Giggling feet

Below the door, three in a row, three sets of feet.  I can tell whos who by the nail polish on toes.  This trio clump of girls, in three dressing rooms right in a row.  I sit across from them waiting for the fashion show ....and listen.  These three, numbers 3, 4 and 5, have always been a trio.  Our two oldest would tell stories of getting them all buckled into their car seats at the same time.  It was Stephen and Phoebe's job to secure them in the car for me.  While they each buckled one, the third, unmanned would release themselves and RUN ....and while they were chased the other two would release themselves and RUN.  I would finish up in the house while they took care of getting "little girls" all secured.  I often wondered why it took them so long, and over the years I learned as the story of frustration was shared with laughter.  The girls shared their version too, howling as they retold the antics,   plans and strategies they implemented, spoiling the efforts of their older siblings.  And now, here they are, giggling and planning.  I sit and listen and thank God they are who they are ...still laughing and living.  One parades out and the other doors open ....approval.  One parades out in a shirt exposing back and belly, its flimsy, transparent, and my face drops, brow furrows.  They all look at me with serious faces ....and then burst into laughter ..."gotcha, Mom."  All three of them planning to push my buttons ...and they succeed.
Years ago, when they were all little, their aunt called them the "giggle girls."  And they were.  I'm grateful for their bond, their closeness.  They're missing their leader, but she taught them to stay close.  I've learned that over these months, what she told them, how she guided them, expected of them ...in their own quiet moments, she showed them a path to take, one that would be good.  And they listened. 
My giggle girls have giggling feet, and as I watch them dance under the door, I'm so so grateful for the moment.  I know who's missing ...but on them are her fingerprints ...and footprints ....never to be smudged. 

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

Story telling

"The pressure of unspoken grief is like that inside a pressure cooker - it builds and builds until one feels as though another tiny increment of pain will drive one mad.  Speak. Tell a friend. Tell another friend, or the same friend again.  A wise friend will know one must tell this tale again and again."
 I am learning as August fades, so does the memory, keen awareness to others that Phoebe has died.  It's part of the grief walk, that as the months pass, the year mark approaches, we find ourselves surrounded by just a scattering ...those who remember and live the loss with us.  I don't suggest that's a bad thing ...it just is.  People's lives move on, they have their own families, their own jobs and tasks ...their own life to embrace and live.  And we do too.  But it is all changed ...even if on the outside it doesn't seem so.  Only a very few want to hear the story told again.  It is one of the secondary losses of loss ...that we drift away from people we believed closer ...people we thought would stay ...and don't.
I do, we do, have friends who have stayed.  Though they don't experience the loss of Phoebe the same way, they find themselves examining and experiencing her absence, her death, in deeper, richer, even sadder ways.  That's how real loss moves through us ...it seeps.  I see the one's it seeps into ...and I am grateful for their asking, their listening, their attempt to understand what my life is like now. I have a good life ....too many blessings to count.  But I also have an extraordinary daughter, one who really and truly did not live the cookie cutter life, didn't fit the profile of a "perfect" kid.  She was her own person.  She didn't tow the line, didn't 'yes' us to keep us quiet.  She challenged and pushed and pulled ...and for sure, there were moments when Phoebe pushed every button I have all at once ...but I have yet to meet a child that could dazzle the world like her.  I have a few friends who knew her for all this, watched all this ...and they have stayed.  They still hear the story ...and every time they do ...its fresh and new.  While others have grown quiet, and seemingly, openly forget that I've lost a gem ...I am grateful for the one's who've truly stayed ...who truly watch for my other kids, ask for them ...and for me.  They know the tension of watching our next daughter in line follow the steps Phoebe took four years ago, as she starts her high school life.  Tender, precious, vulnerable moments for her ...our family too.
  I have a lifetime of storytelling ahead of me ...and it will always include Phoebe.  Phoebe's death is the spine of my story ...one I will tell for a long, long time.  I'm grateful I have friends who care to listen ...and sometimes even, tell it back to me.

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

August Waning

Final days of summer.  Summer was her season ...our family's season really.  I guess as we march towards one full year of missing her, its only right those steps take place through the end of summer.  Beach days taper and school supplies are stocked as transitioning starts.  A year ago we were making college lists, captain's practice for soccer had me getting dropped off at work and picked up when Phoebe's practice was over.  A year ago we were looking at today, wondering where she would go ...what she would set out to become.  A year ago we laughed together long and hard.  We had put together a list of potential schools to pursue.  Not much was easy with Phoebe, the conversations could twist and turn ...she had lots of options.  Finally, we sat on my bed and she reviewed the list.  "Yeah, this looks good.  Thanks mom," she had said.  I pretended to wipe the sweat from my brow and she laughed.  She quickly sat up, her eyes all fiery  ...."wait, I can't apply to ANY of those schools."  I groaned "why?"  "Because none of them are on the water ...I have to be near the ocean ...I can't be away from it, it won't work."  She was right ...she needed to be near the ocean, near the Atlantic ...her playground, her touchstone.  "Well, pass this list in anyway ...just so you can show the work done in your college search."  "No, that would be a lie, I need schools I'll really consider ...besides I might not even go to college next year."  My mouth hung open, I shook my head, met her eyes ...her Cindy loo hoo eyes ....and we laughed, a good, deep, hearty, rich laugh.  I wish I could laugh with her again.  I think about that moment and smile ...she was my girl, and she was all so much her own.  She could not be muscled into conformity ...would not be.  To her that was a living death. 
We went on to find schools, good fits for her, on the water and talked about plans, alternate plans, life.  It would be six weeks of lots of conversations ...lots and lots.  And during those weeks I had marveled at her, how she had grown and matured ...how she fit so well into her own skin ...how she was taking flight.  We were in sync, my girl and me. 
Some people have nothing to look back on, no hooks or memories of note.  I have lots.  She left me with lots and lots ...  My husband keeps her text message she sent him last year on my birthday "hey, why don't you pick up an i pad on your way home."  After I opened it she instructed everyone that it was only  mine and no one should try to take it away or use it.  She knew I wanted something I could start writing letters to my mother, gone seven years.  I just wanted a way of collecting the thoughts I wanted to share with her. I pictured my mother reading them from where she was ...smiling about her grandkids, delighting in watching them grow.  Phoebe like that idea and wanted to help make that happen for me.   I had no idea that in six short weeks I would begin writing those letters ....only not to mom, but to Phoebe ...so very far away from me.
After I opened it, she whisked me away, shooing everyone ...to show me something really funny on you tube ...and it was really funny ...and we had laughed and laughed as she played it over and over again, and I waited patiently to put my hands on the i pad that was meant just for me.
We finished our family birthdays this week.  Hannah finished it off by turning thirteen.  A real live teenager!  And I made it through mine.  Harder than I thought.  I worked and the day became crazier than expected ...a good distraction.  The kids gave it their all ...and so did my husband.  But she was missing.  I woke up exactly at midnight, my hands clenched, tears streaming ...  I've watched my kids cry in their sleep, watched them pound their fists on the mattress ....and I know why.  But I had never known it to happen to me.  It was as if she was letting me know ..."mom, the days ended, but I'm still here."  I just wish I could feel her, sense her near me.  I tell my husband this and then tell him how I can see her in my mind coming into the room, how she would sit, move her hands, hold her head ...with such greater clarity than I have for my kids right around me.  How can I see her so clearly ...how she moved, blinked her eyes ...the wisps of hair loose from her floppy bun, and yet not see the fine details of my other kids when I picture them?  Perhaps that is just how she is here with me, making her presence known, palpable ....real.  It's not how I expected it, but ...so much of what God allows in my life is never expected or imagined. 
A year ago is as far back as I can see ....and I can travel these days treasuring those final moments.  I wish I could count the smiles, the laughter, the hugs ...the joy that had become ours.  I can't count them, but I can count on them to get me through the heavy days leading to one year.  Six weeks worth of memories ...six weeks of loving us and wrapping her arms around us ...six weeks of getting us all ready for her to take flight.  Only her flight came sooner and far differently than any of us planned. 


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

Smooth and Chisel

Yesterday I woke with a pounding thought ..."where is God taking me?  who does He want me to become?"  It didn't feel heavy or weighted, just a question that persisted, and still does.  Phoebe's last anniversary is different ...where I typically dip deep down, I rise again to the familiar, a life I've grown accustomed to.  Not this time though, the climb has been longer, harder, and while I feel like I've pulled through, have some balance back ...it's all different.  There is something different, a new landscape ...simpler I think, yet more pointed and certain of the pain.  I hear a whisper that encourages me ...'this isn't about what's happened ...it's about what's happening.'  For so long, I have felt God's abandonment, His absence ...even while knowing and trusting He is always there ...always.  I've turned over so many stones trying to understand why He would hide from me, in this time, with this loss.  And now, I understand His craftsmanship, His desire to call me closer ...smooth over my rough edges that keep Him at bay.  That's hard work ...I know ..I'm full of stubborn bumps that resist the chisel.  For months I've clung to my rosary, spoken to God all day, searching for His eyes and not finding them.  I've prayed and cried to the Blessed Mother knowing her gaze is upon me ...and while I feel her eyes, I've refused to look into them.  I've wanted what I can't have ...never have I wanted anything more ...there is no word for the wanting of a dead child ...no word!  But now, I look less outside for the answers.  If you know my story, you know it.  If you don't, you likely won't hear it from me.  The days of reaching out seem past. 
I work with a young nurse last night, certain she has heard.  Gently, she probes me.  It's not a story for her.  'How many kids do you have?'  'Seven', I tell her.  'That is sick, I would never have that many kids, you must be crazy.'  Inside I chuckle, she's so, so young.  She waits a moment, but I know its coming ...' How are they all doing?'  I stop what I'm doing and look her in the eye ...'they're all fine, my oldest daughter died last Fall.'  "Oh yeah, now I remember hearing about that ...how old was she."  Seventeen I tell her, firmly.  I want to say ...'you know the story, what details would you like ...the method, the moment, the horror?'  Moments later she tells me she'll kill herself if her boyfriend doesn't stop snoring.  I say a Hail Mary.  What does God want in this moment?  Unbelievably, I feel Him asking me for kindness for this young woman with so many miles ahead of her.  I can blow her off, or I can be kind to her and thank her for teaching me so much about patient care ...which she does.  In this outrageous exchange, God exposes my own complexity.  Maybe one day, when she is hurting, she'll remember this moment ...and she'll know she'll make it, survive ...and she'll be kinder in her own moment so much like mine.  Maybe.  Smooth and chisel, it's what He does with us ...and how he uses all of us to do His work.  This young woman unexpectedly opened a wound ...so that I could learn kindness, real, genuine kindness.  How could I not love her if I know she is one of God's instruments to bring me closer to Him, to live more as He wants me?  It is a twist I'm not expecting, but it is there ...and so plainly, simply laid before me ...it makes me laugh. 
I wonder who gets to be His chisel today? 

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

Bead by Bead

I count my blessings ...and I have many.  When things get scary for me, that's where I try to go ...just counting my blessings.  There is sadness all around us, there is loss, corruption ...everywhere.  And when I look through the lens of loss, only that lens, I just plummet.  That's a choice, subconsciously perhaps, I make, to look through that view only showing the emptiness, the raw brutality of what humanity can do to itself and others.  That view alone, closes itself off to another, breeds only despair ...a hardened heart.  I fight that every moment because I sense that some days I could spiral there and not return.  This is one of those days of fighting really hard ...and I will win this day.  I'm sure of it, because as the darkness descends and the lure of despair entices me, I grab hold of my safety net ...my rosary.  And bead by bead, I make my way out. Sometimes I only pray one bead, and it will take me minutes to get to the next, but I always know it is the surest route, the best way.  The Blessed Mother always leads us to her Son ...always to our Redeemer, who loves us passionately even in and through our weakness and despair.  He is the promise.  I can't get there on my own, but my beads can get me there.  And ever so gently, my lens changes and I see the pure beauty around me ...the flop of curly hair lying next to me, big sisters arms around her as they both sleep.  Just that reality is enough to soften the hardness that tries to settle in.  And if that is the only goodness I see today (and I will see much much more!) it's enough to prove the goodness, the beauty, the grace all around me.
Bead by bead I'll make it through this life without Phoebe ...I know that now.  As hard and awful as that is, I will make it ...bead by precious bead.


I have a prayer request today.  If you have never experienced lice, count your blessings!  We have, and thankfully, its been a while since we've had to deal with it.  But right now, it is making its way through and finding residence in some large families I know.  It's awful enough to have lice, but the sheer work of getting rid of it, the time, the effort, the constancy is overwhelming, and quite literally it is all consuming and for the mother can feel like it is absolutely breaking them.    Please say a prayer for these moms right now, they truly need them, just to get through today.  If you've had to deal with it, you know what I'm talking about.  And if you haven't, I pray you  never will ...and you should too!

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

Feast of the Assumption

Take all your cares, all your worries to Our Lady.  She was assumed body and soul into Heaven and there she reigns Queen of Heaven and Earth.  Do something today to honor her in a special way.  Below is the Litany.  It's posting funny because its copied from another site ...but the prayer is beautiful.

Litany to Our Lady

Lord, have mercy on us. (Christ have mercy on us.) Lord, have mercy on us. Christ, hear us. (Christ graciously hear us.) God, the Father of heaven, (have mercy on us.) God the Son, Redeemer of the world, (have mercy on us.) God the Holy Ghost, (have mercy on us.) Holy Trinity, one God, (have mercy on us.)
Holy Mary, Holy Mother of God, Holy Virgin of virgins, Mother of Christ, Mother of the Church Mother of divine grace, Mother most pure, Mother most chaste, Mother inviolate, Mother undefiled, Mother most amiable, Mother most admirable, Mother of good counsel, Mother of our Creator, Mother of our Savior, Virgin most prudent, Virgin most venerable, Virgin most renouned, Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful, Virgin most faithful, Mirror of justice, Seat of wisdom, Cause of our joy, Spiritual vessel, Vessel of honor, Singular vessel of devotion, Mystical rose, Tower of David, Tower of ivory, House of gold, Ark of the covenant, Gate of heaven, Morning star, Health of the sick, Refuge of sinners, Comforter of the afflicted, Help of Christians, Queen of Angels, Queen of Patriarchs, Queen of Prophets, Queen of Apostles, Queen of Martyrs, Queen of Confessors, Queen of Virgins, Queen of all Saints, Queen conceived without original sin, Queen assumed into heaven, Queen of the most holy Rosary. Queen of the family, Queen of Peace,	p r a y f o r u s
Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (spare us, O Lord.) Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (graciously hear us O Lord.) Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, (have mercy on us.) Pray for us, O holy Mother of God. (That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.) Let us pray. Grant, we beseech Thee, O Lord God, unto us Thy servants, that we may rejoice in continual health of mind and body; and, by the glorious intercession of Blessed Mary ever Virgin, may be delivered from present sadness, and enter into the joy of Thine eternal gladness. Through Christ our Lord. (Amen.)

We've also just made a hummingbird cake to celebrate her great feast tonight.

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

Long days

One thing I've learned this summer ...my kids don't like to spend time writing.  It's been an unusual summer, of course because of Phoebe's absence, but also because I've worked for the first time in many years.  And that has been even more chaotic and disruptive and rather annoying because I've been training ...and training only happens at peak family time.  So to sit and write only increases and irritates the already annoyed.  The truth is too, I want to be with them, its where I should be ...and so my fingers rarely grace the keyboard, but my mind whirs with thoughts and ideas I want to get down, share.  Writing is good for me, it helps me focus, assess, gain perspective ...all good things.  This particular post has taken four days to write, just because of all the demands of this busy household.
I made it through those dark, dark days leading up to the ninth.  Seems as that number approaches each month, I descend even further than before.  I don't understand why it gets deeper and longer, but it does.  I wonder how God can seem so absent during those times.  And even bouncing back, beginning to find my feet, my footsteps gaining momentum, I still wonder where He is, why He seems so remote.  I dont feel like I've recovered from this August date as I have in the past months.  Somethings is looming for me, and I don't know what.  I'm just tired and wrung out for missing, wishing and wanting.  I'm tired of watching her friends lives go on without her.  I'm tired of worrying about my other kids ...and I'm tired of people never really getting it, because they've never been here.  Exhaustion has taken over ...and I am weary from this journey, but there is no rest to be had simply because.  I think about the desolation all the apostles felt when Christ had been laid to rest ...what despair they must have felt.  The only one then who fully trusted and believed all had not been lost was the Blessed Mother ...she had an assurance the story had not ended on the cross, in the closing of the tomb, the rolling of the stone.
Phoebe's death is nothing like the crucifixion of Christ ...I know that.  I hold on to the promise of seeing her again, just like the apostles saw Christ again.  But there is part of me that can't step forward, grab hold and find assurance in His promise.  I hold back because what if I never see her again?  What if to rest in that assurance is to forget her in the present, lose the sense of her smell, her way?  I don't want to forget her ...and there is no sign of that happening. Should she walk through the door now, it would seem natural, there is still a place for her here.  I don't want that to ever go away.  So why do I doubt, why to I scramble to make sense ...why, am I still stunned, the wind knocked from me in those moments that remind me of that nightmare, her death? 
I see a woman today, a casual friend from Mass ...she never knew Phoebe had died. We've exchanged greetings a few times since Phoebe's death, commented how big the kids are getting.  But we've never had a moment for a real exchange, the kids drag us in different directions and off we go ...always, off we go.  I don't know her well, but over the past couple of years we've chatted a bit, shared some details of our lives, our hopes, our faith.  Right off she tells me she will have a Mass offered for Phoebe, and I am grateful.  And then she reminds me to go to the Blessed Mother, tell her everything, even the doubt.  Her mother always told her to go to Our Lady since she was small.  And she tells me she went with every bit of angst and struggle, much she never shared with her own mother, but she brought to Blessed Mother.  This mother of Christ, our advocate, a channel of grace.  I know this, but somehow I needed to hear from her, get the push to go again, on my knees, with everything, my anger, my brokenness, confusion.  A year ago I consecrated myself to the Immaculata, accepted every suffering, sorrow, struggle that would draw me closer to Christ.  I blindly accepted all this, not knowing what was to come.  I speak to Blessed Mother all the time, pray my daily rosary,  but my heart hasn't been there with her.  I've hedged, held back, doubting her care, her love.  I needed that push today, and its as if on this first anniversary of my consecration she gently reminds me through this gentle woman named Mary, that she wants me back ....she's waiting.
Tomorrow, August 15, is the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Mother into Heaven.  It is a holy, holy day.  God's weaving is always quiet, seamless.  I'll try to go back and maybe let her embrace me ...just maybe.

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