'm a restless soul, unsettled and I think perhaps I'm one of His harder cases, so to speak.
Last Advent, my gaze fixed on the manger, the baby born to save us. Though my eyes darted about, looked down, wept ...my purpose was to make it to Bethlehem and offer back my baby girl ...give her to God freely and lovingly. I did that as best I could. But this year, I won't race ahead, I will be with the people around me. Where last year, I made that journey to catch a glimpse of her ...this year I'm set on catching a glimpse of the one's right around me, the one's I miss too often. Moments can't be taken back, earned back ...we all know that, but the death of a child proves that in a new way. I'll take as many moments with the living as I can, because each moment is only once, fleeting. I'll arrive at the manger on Christmas ...I'm sure of that, but my route is different this year. And I'm fairly certain I'll catch a glimpse of that feisty girl ...the one with the gorgeous eyes and floppy bun. And for now, that has to be enough.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
This year, Advent is different. It's more about being present with God ...with my kids, than it is about searching. This year it seems to me the peace will come in moments when I can be truly present, in the moment, giving thanks and praising God for every bit of it ...even the hardest of moments, the one's we most dislike. I try it in simple, obvious ways ...a demand from a child that seems unreasonable and yet they are convicted they deserve some thing, some opportunity beyond their years. Often this would prompt me to bite back, now I try to stay still and listen. I fail most times, but every once in a while I can really pause and be present with them in their own struggle and absorb that great earnest friction like a bath, a grace that permeates me, so I can see them as they grow right before me, I can see them become. It offers me a chance to be better than I was just a moment ago. That desire to be present also allows me to let go of people, places and things that clutter our lives, my life. And hopefully, allows others to let go of me too, if I clutter and disturb their lives
I've chased the perfect life most of my days, the one marked by chronic peace, with minimal disruption. In my simple mind I've thought if I was obedient and faithful ...a good girl, I could find a groove that would protect me and my family from serious struggle. I thought thriving meant avoiding struggle, hurt, broken hearts, loss. I thought in my simple mind I could stave off hardship ...if I just lived and prayed the right way, When you live that way, it's hard to be grateful most of the time because you tend to be disappointed a lot. Losing Phoebe has taught me to take the moments, let go of the fear ...to watch and listen far more than I act and talk ...with my kids anyway. And with others too. As I do this, with a lot of begging for God's guidance, I see so much more of who they are ...each one, and as that happens I appreciate the moments ...the tossing of the hair, the snarly attitude, the retelling of a playground antic, the unreasonable demand ...I begin to see all of it more and more as a gift, a great grace. Where before I saw grace only where I saw peace ...I see even more grace in the moments of struggle, where it costs me the most, takes more of me than I think I can give ...than I think I have ...is in fact God's most generous grace. And believe me, in a house with plenty of preteen and teenage girls, there are many, many moments of grace ...in a single minute.
How can I possibly be present with God, allow Him to be present with me, if I can't be in the moment with my own children? And how can I possibly appreciate and be united, physically united with Christ through the Eucharist, be present ...if in the moments of my day I fail to truly be in that moment. I'm realizing what a slow learner I am. I've lived with a true desire to know God for a long time now, but I'm a restless soul, unsettled and I think perhaps I'm one of His harder cases, so to speak.
Last Advent, my gaze fixed on the manger, the baby born to save us. Though my eyes darted about, looked down, wept ...my purpose was to make it to Bethlehem and offer back my baby girl ...give her to God freely and lovingly. I did that as best I could. But this year, I won't race ahead, I will be with the people around me. Where last year, I made that journey to catch a glimpse of her ...this year I'm set on catching a glimpse of the one's right around me, the one's I miss too often. Moments can't be taken back, earned back ...we all know that, but the death of a child proves that in a new way. I'll take as many moments with the living as I can, because each moment is only once, fleeting. I'll arrive at the manger on Christmas ...I'm sure of that, but my route is different this year. And I'm fairly certain I'll catch a glimpse of that feisty girl ...the one with the gorgeous eyes and floppy bun. And for now, that has to be enough.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)