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.