Sunday, October 9, 2016

This Day

I rise before the sun.  Mass for Phoebe at 7.  I've rested well, so different from years earlier ...where sleep meant nothing and those hours of darkness gave me a chance for stillness.  I wept my way through the night for the first two years, waking with eyes crusted shut ...it became a way.  I didn't care that sleep was fleeting, I only cared that for a little while everyone else slept, and I knew they were safe.
  These past six years have been hard.  There's the obvious loss of Phoebe and with that the nuances of her life entwined with ours from space to noise to laundry, food, shoes, movie preferences, tooth brushes, shower times ...everything changed.  And as mundane as many of these things are, when they're altered you recognize the root they have in our life and when they uproot, balance and basics of everyday become unfamiliar.  It takes time to right the ship ...time to learn to sail without the mast ...time to learn how to move ahead without the sail.  It takes time ...still is taking time.
  So what's the difference at six years?  Chronic agony does not have to be managed.  It still overwhelms and envelopes me, but not quite like it did when this whole journey started.  Yesterday, during our usual routine I could feel the uprising.  I wanted to flee away from where I was, away from the tidal wave of memory and pain that charged at me.  Eyes caught me, a familiar face, laced into our life in a unique way only God can do!  She knew ...the time, the who, the why.  Because every spring she steers her way gently and cautiously through the raging waves of grief.  No words, just a millisecond of a gaze "I know!" was enough to catch my breath, get through the task.  See how amazing God works!
  Six years ago I was thrown into a raging, churning ocean, crashing against jagged rocks.  I was cold and alone not knowing how to swim.  And that ocean is the same ...but today, I swim strong.  Every once and a while a wave catches me and carries me towards those rocks, but I graze them, knowing how to kick and move away.  Sometimes I go there, but mostly to whisper into the ear of a newbie thrashing in the terrifying, deadly waters.  Follow me, I say.  Just like someone offered us in those early days and years.
  Phoebe's death is the obvious loss, but there is so much more that nipped at our heels.  Its exhausting being around someone in devastating grief.  Ours was not familiar to anyone we knew.  It's not the same as losing a mother or father.  It wasn't like any of the miscarriages I'd had.  It's just not.  And its terrifying because it challenges what we like to consider impossible, controllable even.  We want to manage the course of our lives, making just the right choices to maintain a certain path, keep our kids safe.  People like me and my family surely must have done something wrong, or else Phoebe wouldn't have died.  And who wants to catch that cootie?
  And so my kids lost people who were a big part of their lives, and for children that's a really hard thing to understand ...its another loss.  Most people just quietly drifted away, but others created stories and reasons why we (me really!) were terrible, cruel people, freeing themselves from any kind of relationship with us. Today, I'm glad for it, because I know who our friends really are and I learned so much about my family, myself, humility, sacrifice, patience, forgiveness.   God teaches us everything we ask him too, often in ways that are enormously challenging and costly.
  We lost our common step, our way.  For a time.
  Today, six years later, I look at these six children of mine ...plus a new one in my new daughter-in-law ...who to me, is just a plain out daughter!  And I am in awe of them.  Each. One.  Amazing.  Our lives could have detoured in all directions.  But it is just where I would have it ...ready, with open arms to welcome Phoebe home.  It's as if she were still here ...my sweet, challenging, dynamic, witty, intelligent, vibrant girl!
  I brought Olivia home from school after six weeks of being away.  We arrived to an empty house and I could see her disappointment.  Why wasn't everyone awaiting her return?  Shortly after two cars pull in the driveway and the front stairs pound.  There is laughter and yelling and fighting over who gets there first.  By the time I come out of the kitchen, all my kids are fused together in one big hug.  They are holding and rocking, laughing through the welcoming of Olivia.  How different this might have looked; how we might have wandered off, each fighting to survive.
  God stayed at the center of this wild journey.  I've trusted God since the beginning, even before I said goodbye to Phoebe.  And I am so grateful for where we are today.  I am so grateful for the people in our lives who've stayed and tended.  And I'm grateful even for those who left, they gave what they had while they could.  I'm grateful for new people who've entered our lives since Phoebe's passing.  I know she had a hand in picking them.  I'm grateful my husband is the man he is, with the passion for his kids and family he shows every day.  I'm grateful to all of my 'Compassionate Friends' both ahead and behind me in this journey of life after such a loss.
  But most especially, I am grateful to God's generosity and His invitation to draw closer to Him and trust in all things.  He brought me Phoebe for a time, her time.  And if you knew her, you'd know what a blessing that is.  God has not left me.
  Please pray today for parents who've lost a child.  Beg they are surrounded by people genuine in their care.  Pray they find God and rest in His plan.
  On this terribly rainy Sunday ...we're off to the state championship regatta with both Hannah and Lucy rowing!  Phoebe would consider this a great race day, more so because of the rain!  The more elements to contend with the better; so today's weather is fitting, shows she's still in the mix.
  Looking for a victory ...and something tells me ...we've already won, no matter!

Monday, October 3, 2016

Finding Agape

Agape is selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love, the highest of the four types of love.

I look out my kitchen window, the afternoon bright with sun, leaves falling, a slight chill in the air. I think back to Phoebe's last Monday six years ago.  I remember that week well, her last days here on earth.  And I want to capture this moment ...because it is sweetly heavy.  Burdened but light at the same time.  I think from seventeen to twenty three ...who might she be?  I think of everyone I love and where in six years they will be.  It's funny to pause and think about time and change.  How life looks over the span of time ...how it moves to something different than what we knew.  Dinner hour changes, because we have.  Kids march on towards adulthood, and I watch, waiting.  Missing her, wanting her to be part of it all.  But I don't beg God anymore, I don't deplete the way I once did.  I grab hold of anything that speaks of the glory she might be in.
Six years of missing is a long time ...too long.  But it won't be forever, because one day...

In the time I've sat down to write, chaos ...the rough and tumble of big family life has thundered back in.  Three different kinds of music are playing, while the piano plays an altogether different tune.  Order is what I always chase, but it's not meant for here, in this home most times. Because life is dynamic and fleeting.   But I want to cling to remembering Phoebe while everyone else pulls at me ....and dinner is needed before heading off again to meetings and activities.

But just before all this electricity ignited my home, my phone jingled ...from my sister.  A reminder, a fence post and invitation to something that will root me in the chaos and see it more like ballet ...it gives me a lens to see the beauty and perfection of it.  Agape.

My nephew has been chasing Agape for months.  Waiting and wishing, hoping and praying that it will claim him,  He is a very special young man, and his burning quest for this has filled my heart more than once.  Someone had shared their own experience of finding Agape with him, someone he admires, and since then ...he's been after it.  And today, he believes it found him.  Amazing how God works, because that message to me set me on the right course in so many ways.  Agape ...selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love.    My nephew likely won't understand that his discovery is mine too ...and that's ok.  Most of what we give to others we never know.
And so the over stimulation of sound and movement I see as a gift only because of my nephew's discovery.  

Phoebe was not quiet.  Her presence was obvious ....and so I pay attention and notice ...all the humming and buzzing ...the life that teems through this house.  Life here did not stop when Phoebe died.  And it might have. We might have curled up, shriveled up and become something other than who we were. Phoebe would recognize this place ...it still moves as she did.  Her entry now would be seamless ...the door still open to her.  Still, it's her home.
So my quiet, my desire for stillness to be with here is in my own head ...because that was never who she was.  Phoebe was this life in motion of sound and movement ....constant ...alive.  

To set the point home (because God knows I need lots and lots of help in seeing His ways), my friend arrives, arms full of food.  Makings for a salad, home made bread and lasagna.  She is tired after working all night, catching up on laundry, racing her kids around during the day.  She brought us dinner ...when it should be the other way around.  My friend leans against my counter and we laugh with our easy banter.  She has seven too so we often share the struggle.  
We share faith and laughter mostly ....she found her way into my life just weeks before Phoebe died.  Another thread woven into my life so perfectly for what was to come.  And she hasn't left. 
And this friend likely won't understand that she arrives as the physical definition of Agape ....and again, most of what we give to others we never know.  How could she know how she punctuates the moment?

Phoebe's last Monday ...her bags thumping at the entryway, shoes, sweatshirts dropping behind her as she moves, passing the piano and banging away, cabinet doors open and close, jumping on the counter to be swatted off by me ... She could be here  ...she is here for me.  God does not separate us from each other ...only we do! These kids moving through now echo her own noise and activity ...they live and move as she led them to ...fully invested in the moment they have.

Finding agape for me isn't finding an incredible immersion in peace, having order all around me ...in essence, everything going my way.  Finding agape is immersion into the moment, accepting it as perfection, uniquely designed and delivered by God's own hand ...letting go and noticing ...the mystery of life spinning all around.  Maybe there's more, but I'm pretty simple ...

Hey there, sweet daughter of mine,  you belong here always ... And I am reminded to step back, get out of my own way and let it be as it should.

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Standstill

 I met an old friend today.  Our lives overlapped before Phoebe died, so she knew the stories of my girl.  We hustled our way through nursing school; she was much younger, but something gelled and we became fast friends, championing each other through clinicals and exams.  Life carried us forward, and we mostly lost touch after Phoebe died and her life carried her on a journey she hadn't planned.
Professional overlap let me keep tabs on her and we would send cryptic messages back and forth.  But today we met, sighed, caught up.  Well into sharing and updating she paused, and asked me if I'd heard about one of our classmates.  I hadn't.
Bright and beautiful, fun and witty, she sat next to us during class and a few times the three of us were in the same clinical rotations.  She was hardworking, capable and resourceful.  I learned a lot from her.  I liked her company.  She ate a lot of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, pulling them out during a lecture.  Her life was full of drama and disappointment, yet her compassion and kindness to those she cared for led many of us to offer better care ...a bigger piece of our heart.  Jocelyn was the first to care for the seemingly unlovable, the hardest to love.
She died.  And I hadn't known until today.  And it has weighted my day.  It's made me stand still today.
I remember her coming to Phoebe's wake, and the gift my two friends brought to me.  That gift still sits on a small shelf in my kitchen, reminding me of how they'd reached out.
I think of her, and I think of her parents.
Her life was a hard one, and her successes were very hard fought.  Some obstacles she faced were her own, but most weren't.
She's a person whose life many would not be surprised ended early.  And likely, many will forget her and move on, remembering only her mistakes.  I never saw the underbelly of her life.  In the brief time we knew each other, she kept that from me, and offered her best self ...which was brilliant.
I think about her parents, the emptiness that permeates, the abyss of sorrow.  Learning to carry that takes time ...lots and lots of time.
As I drive away from my visit, my questions start.  Why God, do some people struggle so much more than others in life?  Some people's personal struggles are so public and exposed, casting a shadow over the gem-like qualities most don't possess.  Those questions can never be answered, in this lifetime anyway.
Too often, people are remembered for the mistakes they've made, or the battles they've lost, temptations they couldn't fight. Many are remembered for how they die.
I hope people remember Phoebe for who she was, not for how she died.
And I want to remember Jocelyn, my friend for a short time, for her radiance and compassion she brought to the world.
Please pray for her, and for her family.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Twenty three!

Phoebe would turn 23 today!  Hard to believe and imagine who she might be if she was still fluttering through my days.
I have tons of thoughts, emotions, memories, regrets ...but mostly I just really really miss this girl who was mine.  And I'm leaning into God, a bit skeptical, but trying very hard to trust Him in all His ways.  Trusting Phoebe is with Him, in perfection and glory.
Little gifts here and there light the way.  One of those gifts found its way into my hands, giving me words that I can't find on my own right now to help others remember ....  One of her best friends wrote this soon after Phoebe died ...

Someone once asked me who you were, and I remember being surprised and frustrated that anyone could possibly not know about YOU.   There was just so much to say that I didn't know how to sum it up accurately without going on forever.  I ended up saying, "only the coolest person ever."  You were an incredible one-of-a-kind best friend, but that description is not at all adequate for a person as outstanding as you.  You're wonderful, spontaneous, vivacious, brilliant, dynamic, energetic, loving, dependable, self assured, talented, beautiful.  Completely unique

Her friend goes on ...but this captures much of who Phoebe was ...and perhaps still is.

Happy Birthday my dear sweet girl ....how I miss you and all you are.  I miss how you would press every button I have all at once.  I miss how you move and boss me around.  I miss how you critique my parking job!  I miss how you would make me redress so I wouldn't embarrass you in public.  I miss your beautiful eyes and how you used them to tell me so much.  I miss laughing with you, fighting with you ...chasing you.
I just really miss you Phoebe ...and one day ...I will see that gorgeous smile and hold you close.
Big hugs and kisses on this birthday!  I love you Phoebe ...always

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe O' Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her.  And may her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

April Snow

The daffodils bow under the snow.  It's a pretty sight, an unexpected one.  April snow is unusual, even in erratic New England.
Nineteen years ago, we brought Olivia home from a hospital stay.  Respiratory issues plagued her as a baby.  I was terrified then of what could happen.  Practice maybe for what would come all those years later.  We left the hospital April 1, heading home in a snow storm.  The snow wouldn't last, nor will today's.  Life's storms do that too, blow over ...only some stay, the damage hidden, but still there.  Storms take their toll!  Not everything destroyed in their wake can be rebuilt or restored.
Phoebe was glad to have her baby sister home, along with her mom!  It was a joyful homecoming.
I've wondered about another homecoming when my days here come to an end.  The thought both tears me up and settles me ...it's the waiting that's so hard.
We laugh and joke about the snow, how out of the blue it seems.  We want sun and flowers; its what we expect.  Life often delivers the unexpected.  And that's God's invitation ...in the unexpected.  T
I write less because I have less to say.  We get a little shy, a lot more private, as time moves us through life after a child dies.  In the beginning, those early years, we will tell anyone our story.  It's the process of accepting ...making it real.  Maybe we seem grounded, maybe we seem ok ...but inside there is turmoil, a raging storm wreaking havoc on our souls.  I remember!  That need to talk and talk, telling the story, asking the questions and answering over and over.  It's as if all the talking is our breath.  We gulp at the air, hoping for a chance to survive.  Hoping we might talk our way out of our nightmare.
But now, its the opposite ...so personal and precious, I rarely speak of it now.  There's a sense that only those who've lived it too will understand.  We simply have to go it alone!  Not because people don't care or aren't there for us, but because it is a single journey.  Grief takes each of us by our own hand.
I met a woman recently, very fresh to grief, her loss sudden.  She reminded me of what I may have looked like, composed, managing ...telling herself she was feeling much better, believing the worst was behind her.  All her energy is going to keeping it together, staying strong for everyone else.  An outsider might say she's doing so well, admiring her strength and acceptance.  It's a private hell no words can explain or describe.  One false move and we could lose our minds ...forever.  With a few years behind us, our stride a bit more steady and stable, we listen knowing where she is.  Why would we tell her the journey is so very long?  Why would we tell her anything other than what she wants to hear?  Why would we tell her many of her friends would leave, finding all sorts of reasons?  Why would we tell her that the pain won't leave, but she'll learn to live with it?
We just do what others did for us, and listen ...for as long as it takes.  My friend and I recall how each of us arrived looking for the six week manual.  Worker bees by nature, we had tending to others to do, our own grief needed to be expedited!  I'd had a couple of years on her when she arrived and sensed right away she was looking for that map.  I stayed quiet a while, and then gently told her there was no manual, I'd searched long and hard.  Today, together, we give others room to find out the same ...no short cuts.
No one ever prepares for snow in April in Boston.  No one ever prepares to lose a child?
The snow will melt, the flowers will stand tall once again, restored!  There color bright against the white.  But each flower's glory is changed, imperceptible perhaps ...but still ...changed.
And yet, perhaps to me, the yellow hint peaking through the snow ...is more beautiful than its waver in the sun.



Saturday, October 10, 2015

Five years angry!

Ok, so here it is five years.  I've wanted to write something ...and I've written lots...but I won't share.  The more time passes, the less I share!
But I'll tell how it is ....IT STINKS!!!!!  Far more than human words can capture.
Losing Phoebe has challenged every single aspect of my life.  There is nothing I do, we do, as a family, that doesn't carry the loss in some way ...big or small.  And most times no one wants to admit that ...because we just don't want it to be real that we've lost her.  So why do we have to chronically deal with so many reminders?
It's a long time, but it's really still today.  There's no 'healing' ...return to wholeness.  It just is, and we learn to live with it.  We laugh, smile, play, succeed, fail, fight, worry, cry ...and start all over again.  We live as best we can.  Lots of good things happen along the way.  But it still hurts, lingering, aching and longing for the return of my girl!
God stays my core, my grounding center.  And I dance around him like a disgruntled child.  Striving to choose joy and gratitude despite what's happened.  And He offers me bits here and there that keep me moving forward.  Friends who've stayed close by, keeping watch and sharing the tears. There's no words to describe that kind of friendship.  Some we thought good friends found reasons to leave.  And truth be told, as hurtful and hard as all that was ....it's a blessing because that's not what true friends do.  I could share a few stories ...doozies ...but why?  No one would learn from them ...you either have the fabric of true friendship, or you don't. It's that simple!
We have our support group, Compassionate Friends, where those stories can be told ...and they are common; predictable.  Newly grieving parents come in, surrounded by a swarm of caring people, and six months to a year later, most of those swarming friends have found a reason to disown you.  Doesn't matter how your child dies ....it's just too icky.  So, those who stay are gems, treasures that are the most genuine people walking this earth.
Five years ago ...and for a long time after, I talked and talked about it.  That's all part of making it real, processing, accepting the reality.  In time though, we learn to stop talking ...because it's more of a novelty for most. There's no way for someone to know this rugged terrain unless it's been walked.
God knows the walk ...and guides us as we let Him.
Just days ago I sat outside a cafe waiting for some colleagues to arrive for a meeting.  The day was beautiful and balmy ...similar to the day she died.  I heard a funny comment and looked up to see two of my friends.  Two empty chairs invited them to sit.  And for a few moments we just were with each other...they knew Phoebe's day approached.  Both lost son's to overdoses ...another stigmatized death.  And you should see the pictures ...handsome, strapping, kind, achieving young men.  Suicide and drugs don't sit well with most.  Nor should they!  But still, the stigma is so outrageous.  Most people want to believe they can control the life and death of a child.  I did too. One of my friends asked "aren't you just so tired?  ...so tired of carrying this grief; it just won't leave."  And I nodded ...yes I am so so tired.  And I miss, miss, miss.  Hugs mean a lot to us, so we tend to do a lot of that when we meet.  I'm a bit ahead of these wonderful mothers and I've watched and learned from them.  And yeah, in some ways it gets more bearable; but you know what ...it doesn't go away.  Just a few stolen moments with them grounds me ...makes me feel no so alone.
So while the world whirs around us and people forget ...we don't.  Our life is different.
We are different.  That's hard for people to adjust to ...they want the old person they knew back.
But she ain't comin'.  This is the new me!!!!
Five years out ...I've got far less to say.  I'm tired of the walk, and I'm tired of talking about it.  But I know more about who Phoebe is.
Phoebe is far more than her suicide.
Lots of people have pulled me aside, sent me a note or email, called me ...bared their souls and wept over fear for their own child.  Thinking somehow that I could give them the secret 'thing' I forgot to do that would have saved Phoebe.  They come to me when they are down and out, at their wits end with fear!  They don't say 'hey, how you doing?, can you spare a moment?'  They say 'only you'll understand ....'.  But you know what ...no I don't get it, no I don't understand ...you've weathered a particular storm ...your child MADE IT!!!!.  And once that darkness lifts, once they've weathered the fear ...I never hear from them again.  I might see them, but they look away, walk away, change their gaze.  Hmmmm!  But they do know something ...that I do too...their child is far more than whatever detour they were on ...they made it back.  And guess what else ...Phoebe is far, far more than her detour ...even though she didn't make it back!
And I wonder ...why didn't my daughter survive her detour?  And why didn't my two friends, and countless others kids, who die from a stupid moment of confusion, fear, temptation?  And why do other people get to pull me aside and purge then leave as if nothing ever happened ...as if it never cost me anything?
Maybe you can tell that at this particular point ...at five years ....I'm angry.  I'm angry about losing her!  I'm angry about my kids having to navigate life without her!  I'm angry at what her death has cost me!  I'm angry people think they get it when they don't!  I'm angry when people jump on a band wagon and pose as though they were so close to her, when in fact they made Phoebe very uncomfortable!  I'm angry someone would ask me to talk to their child so they won't do what Phoebe did ...I'm angry because no one sees the cost of all that!  I'm angry that my kids lost friends because their parents were too afraid to stare cruelty in the face and call it what it is!  I'm angry that the inconvenience and stigma of Phoebe's death doesn't fit in to the neatly arranged life of people I thought were friends.  I'm angry that I can't get angry at Phoebe anymore ...that I can't disagree with her and argue.
I'm just plain angry.  And that is what five years looks like!!!
The best anyone can do ...is pray for me, for my family, for Phoebe.  And pray for every other family that's lost as we have ...because they deal with the very same things.

Saturday, April 11, 2015

New Day

Each one of us is created solely by God for God.  Each one of us has a story to write and live. We never know when we touch someone's life.  And sometimes, too often, we don't see when or how someone touches ours too.  And sometimes there are those few souls we know are touching our lives and everyone else's they encounter.  I've shared enough about Sophie that you've probably gathered she was one of those souls you knew touched you and anyone she encountered.
The outpouring that spoke of this truth could be found Thursday as hundreds, maybe thousands even came to say farewell.  And again today as Mass was offered for her.  The awesome faith that wove its way among so many different people from all walks of life.  She was a 'magnificent' woman.  Every opportunity she had she spoke of God.  And she made her way through obstacles and setbacks while calling all attention to the mighty generosity if God.  A witness to the truth of our Savior, Jesus Christ ...and handmaid.  For His glory always, not hers!
We stood outside the funeral home Thursday for more than two hours weaving a way through a line that finally brought us inside out of the cold drizzle.  We welcomed the warmth of inside after being in 33 degrees outside.  And for another hour and a half we slowly moved, passing pictures that spanned a lifetime. We listened, or watched when we could, two videos playing showing each of her nine children interspersed with beautiful holy images and quotes.  Sophie continued to teach each of us ...continue to plead God's case.
Her shock of thick red hair gone, she radiated, slurred speech and all as she answered questions posed by her children and husband.  It's hard not to cry now as I share this.  Her oldest daughter asked her what she thought of all that was happening as she lay in her hospital bed.  "Miraculous, it's so miraculous.  God is so good and generous. I've prayed for this, that my family would all be together in faith and we are.  And now God wants each of you to go out and evangelize your faith to others."  She went on "I pray you all become great saints, but not too great, because I don't want you to suffer, that's too hard for a mother to watch."  They asked her questions about the Eucharist and confession and she answered all of them keeping them central in life.  Asked about her main philosophy, what is most important in life, she answered "gaining Heaven ...it's the most important thing.  It's all about getting to Heaven."  Sophie ...everything has always been about God and Heaven, mothering, family ...bringing as many souls as we can to God.
Remarkable.
I looked at those kids as I waited and remembered the prayers we'd been asked to offer on their behalf over the years.  I wished for that time back, to sit tight with each other, praying for all our kids ...praying their way to heaven.
I remember bumping into Sophie a few months after Phoebe died.  We were both in Michael's craft store.  And there in a little aisle we cried and prayed.  I'd been told that Phoebe could quite possibly be in hell because of how she died and I carried that like a brick wall, so fearful.  Someone I had deeply trusted told me this and I couldn't escape it.  No matter what others said, even priests, this thought weighed heaviest.  I pleaded with God to put me there and take Phoebe with Him.  Out of my mind with grief, I could not dismiss the fear that had been offered.  I cried that out to Sophie, surrounded by paintbrushes.  In her way, Sophie shook her head, adamant Phoebe was a child.  "She's a child Carolyn.  I know Phoebe, she had no idea what she was doing ...no idea!  And it could have been my kid, or anyone elses for that matter.  Whoever tells you she could be in hell has no idea what they're talking about.  Don't pay any attention to it, you HAVE TO trust God. He's BIGGER than all of us. Do you think the God who created her would leave a child in blind moment?"  And we parted, me feeling restored and the seeds of hope spreading the tiniest of roots that would grow and take hold. I already loved Sophie, but after that particular exchange, I became eternally grateful to her.
And that's how it would be for me with Sophie, chance meetings, the occasional gathering of families at our houses or elsewhere, drop offs at girls club, camp, adoration, retreats.  Our lives were busy, dictated by our dynamic families.  And every time I saw her, it was as though an ocean breeze cooled me.  And it wasn't often enough.
But as her oldest son shared, her work, her real work, has just begun!
And no doubt, if you've prayed for her at all, she will weave her way into your life and heart, and invite you to join her in saving as many souls, leading everyone to Christ.  Maybe not in the magnetic, intense way of Sophie ...but in your own way, the way God asks you to.
Please continue prayers for Sophie... and her family ...and be assured of mine for you!

Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O'Lord and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, and the soul of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen