Among the very first signs of spring is the beautiful star magnolia. The branches are stark and bare ...but from them blooms a magnificent flower ...pure white, like a star. I've always been so happy when I see the beginning of it's bloom. It's a promise of what is to come ...even when the branches are so bare, seemingly without hope, without life.
I hope that even in a small way, we can bloom again ....one day.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Monday, April 11, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Graces
The day nearly done, tears and heartache at rest. Six months behind me, six months closer ...many many graces came my way on this day. Many, many things to say thank you ...
1. A kind pastor who offered the Mass for Phoebe this morning ...thank you, thank you.
2. Beautiful tulips, bright pink and alert on my counter upon my return from Mass with a beautiful spiritual bouquet from a kind friend ...always sensing the way to my heart. ...thank you
3. A set of rosary beads made from Phoebe's roses ...hand delivered on this day from a group of wonderful women who have graced my life for many years ...sharing laughter and tears ...and hope. You all gave me a foundation in faith I never would have found on my own. thank you.
4. Pansies planted for Phoebe, anchored by the Blessed Mother, a statue that stood watch at my parent's site for many years and brought to Phoebe by one of my sisters ...thank you!
5. Phoebe's long lost bracelet, searched and given up lost, long before she died ...found among her common things ...just waiting for today, now gracing my own wrist ...sharing molecules of her with molecules of me. I think this one was Phoebe's own gift ...her own little appearance for me today ...thank you, Phoebe
6. My late night friend who has a way of delivering things in the stillness (though tonight she arrived as the last agonies of the day were being eeked out) ...a gift of great proportion, so wonderful ...thank you.
We had a topsy turvey day ...lots of emotion and tears ...remembering ...and oh so missing our beloved. But we laughed too ...and remembered.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
1. A kind pastor who offered the Mass for Phoebe this morning ...thank you, thank you.
2. Beautiful tulips, bright pink and alert on my counter upon my return from Mass with a beautiful spiritual bouquet from a kind friend ...always sensing the way to my heart. ...thank you
3. A set of rosary beads made from Phoebe's roses ...hand delivered on this day from a group of wonderful women who have graced my life for many years ...sharing laughter and tears ...and hope. You all gave me a foundation in faith I never would have found on my own. thank you.
4. Pansies planted for Phoebe, anchored by the Blessed Mother, a statue that stood watch at my parent's site for many years and brought to Phoebe by one of my sisters ...thank you!
5. Phoebe's long lost bracelet, searched and given up lost, long before she died ...found among her common things ...just waiting for today, now gracing my own wrist ...sharing molecules of her with molecules of me. I think this one was Phoebe's own gift ...her own little appearance for me today ...thank you, Phoebe
6. My late night friend who has a way of delivering things in the stillness (though tonight she arrived as the last agonies of the day were being eeked out) ...a gift of great proportion, so wonderful ...thank you.
We had a topsy turvey day ...lots of emotion and tears ...remembering ...and oh so missing our beloved. But we laughed too ...and remembered.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Six Months
I've lived six months without this girl. How have I survived? Truly, how have I? Pure grace ..that's the only answer. So many thoughts race through my head, steam through my veins, pounding and pounding. How does life get ripped so instantly from us? What is the purpose ...the plan?
Six months is a turning point. Means I'm not new at this anymore, should have moved on a bit by now. That's what the world says anyway. In the world of parents missing a child ...your considered newly grieving for two years. A bit more forgiving, realistic, I'd say. And in the world of parents losing a child by suicide ...even longer.
I'm not looking for a pass. The only thing I'm looking for really, is Phoebe. Just trying to make my way home to her. I don't mean that in the sense that I don't see the now as worth living. I do, I just see it worth living in a way that will bring me closer to her ...in the here and now ...and in the hereafter. I want my life to be real, ordered towards God. The closer I grow to Him, the more I let Him into my life ...the closer I will be to Phoebe. Some days its not so easy ...I lose my patience, my way. Some days none of it makes any sense. It seems radically wrong, in fact. But my thoughts, my feelings are never constant ...only God is. God never changes. I trust in that and I ask Him to draw me close in whatever way He sees fit.
when you lose a child, it feels like there is nothing that could be worse ...the fear leaves, except the fear of losing another ...or of losing my ways so much, losing sight of God ...that I will never see Phoebe again. Some people say that could never happen, God would never do that. I know God would never do that ...that is never His choice. But by my own free will, I could choose that, turn away, choose the dark over the light ...I pray that never happens to me.
Six months ...who would have thought I could have survived ...and by His grace, I have.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Six months is a turning point. Means I'm not new at this anymore, should have moved on a bit by now. That's what the world says anyway. In the world of parents missing a child ...your considered newly grieving for two years. A bit more forgiving, realistic, I'd say. And in the world of parents losing a child by suicide ...even longer.
I'm not looking for a pass. The only thing I'm looking for really, is Phoebe. Just trying to make my way home to her. I don't mean that in the sense that I don't see the now as worth living. I do, I just see it worth living in a way that will bring me closer to her ...in the here and now ...and in the hereafter. I want my life to be real, ordered towards God. The closer I grow to Him, the more I let Him into my life ...the closer I will be to Phoebe. Some days its not so easy ...I lose my patience, my way. Some days none of it makes any sense. It seems radically wrong, in fact. But my thoughts, my feelings are never constant ...only God is. God never changes. I trust in that and I ask Him to draw me close in whatever way He sees fit.
when you lose a child, it feels like there is nothing that could be worse ...the fear leaves, except the fear of losing another ...or of losing my ways so much, losing sight of God ...that I will never see Phoebe again. Some people say that could never happen, God would never do that. I know God would never do that ...that is never His choice. But by my own free will, I could choose that, turn away, choose the dark over the light ...I pray that never happens to me.
Six months ...who would have thought I could have survived ...and by His grace, I have.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Funny Story
Yesterday I left one of my patients and told her I'd owe her two hugs the next time I saw her. She told me she was writing that in her book and would make sure she got her due. I was careful with her and extra diligent with hand washing. I didn't want to bring the stomach bug home. Confident I had done everything to prevent catching it ....I woke in the middle of last night slammed with an unrelenting upset stomach. Sometimes, right before I go to bed, my husband will make me hot chocolate. It helps me sleep and it reminds of my mother who had a nighttime ritual of a cup of cocoa with a scoop of cool whip. Some nights I just need that little extra TLC, that connection to times past, people gone. It was not the hot chocolate that made me sick ...it was the stomach bug. It kept me in bed all day with my head slitting in two. Often, when I was sick, it would be Phoebe who would come and climb in with me. I'd wake up to find her there ....keeping tabs on me. I miss her.
But as I lay here not being able to move, I remembered a funny story from years ago. It s funny story now, but at the time it had me tied up in knots. A friend had asked me to watch her three children for a couple of hours, which was fine and fun since our kids all played together. In they came,sharing toys, cups, snacks! When the pickup time came, my friend told me she had failed to mention that one of the kids had been sick that morning. My heart sank. One thing with larger families and illness is that it races through the house ...if your lucky, only once, but usually at least twice, and often three times. At least that has been my experience. I was homeschooling everyone except my son who needed to be driven to and from school, and my husband's job is such that he couldn't help with that. So I knew I was in for something.
I spent a week washing laundry, changing beds, serving ginger ale, sherbert, rubbing tummies, holding and rocking. I was exhausted, not having slept for many nights. My husband came home and reminded me that one of the local stations was coming to interview us about smoke detectors. "Today?" I asked. "No, not today, I think next week" he responded. The phone rang, he answered. "Okay, so you think you'll be here in about twenty minutes." I panicked, my house was trashed ...there wasn't a clean surface, I was a mess, my kids were a mess and here we were preparing to have reporter and camera crew to come in and interview us. Twenty minutes wasn't nearly enough time to straighten out the house. We tidied and cleaned best we could, but the spot we hadn't touched at all was where the best lighting was for the camera crew. I was so embarrassed and offered the excuse that we had been battling the stomach bug. They were all very nice, but inside you know their sizing up the condition of this homeschooling moms home. They left that day with the plan to come back in two weeks at 10 PM where they would turn on the alarm and film our children waking ...seeing how quickly they responded. I was determined my house would be tip top. But oh no ...the unrelenting stomach bug never left and my house never restored to order, nor had I slept very much since their previous visit. The bug had gained momentum. I wanted to cancel ...they promised they wouldn't interview me and that it would all be fine. Making it worse for me was that another family was being interviewed and tested as well ....and their house was perfectly decorated with matching comforters and curtains ...nice and tidy ...pretty for the cameras.
I had given up ....that night my children were sleeping on bare mattresses, bare. Some of them were sleeping with old, stained army sleeping bags because that was a all we had left. I had not been able to keep up with the laundry. ON our patio, the entry way to our house, comforters, blankets, sheets were strewn all over, slimy with the remnants of stomach goo. It was a very very bad scene. Again they assured me it didn't matter, no one would notice, and in fact they didn't notice it either. I had on bad clothes, my hair was filthy and all askew, I was exhausted and in a nasty mood. They promised they would ask me no questions. They set off the alarms and filmed the bare mattresses, the kids climbing out of bed in bizarre pajama clothing. They looked strained and drained after weeks of upset stomachs. All of a sudden, the microphone is stuffed in my face. Like a lunatic, I answer questions I find silly. I just want to clean my house and settle my kids. They packed up and left. I don't know if I've ever been happier to see someone leave my house. So, that episode aired on the local news, exposing my home to the local world. Years later, someone called to say they found it on the internet by accident. Yeah!
This stomach bug wasn't as dramatic, but if you know one of your kids have it ...don't silently spread it. Its hard on us moms of many ...keeps going round and round. My kids were too young to really remember that story ..they have some vague memories. But Phoebe would have laughed with me today, she was a big part of that story. My helper in so many ways.
We ended up being sent to Florida to film an infomercial about this smoke detector. That was nearly as grueling, but not quite. One of our daughters had a small bit escaaping from a house, while we waited for her in the driveway. I think we spent 30 to 40 minutes on retakes because my husband wasn't looking at his watch the right way ....which turned out to be rather awkward and unnatural.
Its hard to remember when I can't share it with Phoebe. She's still supposed to be part of my day. I want to remember my times with her, but I want to remember them with her, laughing with her.
Two days marks six months of life without her by my side. Hey Pheebs, I miss you girlie, more than I can say! Love, Mom
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
But as I lay here not being able to move, I remembered a funny story from years ago. It s funny story now, but at the time it had me tied up in knots. A friend had asked me to watch her three children for a couple of hours, which was fine and fun since our kids all played together. In they came,sharing toys, cups, snacks! When the pickup time came, my friend told me she had failed to mention that one of the kids had been sick that morning. My heart sank. One thing with larger families and illness is that it races through the house ...if your lucky, only once, but usually at least twice, and often three times. At least that has been my experience. I was homeschooling everyone except my son who needed to be driven to and from school, and my husband's job is such that he couldn't help with that. So I knew I was in for something.
I spent a week washing laundry, changing beds, serving ginger ale, sherbert, rubbing tummies, holding and rocking. I was exhausted, not having slept for many nights. My husband came home and reminded me that one of the local stations was coming to interview us about smoke detectors. "Today?" I asked. "No, not today, I think next week" he responded. The phone rang, he answered. "Okay, so you think you'll be here in about twenty minutes." I panicked, my house was trashed ...there wasn't a clean surface, I was a mess, my kids were a mess and here we were preparing to have reporter and camera crew to come in and interview us. Twenty minutes wasn't nearly enough time to straighten out the house. We tidied and cleaned best we could, but the spot we hadn't touched at all was where the best lighting was for the camera crew. I was so embarrassed and offered the excuse that we had been battling the stomach bug. They were all very nice, but inside you know their sizing up the condition of this homeschooling moms home. They left that day with the plan to come back in two weeks at 10 PM where they would turn on the alarm and film our children waking ...seeing how quickly they responded. I was determined my house would be tip top. But oh no ...the unrelenting stomach bug never left and my house never restored to order, nor had I slept very much since their previous visit. The bug had gained momentum. I wanted to cancel ...they promised they wouldn't interview me and that it would all be fine. Making it worse for me was that another family was being interviewed and tested as well ....and their house was perfectly decorated with matching comforters and curtains ...nice and tidy ...pretty for the cameras.
I had given up ....that night my children were sleeping on bare mattresses, bare. Some of them were sleeping with old, stained army sleeping bags because that was a all we had left. I had not been able to keep up with the laundry. ON our patio, the entry way to our house, comforters, blankets, sheets were strewn all over, slimy with the remnants of stomach goo. It was a very very bad scene. Again they assured me it didn't matter, no one would notice, and in fact they didn't notice it either. I had on bad clothes, my hair was filthy and all askew, I was exhausted and in a nasty mood. They promised they would ask me no questions. They set off the alarms and filmed the bare mattresses, the kids climbing out of bed in bizarre pajama clothing. They looked strained and drained after weeks of upset stomachs. All of a sudden, the microphone is stuffed in my face. Like a lunatic, I answer questions I find silly. I just want to clean my house and settle my kids. They packed up and left. I don't know if I've ever been happier to see someone leave my house. So, that episode aired on the local news, exposing my home to the local world. Years later, someone called to say they found it on the internet by accident. Yeah!
This stomach bug wasn't as dramatic, but if you know one of your kids have it ...don't silently spread it. Its hard on us moms of many ...keeps going round and round. My kids were too young to really remember that story ..they have some vague memories. But Phoebe would have laughed with me today, she was a big part of that story. My helper in so many ways.
We ended up being sent to Florida to film an infomercial about this smoke detector. That was nearly as grueling, but not quite. One of our daughters had a small bit escaaping from a house, while we waited for her in the driveway. I think we spent 30 to 40 minutes on retakes because my husband wasn't looking at his watch the right way ....which turned out to be rather awkward and unnatural.
Its hard to remember when I can't share it with Phoebe. She's still supposed to be part of my day. I want to remember my times with her, but I want to remember them with her, laughing with her.
Two days marks six months of life without her by my side. Hey Pheebs, I miss you girlie, more than I can say! Love, Mom
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Knitting
My kids giggle over my tendency to follow a trail of something. When I get bitten with interest or sense there is a reason why I am being called to attention, I'll pursue a topic, issue, hobby. Climbing Mt. Everest is one of my son's favorites. Though most of my knowledge about climbing Mt. Everest is not immediately accessible in my brain, for a long time I could tell you all the details you needed to know if you were considering or preparing to climb. Best possible time to increase your odds of reaching the summit, areas that were of unsuspecting risk, equipment, famous climbers, length and appropriate type of training to prepare for the climb ...and much, much more. I never had any interest in climbing myself ...but should I suddenly develop the interest, I had all the information at the ready. Same with whaling ...another topic I am teased about. I think it was a way for my brain to remain fit while hanging with mostly little people for days on end. There have been other areas I've explored too, but these are the one's my family likes to reflect on the most.
Lately a theme keeps popping up. Knitting. I learned to knit around the age of eight. My first completed project was a rust colored pocketbook that I fashioned myself. It was the ugliest thing ...even then I thought so. Over the years I've knit plenty of scarves, but never developed any talent much beyond that fairly simple project. My girls knit too, and made themselves plenty of scarves for themselves and their dolls. A knitting basket is always full in our house. It hasn't been touched in our house for a while, maybe a year.
I don't spend much time on the computer ...I have a few sites I check regularly, but only for a few moments. I don't spend a long time dissecting articles, following trails. Two sites I visit a few times a week, sometimes daily, are by home schooling moms with several kids, striving to live their lives for God. I get lots of inspiration from these women ...and their is an obvious connection between the two. http://www.aholyexperience.com/ and http://ebeth.typepad.com/
They have a friend, who also blogs, who is terminal with cancer. http://keeponspinning.wordpress.com/ I pray for this woman ... who seems to be quite extraordinary in many ways, with a tender, but enormous faith. She knits. She has children, she battles her illness, oversees her own children's physical hurdles ...and knits ....and teaches others to as well. And now she has taught my two blogging mothers how to knit as well. So knitting has become a bit of a theme for these blogs over the past several weeks. Its been fun ...and simple to read about. Though I enjoyed it, it didn't inspire me to pick up the needles and create. Coincidentally ...?....
One of my support group ladies handed me a book from the lending library. "Have you read this? I think you'd like it" Looking at the title, The Knitting Circle, by Anne Hood, I giggled saying "seems to be all the rage these days ...knitting." Later, with my book, I sit at my daughter's tennis lesson and next to me another friend sits, pulls out her knitting project. Clackety clack ...someone's trying to tell me something. I read the book and with every stitch they say 'I love you' to whomever. The main character knits each stitch for her daughter ...who's died. She knits to remember and she knits to forget. She just knits and knits and knits ...and creates, re-creates her life.
The book begins just shy of her daughters sixth month anniversary, right where I am. There is no mistake here ...this story coming into my life at this time. Showing me the beauty a series of knots can create ...all sorts of beautiful things that can be shared. Knots. Life has knots ....some really big, complicated knots ...just like knitting. And these knots can be quite beautiful. My big knot ...Phoebe's death, her suicide is very, very complicated ...and I don't like it one bit. But that doesn't mean that somehow, in this big twisted mess, life can't still be made beautiful. God does that. He takes the ugly, the unwanted, the mess ...and if we let Him, He will make it beautiful ....because He makes all things new.
All this knitting ....hasn't made me pick up the needles, but it has helped me see something, my life, my loss, in a different way ....a more beautiful, more hopeful way.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Lately a theme keeps popping up. Knitting. I learned to knit around the age of eight. My first completed project was a rust colored pocketbook that I fashioned myself. It was the ugliest thing ...even then I thought so. Over the years I've knit plenty of scarves, but never developed any talent much beyond that fairly simple project. My girls knit too, and made themselves plenty of scarves for themselves and their dolls. A knitting basket is always full in our house. It hasn't been touched in our house for a while, maybe a year.
I don't spend much time on the computer ...I have a few sites I check regularly, but only for a few moments. I don't spend a long time dissecting articles, following trails. Two sites I visit a few times a week, sometimes daily, are by home schooling moms with several kids, striving to live their lives for God. I get lots of inspiration from these women ...and their is an obvious connection between the two. http://www.aholyexperience.com/ and http://ebeth.typepad.com/
They have a friend, who also blogs, who is terminal with cancer. http://keeponspinning.wordpress.com/ I pray for this woman ... who seems to be quite extraordinary in many ways, with a tender, but enormous faith. She knits. She has children, she battles her illness, oversees her own children's physical hurdles ...and knits ....and teaches others to as well. And now she has taught my two blogging mothers how to knit as well. So knitting has become a bit of a theme for these blogs over the past several weeks. Its been fun ...and simple to read about. Though I enjoyed it, it didn't inspire me to pick up the needles and create. Coincidentally ...?....
One of my support group ladies handed me a book from the lending library. "Have you read this? I think you'd like it" Looking at the title, The Knitting Circle, by Anne Hood, I giggled saying "seems to be all the rage these days ...knitting." Later, with my book, I sit at my daughter's tennis lesson and next to me another friend sits, pulls out her knitting project. Clackety clack ...someone's trying to tell me something. I read the book and with every stitch they say 'I love you' to whomever. The main character knits each stitch for her daughter ...who's died. She knits to remember and she knits to forget. She just knits and knits and knits ...and creates, re-creates her life.
The book begins just shy of her daughters sixth month anniversary, right where I am. There is no mistake here ...this story coming into my life at this time. Showing me the beauty a series of knots can create ...all sorts of beautiful things that can be shared. Knots. Life has knots ....some really big, complicated knots ...just like knitting. And these knots can be quite beautiful. My big knot ...Phoebe's death, her suicide is very, very complicated ...and I don't like it one bit. But that doesn't mean that somehow, in this big twisted mess, life can't still be made beautiful. God does that. He takes the ugly, the unwanted, the mess ...and if we let Him, He will make it beautiful ....because He makes all things new.
All this knitting ....hasn't made me pick up the needles, but it has helped me see something, my life, my loss, in a different way ....a more beautiful, more hopeful way.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Medicine
" A faithful friend is the medicine of life." - The Apocrypha
"... They were emotional times, of course, filled with articulated pain. But each day as she dropped me off at my house,I felt better, able to go on. The pressure was released once more - as steam is released when the lid is lifted from a boiling pot. It was as elemental, as simple, as incontrovertible, as that."
Taken from "Healing After Lost; Daily meditations for working through grief." by Martha Whitmore Hickman
I've been unusually blessed with friendships that sustain, uplift, nurture. Some friends I get to spend time with more regularly than others ...and I am so glad for the regularity of those. Others are far away, living busy lives in different circles. And sometimes those far away, busy life people come together ...and I get to spend time with them. Today was one of those days.
When I was in high school, my sophomore year brought two friends into my life that have stayed. They're fixtures in my life, making us a trio. We're all different. We don't need to talk a lot ...but there is a togetherness that has weathered the years. Our perspectives on faith are different ...the way we live it, express it ...are quite different. Yet, there is a respect between us ....not a walking on eggshells, formal respect ...but a genuine, ask some questions, give some answers. There is no "agree to disagree" between us. There is just this trio of us. From proms, to grad school, boyfriends, husbands, babies, houses, moves, jobs ...and deaths, we've shared the storms of each other's lives. We've gone from chinos and fair isle sweaters, to finding clothes that hide our flabby arms. We've grown up together.
By extension, the sisters and aunts have become part of my life's fabric. Its an amazing thing, really, to be part of these women ...these amazing women.
All but one I hadn't seen since Phoebe died, so this was the first time I got to see the third of our trio, and the extension that comes along with her in the form of a sister and aunts. Why am I writing about this? Because this part of my fabric was very much a part of Phoebe's too, and it is a sweet memory to know that these cheerleaders of her loved her so much for who she was ...enjoyed every moment they had with her ...and miss her ... They know Phoebe, and they know what I miss. This girl was no wallflower. Phoebe lived!
Often, people, meaning well will say that Phoebe is out of her struggle, out of her pain. That always bothers me a bit because Phoebe, though she certainly struggled to find her way, figure out the path to adulthood, was not "struggling". Phoebe was on the cusp of some great things. People want to believe that suicide only happens to people who are obviously sad, depressed. But that's not true ...not because I want to stick my head in the sand, ignore reality ...but because that's how the teenage mind works ...more and more these days, as the world continues to offer chaos and confusion. Sad. The people who really knew Phoebe know that about her. These women know. That makes me feel better.
And so Phoebe is missing from my life ...in an obvious way, physically. But today I was really struck with another person I really loved deeply, who was missing. Anne's been gone a long time. The mother of one of my trio friends died when we were in college. I loved her so much. She was always very kind to me ...and patient. I see her face in others, big and round with eyes that drew you into them. I simply loved her like I hadn't any other friend's mother. Today, as one of the aunts was talking to me, she mentioned her sister ...Anne. I barely heard anything she said after she mentioned her name. For the first time I thought and knew that Phoebe had finally met this woman. So often I had shared stories with Phoebe about her, how I loved her, how kind and generous, patient she was. Phoebe had listened, sensing the missing that took hold when I thought of her. And now, she knows her.
As I walk these dark days towards what should have been ...I can see what is instead. What is is good. It hurts, makes me sad and lonely ...but it is good.
These women in my life ...this extension I've been brought into by sheer grace of His hand, His design does not end here. Phoebe remains part of that ...even fuller. I don't want to be separate from Phoebe. I want to be with her ...but the missing heals ever so slightly when it becomes clear to me that someone else I've loved long ago, is part of her new life.
I keep praying to trust, praying to understand what I can, praying to accept ...just praying in the garbled, jumble of words that move from my heart towards Heaven. Even throughout the chaos of my grief, He hears me and sends someone to assure me. Today, it was Anne. If only for a little while ...that's enough.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
"... They were emotional times, of course, filled with articulated pain. But each day as she dropped me off at my house,I felt better, able to go on. The pressure was released once more - as steam is released when the lid is lifted from a boiling pot. It was as elemental, as simple, as incontrovertible, as that."
Taken from "Healing After Lost; Daily meditations for working through grief." by Martha Whitmore Hickman
I've been unusually blessed with friendships that sustain, uplift, nurture. Some friends I get to spend time with more regularly than others ...and I am so glad for the regularity of those. Others are far away, living busy lives in different circles. And sometimes those far away, busy life people come together ...and I get to spend time with them. Today was one of those days.
When I was in high school, my sophomore year brought two friends into my life that have stayed. They're fixtures in my life, making us a trio. We're all different. We don't need to talk a lot ...but there is a togetherness that has weathered the years. Our perspectives on faith are different ...the way we live it, express it ...are quite different. Yet, there is a respect between us ....not a walking on eggshells, formal respect ...but a genuine, ask some questions, give some answers. There is no "agree to disagree" between us. There is just this trio of us. From proms, to grad school, boyfriends, husbands, babies, houses, moves, jobs ...and deaths, we've shared the storms of each other's lives. We've gone from chinos and fair isle sweaters, to finding clothes that hide our flabby arms. We've grown up together.
By extension, the sisters and aunts have become part of my life's fabric. Its an amazing thing, really, to be part of these women ...these amazing women.
All but one I hadn't seen since Phoebe died, so this was the first time I got to see the third of our trio, and the extension that comes along with her in the form of a sister and aunts. Why am I writing about this? Because this part of my fabric was very much a part of Phoebe's too, and it is a sweet memory to know that these cheerleaders of her loved her so much for who she was ...enjoyed every moment they had with her ...and miss her ... They know Phoebe, and they know what I miss. This girl was no wallflower. Phoebe lived!
Often, people, meaning well will say that Phoebe is out of her struggle, out of her pain. That always bothers me a bit because Phoebe, though she certainly struggled to find her way, figure out the path to adulthood, was not "struggling". Phoebe was on the cusp of some great things. People want to believe that suicide only happens to people who are obviously sad, depressed. But that's not true ...not because I want to stick my head in the sand, ignore reality ...but because that's how the teenage mind works ...more and more these days, as the world continues to offer chaos and confusion. Sad. The people who really knew Phoebe know that about her. These women know. That makes me feel better.
And so Phoebe is missing from my life ...in an obvious way, physically. But today I was really struck with another person I really loved deeply, who was missing. Anne's been gone a long time. The mother of one of my trio friends died when we were in college. I loved her so much. She was always very kind to me ...and patient. I see her face in others, big and round with eyes that drew you into them. I simply loved her like I hadn't any other friend's mother. Today, as one of the aunts was talking to me, she mentioned her sister ...Anne. I barely heard anything she said after she mentioned her name. For the first time I thought and knew that Phoebe had finally met this woman. So often I had shared stories with Phoebe about her, how I loved her, how kind and generous, patient she was. Phoebe had listened, sensing the missing that took hold when I thought of her. And now, she knows her.
As I walk these dark days towards what should have been ...I can see what is instead. What is is good. It hurts, makes me sad and lonely ...but it is good.
These women in my life ...this extension I've been brought into by sheer grace of His hand, His design does not end here. Phoebe remains part of that ...even fuller. I don't want to be separate from Phoebe. I want to be with her ...but the missing heals ever so slightly when it becomes clear to me that someone else I've loved long ago, is part of her new life.
I keep praying to trust, praying to understand what I can, praying to accept ...just praying in the garbled, jumble of words that move from my heart towards Heaven. Even throughout the chaos of my grief, He hears me and sends someone to assure me. Today, it was Anne. If only for a little while ...that's enough.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Last day!
Today would have been Phoebe's last official day of high school. It weighted me today, wore me down. I'm tired, sad. Grief really isn't about the person who died. It's about the person, the people trying to heal ...the lonely, the left behind. I look at my husband ...we have no words, just sighs, sadness that passes between us. This would have been a fun day. The conversations, the comments and reflections that would buzz around our kitchen ...her observations were usually so interesting and sharp. Her view was unique ...and often times highly developed and sophisticated, making us consider a different perspective that made much more sense than the typical. Brigid and Deirdre are home to see their new niece ...so no doubt there would have been a late night rendez vous, celebratory trip to get a movie, snacks. Probably, Brigid would have said something like "see Phoebe, I told you it was important to finish. Aren't you glad I made you?" And Phoebe might have said "you had nothing to do with me going to or finishing high school ...I still say it's ridiculous, a method to mold the minds of citizens who don't think for themselves." And the comments would bounce back and forth ...a twinkle in both pairs of eyes ...giggling. Deirdre would stand with her hands together held to her chest, slightly bouncing, smiling .."Phoebe ...you finished ...I'm so happy for you." "See Brigid, why can't you just be happy for me instead of trying to take credit for my education." They would move ... this trio, through my house, stirring my heart. I miss that ...a lot.
I cleaned out our attic, emptied it of all the baby clothes stored away. Washed and bagged they have been sent off for others. A few items from each child tucked away for them, for later. They marvel at the smallness they once were. I save my favorite for last before the cover goes on the one bin holding everything. About eight inches long, pink with roses, the belly with three layers of ruffles. Phoebe's first bathing suit. I hold it up, her sisters look, silent. They know it's hers. If Phoebe ever had a logo for herself ...it could have been a bathing suit. For years she lived for the ocean, the water. As early as she could, she would jump in the Atlantic. Early March was her record. Half the year she wore her bathing suit under her clothes ...always ready. When she was in school those early years it was under her uniform.
A hard day ....so much lost it seems. Sometimes its the sadness ...other times its the ache, the knawing ache like a hunger that can't be satiated. Sometimes its both, the sadness and the ache ....today it is this. So many people are so good, so kind. But there's a bridge they just can't cross. There is nothing to say ...this little day I've kept quiet about. In our home we know ...we know what this day would have been for this girl, our Phoebe. She didn't let us finish the story and I like to finish stories. But it wasn't, isn't mine to tell, I guess.
God teaches me so many things. I must be a tough learner since he has to be fairly extreme to get me to pay attention. Nothing ever really is ours ...except the moments ...the little moments of our lives. Life is a series of moments that make memories and tell tales, teach wisdom. I think God wants me in the moment, but I want to be in moments that might have been. I chase the day for Phoebe while my little one makes castles and twirls. The moment to be caught is the twirling castle maker. I pause, and see that. Did I pause enough for Phoebe's moments? I doubt I'll ever feel I did that enough ...maybe if I had paused just one more time she'd be here now.
I'll never know those answers. But I do know this. There was a moment when I held a tiny baby in a ruffly bathing suit at Nantasket Beach. This tiny baby fell in love with the sea ...and with her life she wrote a love story about the ocean and the magic it held for her. Phoebe may never be a high school graduate ...but she knew the power of the ocean, the joy of each wave, the kiss of the salty spray. Phoebe was queen of the sea ...and those moments of her life wrote a story far greater than I ever could for her. Those are treasures, those moments. They burned bright and fast ...and I got to watch. I'm glad for that ...for the girls she was.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
I cleaned out our attic, emptied it of all the baby clothes stored away. Washed and bagged they have been sent off for others. A few items from each child tucked away for them, for later. They marvel at the smallness they once were. I save my favorite for last before the cover goes on the one bin holding everything. About eight inches long, pink with roses, the belly with three layers of ruffles. Phoebe's first bathing suit. I hold it up, her sisters look, silent. They know it's hers. If Phoebe ever had a logo for herself ...it could have been a bathing suit. For years she lived for the ocean, the water. As early as she could, she would jump in the Atlantic. Early March was her record. Half the year she wore her bathing suit under her clothes ...always ready. When she was in school those early years it was under her uniform.
A hard day ....so much lost it seems. Sometimes its the sadness ...other times its the ache, the knawing ache like a hunger that can't be satiated. Sometimes its both, the sadness and the ache ....today it is this. So many people are so good, so kind. But there's a bridge they just can't cross. There is nothing to say ...this little day I've kept quiet about. In our home we know ...we know what this day would have been for this girl, our Phoebe. She didn't let us finish the story and I like to finish stories. But it wasn't, isn't mine to tell, I guess.
God teaches me so many things. I must be a tough learner since he has to be fairly extreme to get me to pay attention. Nothing ever really is ours ...except the moments ...the little moments of our lives. Life is a series of moments that make memories and tell tales, teach wisdom. I think God wants me in the moment, but I want to be in moments that might have been. I chase the day for Phoebe while my little one makes castles and twirls. The moment to be caught is the twirling castle maker. I pause, and see that. Did I pause enough for Phoebe's moments? I doubt I'll ever feel I did that enough ...maybe if I had paused just one more time she'd be here now.
I'll never know those answers. But I do know this. There was a moment when I held a tiny baby in a ruffly bathing suit at Nantasket Beach. This tiny baby fell in love with the sea ...and with her life she wrote a love story about the ocean and the magic it held for her. Phoebe may never be a high school graduate ...but she knew the power of the ocean, the joy of each wave, the kiss of the salty spray. Phoebe was queen of the sea ...and those moments of her life wrote a story far greater than I ever could for her. Those are treasures, those moments. They burned bright and fast ...and I got to watch. I'm glad for that ...for the girls she was.
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)