Writing

Survival Tips

 The act of writing helps me process and understand little bits and pieces of what's happened and how to move along, hobbling, but moving.  I have various little books where I write little notes to Phoebe. There is one big book started just after she died by a good friend and I'll stuff things in there too.  The more creative aspects of my life were really the parts of me that Phoebe enjoyed the most.  Writing is one of those areas and she enjoyed reading what I wrote, offering suggestions and comments that pushed me a little further.
Writing takes my racing mind and paces it, organizes the many streams of thoughts zigging and zagging constantly.  I can extract an idea or a thought that replays and put it in black and white, let it stare back at me and come to understand myself, or something else a little bit better.  Processing grief for a child is hard, hard work .."the hardest work you'll ever do," I'm told.  Writing lets it out a bit, and that's one reason why writing this blog has been a good experience for me ...I see a reflection and begin to understand or see some progress made here and there ...some hope that life will go on ...that life is indeed going on.
Writing untangles my heart, my twisted, broken heart.  Like massage, it nurtures the soreness and gives way to soothing ...'it will be okay."  Sometimes, I can discuss my emotions far better in writing than in words.  I think the keys under my fingers or the pen in hand guide me and provide the instrument, the channel that releases and unlocks things that need to come out ...need to be revealed to me.
Writing publicly, in a blog, was a leap for me.  I have a few sites I visit, but honestly, I have a very short attention span on the computer, so I am in and out pretty quickly.  I'd much rather read a book than read a computer screen, no matter how pretty.  Blogs are a great vehicle to share wonderful ideas, faith, hobbies ...you name it.  You take a risk too, when you write a blog, that you'll be rejected, criticized, ridiculed or misunderstood ...judged.  That's part of writing one though, you put yourself out there knowing the risks involved.  You never know if it gets read the way you intend, or if what you write is taken out of context, taken personally even. You understand you have no control over such things.
My intention of writing here has been to chronicle my walk through these difficult months and to share the experience of striving to make sense and hang on to my faith,  for two reasons.  One, I have people who care about me, love me, and were devastated for me. It became a way to share with them the walk I was on.  Lots of these women deeply loved Phoebe too, they knew how hurting they were and are, and this blog became a vehicle for them to stay in touch, keep tabs, and cry a little bit with me here and there without having to leave their own crazy busy lives.  If a post seemed particularly painful, I'd get a few phone calls ...touching base, or a note.  "Hey, you ok?"  I know friends appreciated being able to have a sense of where I was and how I was ...they didn't have to wonder and worry so much.  I have friends who will never read this blog ...they simply can't go there. Friends who were best friends with me when we were seventeen  ,,,the first friends to lay eyes on Phoebe, hold her when she was born.  It took one twenty four hours to tell herself and her husband that Phoebe was dead.  She couldn't say the words.  The other called me when I stood next to Phoebe, singing to her, stroking her hair, saying goodbye, touching her one last time.  When I didn't answer, she texted me a simple question ..."is it true?" And we're still asking "is it true?" We've found other ways  ...they know I write, glad I do, they just won't go down there with me ...they stand guard instead, take me through mountain trails with mountain lions, proving to me that I will make it, laughing with me ...remembering.  I write for them too ...even though they don't read these words.
Another important reason I decided to write this blog is to offer some hope, even a sliver.  My life ended when Phoebe died.  I have a different life now, a life without her.  I have a good life, a rich, blessed life, but its not the same one I had before she died.  Just like that, the axe came down and split my life into before Phoebe died and after Phoebe died.  Other parents know what this is like, it's happened to them, after Phoebe died.  I hope this blog can be a stepping stone, a road map for some ...to see what they might expect, to see that life continues, that God is always present, even in the darkest moments. I'm told it has helped some, and I'm glad for that.  I don't want anyone to be or feel alone. I want everyone to know they can survive ...and that yes, their old life is gone, but they have a new one they just need to learn to fit into.
Maybe the most important reason why I write, why I've done this blog ...is for her, my Phoebe.  It's a love story, really.  A story about a mother and a girl who shared a dynamic, energetic, intense time on earth together.  And it's a story of loss ...and finding, finding her again in the most peculiar places. But always finding her ...not feeling her, but finding her.  Writing has brought her smile back to me ...her bright, beautiful smile that radiated from the tips of her toes ...her smile that spoke of love and the purest joy.  I see it so clearly now, the one she had when she found comfort and knew she was so well loved.  I know that's the smile she has now ...always.  Putting words down has helped me find that smile again ...and find my own a little more too.
Sometimes when I write, I imagine her hands pressed hard on the back of my chair, bent forward, head close to mine.  Sometimes I can feel her breath on my neck, sense what she might say, a line, a word she would like or tell me to ditch.  I can feel her push her hands hard off the back of my chair ...every movement had power for her.  Maybe its sitting in this chair, the one my own mother rocked me and all of her babies in ...that ties me to Phoebe, the familiar posture, the physical closeness ...those moments of shared space and time ...the words appearing on the screen ...that keeps me writing.
Not everyone writes, not everyone needs to or wants to ...for me it's been good, building a bridge to understanding and acceptance.  It's helped me climb from the rubble and helped me find my step ...a step that's let me reach out and grab her hand, believing fully that one day I will feel her softness against my own fingers once again. Words and writing  have helped me trust God, hang on to Him and believe in the great goodness He is.
I'll always write until I can't anymore ...and not only about Phoebe, but about life, about the great want of life, which really is just our great need and want to be with  God ...our Creator, who we are all intended for.

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