Easter Sunday

The candle is lit on the mantle, a reminder of who is missing ...as if any of us in this house need one.
A physical sign of her presence among us in a totally new way ...for God makes all things new ...even good in His extraordinary way.  I long to touch her, long to have her help me with Easter dinner, find her in my bed as she steals away for a nap, snuggled in my blankets mid morning ...how much I wish for that.  That was her way on Christmas and Easter, after the early morning rousing by the littles, she would steal away, not to her bed, but to mine ...staying close by.  She knew I would find her there, sit next to her, tuck blankets tightly around her, under her chin.  I have to find her in other places now.  Easter Sunday, the promise of the Resurrection, the promise of redemption ...Phoebe lives that now.

The Vigil of Easter restores me.  The darkness gives way to the light of Christ's defeat over death.  I listen to the words, the promise, the happening.  I listen to the ancient words, responses ...songs.  The music swirls in this Church, one hundred years old, the incense burns and I think I hear her voice, singing with the choir, giving praise and thanks ....and in my mind I can see her ....and she is smiling.  "The blink of an eye Mom ....the blink of an eye."  Yes, Phoebe, I believe that, but it feels so different here.
I've struggled to make sense of how His birth is connected to His death.  My walk at Christmas, less painful than this time ...these holiest of days.  I can't grab hold of anything that calms me ....until I am in a darkened Church ...and the fire is lit, the candles illuminate and Christ is proclaimed risen.  I need to believe and I do, with all my soul I know this to be true.  But still, how does Calvary relate to Bethlehem?  My thoughts are garbled.  A friend prods me on, her gentle way again, never demanding, insisting ...and I pick up the author she points me to, Abbot Gueranger, O.S.B., The Liturgical Year, volume 7, Pascal Time, Book 1, ...from long ago.  And I read ...

"No man taketh away my life from me:  I lay it down of myself:  I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again" (John, 18)  Thus spoke our Redeemer to the Jews before his Passion; now is the hour for the fulfilment of his words, and death shall feel their whole force.  The day of light, Sunday, has begun, and its early dawn is struggling with the gloom.  The Soul of Jesus immediately darts from the prison of limbo, followed by the whole multitude of the holy souls that are around him.  In the twinkling of an eye, it reaches and enters the sepulcher, and reunites itself with that Body which, three days before, it had quitted amidst an agony of suffering.  The sacred Body returns to life, raises itself up, and throws aside the winding-sheet, the spices, and the bands.  The bruises have disappeared, the Blood has been brought back to the veins; and from these limbs that had been torn by the scouring, from this head that had been mangled by the thorns, from these hands and feet that had been pierced with nails,  there darts forth a dazzling light that fills the cave.  The holy angles had clustered round the stable and adored the Babe of Bethlehem; they are now around the sepulchre, adoring the conqueror of death.  They take the shrouds, and reverently folding them up, place them on the slab whereon the Body had been laid by Joseph and Nicodemus.  
But Jesus is not to tarry in the gloomy sepulchre. Quicker than a ray of light through a crystal, he passes through the stone that closes the entrance of the cave and a guard of soldiers is there to see that no one touches it.  Untouched it is and unmoved; and yet Jesus is free!  Thus, as the holy Fathers unanimously teach us, was it as his birth:  he appeared to the gaze of Mary, maternal womb.  The birth and the Resurrection, the commencement and the end of Jesus' mission, these two mysteries bear on them the seal of resemblance: in the first, it is the Virgin Mother; in the last, it is a sealed tomb giving forth its captive God.

And so I see the story unfold, I see the beginning of His life in Bethlehem, and the beginning of new life on Easter Sunday.  Christ passes through ...disturbing no one, no thing ...only bringing goodness and light, using the simplest of people, the most humble ...the shepherds.  "When born in Bethlehem he would have for his first worshippers a few simple-minded shepherds, whose power to herald the great event was confined to their own village: and yet the birthday of this little Child is now the era of every civilized nation.  For the first witnesses of  his Resurrection he chose three weak women; and yet the whole earth is now, at this very moment celebrating the anniversary of this Resurrection.  There is in it a mysterious feeling of joy unlike that of any other day throughout the year: no one can resist it, not even the coldest heart.  The infidel who scoffs at the believer knows at least that this is Easter Sunday." (p. 111)

The story, the truth lives on, bringing promise and hope to hearts that have been wounded, to lives that have been ravaged by sin, pain, suffering ...loss.  What can this world offer my wounded heart, my brokenness, our brokenness?  Temporary distraction ...at best.  Christ can offer wholeness ...new life ....joy ...even in the suffering, the pain, the loss.  It costs us to follow Him, sometimes we lose in a very worldly way, and that can be extraordinarily hard ...and lonely.  But the gain, the promise, the fulfillment of following Him ...and His ways, the promise of shedding our old selves, our temporal selves ...is pure glory, for all eternity.  Imagine. 
Happy Easter!

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

Holy Saturday

Christ had died on the Cross ...the Cross of our salvation ...the cross of eternity.  I accept all this, believe all this ....but feel none of it.  Still, I know it to be true.  It is this day, the day after, the apostles mourned, aghast at what had happened to to the One they believed to be the Savior.  I know I would have been huddled with them, if I had not fled.  I know I would believe all was lost, that Christ lost in the end ...and so did all of us.  Only one, just one, believed and trusted all her Son had taught ...after three days He would rise again ...He would defeat death, claim victory for all ages ...for anyone willing to follow Him.  It was the one "full of grace," the one I lamented just days ago ...the first tabernacle of our beloved Christ, Blessed Mother who believed ...still ...on this dark day, the day of confirmed defeat, her son entombed, lifeless ...she still held to all the promises and with joyful anticipation rejoiced in His rising from the dead ...even before He rose. 
Today, I stand with her .... ride the wave of her belief, her trust, her love ...because alone, I am not there ...I need her mantle to hold on to, I need her to lead me, pave the way so that I might catch a glimpse of the Resurrection.  And I trust she will lead me there ....she always leads me to her Son.

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

Visiting Graces

Just as I finished my previous post I clicked on my email.  I good friend had just sent out this link to Youtube ...fitting and timely for my own struggle ...helping me make sense.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dkpLB_wwIHg&feature=player_embedded#at=279

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

Home again

We are back after a long drive home, far away from Neenie and Poppa.  Nourished a bit from being with them ...loved and nurtured in their special way.  It felt good to be there.  I didn't feel sad.  Phoebe was part of our conversation, our memories we replayed ...those first times and then all those years of getting to know each other.  "Did you ever see anything Neenie?  ever think?"  Her eyes fill, "No, I always thought she would command anything she ever did."  It was a hard question for me to ask ...because always lurking just beneath the surface is that overwhelming sense I should have known ...I had missed something so terribly obvious, and yet I had missed.  But Neenie and Poppa didn't see anything either ...and that gives me some peace ...for now anyway.  I'm glad to have been with them, around their table, the birds ...the love.
It was only ascending the hill leaving their house, heading home that the pain unfurled its ugly fingers.  Phoebe's hill, where she would skate her heart out, delighting Neenie ....and scaring me.  And then heading the other way, further down, heading out.  We have that on video, Phoebe, barefoot ..the elegance of her on the longboard ....long, long before it became popular.  I asked her to guide me home, keep us safe. We returned home, and still ...she was not here, the nightmare still did not end.  The wee hours of our return gave way to the rising sun of Holy Thursday.  And I am flat ...disengaged from the  atrocities set in motion this night. These days of Christ's passion hold no emotion for me ...I can't wrap my head around it all.  These days of the great sacrifice hold no outstretched hand for me, at least one I care to grab hold of.  I step to the side, looking on, but not joining.  I cover my heart, lower my eyes ...I don't want more pain.  Christmas held hope and anticipation for me ...and I was overwhelmed with grace.  The infant savior was born, and it was in that manger I could leave Phoebe.  And I found peace.
But now ...I have nowhere to go.  I am empty, bled dry from sorrow and hurting.  You think it will get better, the pain will lessen and the missing won't quite be so much.  But there are times, when it comes on like a raging storm ...and I rage against Heaven.  Graces?  What grace is there in Phoebe's death?  Show me!  It's not that I don't believe God uses all for the good ...I do.  I know somewhere in this design is a plan for eternity.  But I am not "full of grace" as Blessed Mother is.  How can she know the agony of a pathetic, loud-mouthed mother, like me ...when she was created pure ...free from sin, created to be our Savior's mother?  She is FULL OF GRACE ...while I am full of failing.  She was created to trust God ...but I must fight with every ounce I have to choose that trusting.  How could she possibly know my battle?  And why ...why, if He died for our sins in such a horrible, barbaric way ...if He died to free us from our sin ...then why do we still sin ....and why did that cost me my daughter's life?  How can I celebrate the Resurrection, when that place across from me at the table is EMPTY still?  The Blessed Mother saw her son again ...after he died.  She was consoled.  I have pictures, her things, memories, but not her to grab hold of ...to hear her voice.  I don't think I have the strength to keep believing when I have been so robbed.  And I am very, very angry ...and terribly confused. 
People tell me that He sees my pain and weeps with me ...that I am at the foot of the cross.  All these things before would console me now sound garbled ...unfamiliar.  I am not at the foot of the cross ...I am running as far away as I can.  I don't want this pain, I just want Phoebe.  I don't want any of this part of the story ....I don't want anymore horror.  I don't want any more missing and loneliness ...I don't want to be away from my girl.  She did not have to die ...and yet she did.  There is no sense in nonsense.  There is no sense in the death of a seventeen year old girl, full of life and spirit, adventure and daring ...there is no sense in losing a lifetime with Phoebe ...and I am broken and hurting ...but even that will not change that she is gone from me. 
This will wash over, the grace will flow again ..and I will understand His love again.  I will.  But for now, I shake my head and hold my heart, broken from grief ...wondering what kind of father would allow someone whose tried to love Him as best she can to be robbed of one her own children.  How could He have let this happen?  And why?


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

Reunion

After processing in those first moments that Phoebe was indeed dead, and after imploring God to make sense of this disaster before me, my thoughts instantly went to Phoebe's soul literally falling into the arms of the Blessed Mother.  I could not shake this image, in fact, it is the image that plays in my mind far more often than the other, painful, dreadful image of finding Phoebe. 
Years ago, thirteen actually, this month on the 15th, is the reason that image plays over and over in my mind.
My husband had headed off to a two week conference to a fairly quiet area of Maryland ...Emmitsburg.  It is the home of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, which bears significance for our family since we have home schooled for several years.  He found the area so beautiful, rich in faith, that he wanted the rest of us to visit too, tying it into a trip to D.C. So we made the plans, sent a letter off to the nun he had met, along with a picture of the kids ...the three we had at the time, just asking about places we might stay. Days later we received a call from woman who told us we were staying with her and her husband. I couldn't imagine how this had all happened ....but would later discover this kindly nun had shown the picture to Neenie. "Oh what darling children" Neenie had said. "Aren't they" sister had replied, "such a shame, they want to visit ...but ...have no place to stay.". Neenie took the bait, and our number and called us to stay with them. And here we are, years later.
Phoebe did not go to other people ...period. She would tell them not to look at her ....they couldn't resist those big blue eyes. But when we pulled into Neenie and Poppa's driveway that first time, Phoebe leapt from the car and into Neenie's arms. We were stunned. It was so unlike our girl and yet there she perched, nestled into the arms of this perfect stranger ...beaming. We would come to learn so much about the love of Blessed Mother through these two faith filled, generous souls who welcomed our growing family into their hearts and home ...and never let go.
Its this memory, this image of Phoebe, in the arms of Neenie that led me, and continues to lead me to seeing and knowing the embrace of Phoebe into the arms of the Blessed Mother. For me, it is a comfort beyond words. Always, she leads us to her son, Jesus Christ. To see my daughter there, and knowing where she would be led ...keeps me going and believing.
So tomorrow we will be back in that place of many years ago. We will be there without Phoebe, for the first time. That will be hard for me ...a necessary reunion though ...another first, one more passage.

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

Holy Week

I'm wondering about this march through Holy Week.  Its always a pensive time, somber, yet expectant.  It's really the holiest time of year ....awaiting the fulfillment of the redemption ...our salvation.  This year, its a struggle for me to wrap my head and heart around the goodness of all this.  It feels like its all happening around me.  I can't quite find the right place to jump in and participate.  Suffering is part of life, I know that.  I guess I'm still struggling with suffering as a path to redemption ...to eternal salvation.  There have been times when I've really understood in a much fuller way what this meant ...certainly not in its entirety, but at least I caught a shadowy glimmer. 
My path to Bethlehem at Christmas ended in a profound grace that is difficult to share in words.  Some witnessed, being players themselves in what would be revealed.  Others watched on, praying for me, fearful that I might find only emptiness, lost promise.  But mostly, those who love me just let me be ...and trusted for me.  Maybe Easter will be like that too.  Every time I anticipate a day that will be hard, some milestone, holiday shared ...the grace and gift come back stronger, firmer than any emotional intensity spilling from my heart.  Why should I expect less now from God ...even if the grace is solely an interior conversion of my heart lifting higher towards Him.
Gone six months, and yet my life with her has only begun in many, many ways.  Friends generously gathered roses from Phoebe's flowers the day she was buried and had them made into a Rosary for me.  These women I've prayed and laughed with over the years so many times.  Slowly I am learning I might have had this gift before Christmas, they were anxious to bring it to me.  Paths don't always cross easily, and a gift meant for earlier was delayed for the perfect time.  Last Friday, I had a brief moment with two women I rarely see, but I consider central to my life in many ways.  Both of them loved, even adored Phoebe.  One told me she had been trying to get hold of me, give me a gift.  Turned out she would see another friend later that night, the eve of Phoebe's sixth month anniversary ..."give it to Kathleen, she'll be here and she'll bring it to me." I had told her.   And so the exchange was made with this watchful woman of my daughter, the girl who played in her kitchen so many times.  She handed it to me ..."wait till tomorrow" she said.  And so I did, and on that morning of that day, I woke with the sharp reminder that it was six months ...six months ...gone, my Phoebe gone.  But the treasure was the Rosary ...and no other day would be more fitting than that day ....when it felt all was lost, their would be no more physical connection to my girl ...and yet here it was ....a Rosary of roses.
The beads are beautiful.  How many times had I said the Rosary with Phoebe?  Hundreds ...more.  And it is still to be shared ...for a lifetime.  What a gift.
Days later I cradle them in my hand in the early morning ...that time that was all hers, and I begin to pray. I pray for her ...that she be safe.  Instantly I am enveloped in her perfume ...Phoebe's perfume ...here it is all around me ...no question.  God does not give us our children to love, and then tear them from us.  God changes our relationship ...He changes us.  This is all so new to me still, but I know it to be true.  And her perfume is a signal grace that elevates my heart and mind to trust Him ...and open my heart to receive.
A good friend of ours, Godfather to our youngest, died over three years ago.  He was a man of incredible faith, filled with love and joy ...made everyone feel like they were THE  most important person to him.  Phoebe loved him, and it wrestled her faith that we prayed so hard for a miracle and it was never granted as we desired.  Dick exuded the love of God, his own love for God was contagious.  I've often thought Phoebe is with him ...and happy to be.  I hadn't been thinking of Dick at all ...but after receiving the Eucharist a few days ago, I knelt down to pray and wanted to recite a prayer ...Anima Christi.  I couldn't think of it ...suddenly, his voice, Dick's voice so crystal clear in my head "I'll say it for you!"  He had loved that prayer.  Peace filled me, knowing he was so close to us ...that veil so thin. 
Anima Christi
Soul of Christ, sanctify me
Body of Christ, save me
Blood of Christ, inebriate me
Water from Christ's side, wash me
Passion of Christ, strengthen me
O good Jesus, hear me
Within Thy wounds hide me
Suffer me not to be separated from Thee
From the malicious enemy defend me
In the hour of my death call me
And bid me come unto Thee
That I may praise Thee with Thy saints
and with Thy angels
Forever and ever
Amen



The Church is one with the Church Suffering (holy souls in Purgatory), the Church Militant (those on Earth living the faith) and the Church Triumphant (holy souls in Heaven).  Thinking of that gives me great comfort ...because it keeps us all together, all so close, praying for each other ...all of us striving to live in God's presence for all eternity.
Rosary beads made of roses, perfume, and good friends guiding me in prayer when my own mind fails me ...these are promises and confirmation that our relationships as we know them change ...but they do not end ....they are eternal.  
This is where I will begin this Holy Week.


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

---

Raw

Passing six months has put me in a different place. I don't know that anyone 'heals' from losing a daughter, but things do change ...or you just grow accustomed to this feeling taking residence in your cells. Either way, you move along, albeit far differently than you would ever want to ...and life changes.
Approaching Holy Week, I think of the apostles ....and believe me, I am not comparing myself to them. I think about the rawness they would feel looking at their teacher, their friend, their Savior, they knew to be the Christ ...the one waited for so long, hanging on the Cross, seemingly powerless. That utter despair that seeps in ...beyond imagination. Aghast ...looking on. Horrified ....trying to make sense of the nonsense of it all. I wonder if it felt like it felt for me for so long ...an open gaping wound, raw and burning, unrelenting. That's how it was ...and yet, the day to day of life, of other children, hid that so well, even from myself at times ...as I lived the silent scream of despair and desperation in losing Phoebe.
I would tell anyone, share the moment of emotion ...it was so new in those first months. And it still is ...will always be for me. My path now is always towards Heaven, towards finding my girl again, laying eyes on my first daughter. But it is different now, six months later. We've had so many people praying for us ....those prayers have held us, kept us literally alive. I am so so grateful. We are living.
But what was once so public, so readily shared, begins to turn inward. The rawness has us begging for anyone with a bandage, a salve ...anything that will ease the pain, offer a reason, a meaning for this agony. Open wounds heal, hopefully. And the healing takes a lifetime ...I don't need bandages right now, I just need to protect my wound. It changes my interface with the world. So many feel the raw pain of loss ...the loss of a girl who sparkled the world. And that is real and painful. The pain of loss is shared with so many who love her, but the pain of living ...becomes more personal, not as easily shared.
For a long time I've leaned into God, knowing only through Him will I ever find true rest. But this is a different place than before ...I am different. Even knowing God is the only answer, I haven't been able to look God in the eye ...Haven't been able to rely on the Blessed Mother like I had before. My heart has been really hurt, wounded, pierced. And I think that only now I'll be able to ask for the real healing to begin. I think the rawness felt like it was keeping me close to Phoebe. But I'm too far out now, its just not as fresh. Everything's changed. All the people that were here, that were meant to be a full part of her life, our lives ....are still here. And all of us will keep Phoebe close ...always. She wasn't just a part of our life before ...she still very much is.
I had the great sense that Phoebe and I were holding hands and ....she just let go. I wish you could all have a tiny glimpse of her ...see what I'm missing. I've been silently screaming for her return ...but that won't be.
Maybe now I need to extend my hand and grab hold of hers in a new way ...and trust my heart will be healing for a long, long time ...until that final day when I get to see her again.

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