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.