St. Joan of Arc is a formidable force, someone you want fighting for your cause, advocating for you, keeping you in line. Her life unfolded for me today as I hunkered down and indulged in a rare (I thought extinct!) day of reading.
I think I was able to avert the flu by lying low once the first symptoms hit. Lots of vitamin C, fluids and good old fashioned chicken soup made by my husband kept me on the couch for two days, reading and sleeping. I'd spent several days of the past week caring for patients with the flu. We all take precautions with masks, gloves, hand washing, but with so many at once, it's nearly impossible to avoid it. Fortunately, I think only outskirt germs found me and took hold for just a bit. I'm much better, and glad for the chance to read as much as I did. First I finished a great novel I had been chipping away at since Christmas ...a gift from a friend. Today the spine of another book kept glaring at me.
Shortly before Phoebe died she had a funny little exchange with her principal. They'd just finished an all school meeting where the principal, once again, passionately spoke on a point she would not let go of until accomplished. After, Phoebe told her she was beginning to sound like St. Joan of Arc. "I'm flattered," the principal responded. To which Phoebe replied "well, be careful, you know what happened to her." After Phoebe died, her principal shared that with me, a comment on how that would only come from Phoebe, she would have that sense of history, be able to apply it ...something her teachers had often commented on. I've remembered that story lots of times, and believing there are no coincidences, had a strong sense I should learn more about St. Joan of Arc and see what might have drawn Phoebe to her.
So today was the day. When Phoebe died, I lost my ability to read for many months, a common effect from loss of a child. When I was once again able, it was only for short periods of time, as in three minutes or less. I abandoned the idea then, that I would take on the highly complex and complicated spiritual reading I had once pushed myself through. Now I read books about the saints that are targeted to the middle school level. Perfect! I'm able to both start and finish the book, which is good and second, I get to see things from the perspective of a younger mind. The information shared is what might appeal to the younger set, so it helps me see from my kids eyes ...what qualities and characteristics speak to them, speak of God.
Now, for my disclaimer. I am in no way suggesting my daughter is a saint (though I may believe she is!, I do not expect, need, or even desire others to). I am suggesting however, I understand how Phoebe found this saint appealing and could sense a kinship with her. First, they were both seventeen. St. Joan left her family to fight for France. She left her family without telling them what exactly her plans were, and enlisted the hesitant help from her cousin to get her started. She fought and served without fear ...qualities shared by Phoebe. There was a sense of adventure and daring, risk taking for the sake of the greater good. Everything St. Joan did was meant to only serve God. She used her qualities to serve Him. Way back in the 1400's that was easier to do, I think. Life, culture was centered on God. Today we live in a world very far away from God, far away from serving Him, and I think that confuses our kids tremendously. Way back in St. Joan's time, God was the bedrock, the backbone. Of course then too, there was corruption, heresy, rejection ...but it was more obvious because He was the core. Not so anymore.
St. Joan fought to restore France, restore the Kingship, restore things to be rightly ordered to God. Our kids, all of them, want to fight for something beyond SAT scores and honor role. Too many of them question the existence of God, the purpose of themselves, the purpose of life. And they fight ...they fight us ...they fight with drugs, with sex, with alcohol ...all sorts of distortions and perversions that mirror the diet fed to them from this crazy mixed up world. And some kids fight right out in the open, while others hide. Either way isn't good, either way is statement for the madness we've created for them. Listen to the radio, it's all you hear. Watch TV, struggle to find something that isn't base and degrading with the laugh track running non-stop. Integrity, dignity, purity, selflessness don't sell ...and so we don't see much of it anymore. As parents we don't get much backup. While our kids make the inevitable journey to physical adulthood, our culture keeps them children, selfish, only now with a mix of cynicism.
I don't believe our children want this, I believe they desire the good, the Truth. They want the wholeness of life, the richness God provides. And yet, the vocabulary, the language of faith is unspoken, unknown. For those of us who teach it to them, they can't find others out there who understand it ...or care for it.
A long conversation with a good friend brings the shared concerns, but also the confidence there is a way for us to give all that is good to our kids ...even when it seems obviously impossible. God will provide. Those of us holding on to the faith, and the teachings ...yes, even the tough ones, the ones our culture calls archaic, laughs at and scoffs ..those of us striving to pass that on, without it being a badge of elitism, but rather a bridge for all we see, we must find a way to bridge Heaven to earth, Heaven to our kids in the immediacy of life. We are the Church Militant ...those desperately striving to live our lives as Jesus asked us to, as He witnessed. We must extend our hands to the Church Triumphant ...the saints, the men and women whose lives were lived for God, and often lost for God. Real people, real battles and sacrifice, real suffering and sorrow. Not the battles we often complain about ....needing a bigger house, an annoying husband, not enough money ...blah, blah, blah (I've done it too, so I can say it!), but the battles that make us bleed out every ounce of self ...every ounce of what we counted on and believed ...only to reach back and choose God over and over, when He has seemingly taken the very core of ourselves from us! These are the people, the saints, like St. Joan of Arc, that we need to ask into our lives, the lives of our children. It was said, that a high ranking English officer saw angels on horseback escorting her as she led the charge against the English. The sky was filled with Heavenly warriors. I want them on my team! I want them to be with my kids. I want my kids to be saved from all the deception and lies of this world. Parents cannot do that alone ...we need the help of angels and saints to help us. Guard our children, give them the virtues to attain Heaven one day. Give me the virtues to one day attain Heaven and merit the company of the saints, the company, once again of my daughter. I pray for that, never stop.
Like most things that are good and holy, St. Joan of Arc has been written off as a schizophrenic, a witch, a liar. Of course, in this day, we laugh at anyone who lives to serve God alone ...when He is all we should be serving. St. Joan of Arc was a seventeen year old girl with passion and purpose. I know a few other seventeen year old girls like that ....too bad the world is too Godless to witness their extraordinary grace and virtue. But I see it, and others do too! And thank God for these girls. And thank God for St. Joan of Arc.
St. Joan of Arc, young woman, with purpose, passion, courage and faith, protect our children, protect us, pray for us.
An ordinary day, a sweet memory, an invitation towards the Church Triumphant ...I'm thinking Phoebe and I found each other today ....I'm glad.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Snow Angels
A single snowflake can send my kids into hysterical delight. They love snow! I can write at this moment because my last two to head off to school for the day are outside in the thin blanket of snow. Flakes are falling and I can hear the excitement and joy ...tongues stuck out to catch the falling gems. They are bundled, ready for a blizzard, planning their afternoon of sledding and fort building. They know it will stop soon ....but that doesn't wane their hope, their determination, their confidence that they've been blessed by this snowfall.
Phoebe was often the first out in the snow ....she loved it too, still does, I'm sure of it! Our hope in God, in His constant blessings, unrelenting flow of grace and opportunity for conversion can be like that great hope snow brings out in my kids. Of course the snow will melt and go away ....but oh it is so fun to play in it now ...and it will come again, maybe a long way off even, but most certainly it will come! Of course challenges, trials and sorrow will come again ...but today is the joy! Today is the gift, the assurance that life takes steps forwards, sometimes seemingly backwards, but always forwards when oriented to God ...because His orientation is not limited to north, south, east, west ....He is God, without constraints and limits. His river of grace may seem to run dry, but I will find the running waters of it again ....and again ...and again! I am certain of that.
Snow fell here on Christmas ...and then a week or so later. I went to that space where she lies, her body confined. I stood there and looked at that spot, and up at the tree above her with its great branch I see her running across barefoot. So often I want to give her something, a treat, a little treasure just for her from me. Its a mothers way, to find that little special something that says "I notice! I see you for who you are, outside the lot of all of you ...there is you, just you ...and I notice what fancies you." The snow is untouched and I lay myself down, on top of her space, swing my arms and legs. "There you go, Pheebs! Like it!" I stand and look at my gift to her, her snow angel ...and I hear her voice, her giggling voice ..."you are such a goof!, thanks mom, love you too!" Sometimes the simplest things are the best things, the greatest gifts. My snow angel melted, but Phoebe and I still ...still, share that moment in time! What a gift ...an amazing, grace filled gift of a moment with someone I love and miss so deeply.
Phoebe was often the first out in the snow ....she loved it too, still does, I'm sure of it! Our hope in God, in His constant blessings, unrelenting flow of grace and opportunity for conversion can be like that great hope snow brings out in my kids. Of course the snow will melt and go away ....but oh it is so fun to play in it now ...and it will come again, maybe a long way off even, but most certainly it will come! Of course challenges, trials and sorrow will come again ...but today is the joy! Today is the gift, the assurance that life takes steps forwards, sometimes seemingly backwards, but always forwards when oriented to God ...because His orientation is not limited to north, south, east, west ....He is God, without constraints and limits. His river of grace may seem to run dry, but I will find the running waters of it again ....and again ...and again! I am certain of that.
Snow fell here on Christmas ...and then a week or so later. I went to that space where she lies, her body confined. I stood there and looked at that spot, and up at the tree above her with its great branch I see her running across barefoot. So often I want to give her something, a treat, a little treasure just for her from me. Its a mothers way, to find that little special something that says "I notice! I see you for who you are, outside the lot of all of you ...there is you, just you ...and I notice what fancies you." The snow is untouched and I lay myself down, on top of her space, swing my arms and legs. "There you go, Pheebs! Like it!" I stand and look at my gift to her, her snow angel ...and I hear her voice, her giggling voice ..."you are such a goof!, thanks mom, love you too!" Sometimes the simplest things are the best things, the greatest gifts. My snow angel melted, but Phoebe and I still ...still, share that moment in time! What a gift ...an amazing, grace filled gift of a moment with someone I love and miss so deeply.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Training
Almost nine and half years ago my mother died from ovarian cancer. To say she had 'battled' it for five years isn't really accurate. She dealt with the 'nuisance' of it is more apt. You'd have to know my mother to fully understand. She was 76 and our Owen was five weeks old. He never knew her, but you'd think he did, does.
People from my mothers life cross my path all the time. More me than any of my other siblings. Around the corner is a friend of hers, where I work I see her best friend, and others too. Just yesterday, a woman leaned over and introduced herself, told me her mother-in-law had helped my mother find her wedding dress. She is all around, her influence, all she taught me. How can you ever capture a personality in words? You can't when the personality defies a 'type.' My mother was her own person, so nonplussed, so unimpressed with material accoutrements ....so genuine. And I don't mean perfect in any way. She wouldn't have claimed to be. I struggled with her a lot. But she was genuine and she was a fighter ...a survivor. My mother was an only child who found her way through this world, on her own, worked side by side with Sydney Farber as a chemist, and then went on to medical school at a time when women didn't do such things. She raised six kids, two sons and four daughters. It is not an understatement to say my mother trained her girls to survive. Each of us have been handed challenges the average person is not. And each of us have survived, and in our own very separate ways, thrived, risen above the storm and found a way to laugh each day.
My oldest sister, Betsy, was diagnosed with breast cancer recently. It's a new journey for her, it's opened a door for the four sisters, another chance to survive. You generally won't find one of my mother's girls 'crying in her soup.' You generally won't see the drawn faces, the heartache, the weight of burden upon us. Not because we are special ...but because we were taught by a remarkable women to forge ahead, to watch the horizon for the sunrise. "It simply is," my mother would say. Nothing to be done about it, but step forward.
For a long time, I didn't have the vision, the keen sense of wonder and appreciation to marvel at all she'd given me. Phoebe's death has helped me to see it more clearly, to recognize the magnificent gift my mother gave. God knew what was in store for me, and He knew how to prepare me, to ready me for the walk ahead. He allowed my mother to train me, to teach me to carry the heavy load ...
Betsy shares a bit of her story, spiced with a touch of this women who shaped us on her blog
Comfort me with food.
Please pray for Betsy. I picture my mother and Phoebe tending to her. My mother monitoring the medical care and Phoebe finding all the quirky personalities and making sure there was plenty around to make Betsy laugh.
On my mirror is a picture of my mother with her wig, arm around Phoebe in her First Communion dress. They are both beaming smiles. That picture starts my day ...and ends it! A remarkable woman with a remarkable girl. How blessed am I to have walked this earth for a time with each of them.
People from my mothers life cross my path all the time. More me than any of my other siblings. Around the corner is a friend of hers, where I work I see her best friend, and others too. Just yesterday, a woman leaned over and introduced herself, told me her mother-in-law had helped my mother find her wedding dress. She is all around, her influence, all she taught me. How can you ever capture a personality in words? You can't when the personality defies a 'type.' My mother was her own person, so nonplussed, so unimpressed with material accoutrements ....so genuine. And I don't mean perfect in any way. She wouldn't have claimed to be. I struggled with her a lot. But she was genuine and she was a fighter ...a survivor. My mother was an only child who found her way through this world, on her own, worked side by side with Sydney Farber as a chemist, and then went on to medical school at a time when women didn't do such things. She raised six kids, two sons and four daughters. It is not an understatement to say my mother trained her girls to survive. Each of us have been handed challenges the average person is not. And each of us have survived, and in our own very separate ways, thrived, risen above the storm and found a way to laugh each day.
My oldest sister, Betsy, was diagnosed with breast cancer recently. It's a new journey for her, it's opened a door for the four sisters, another chance to survive. You generally won't find one of my mother's girls 'crying in her soup.' You generally won't see the drawn faces, the heartache, the weight of burden upon us. Not because we are special ...but because we were taught by a remarkable women to forge ahead, to watch the horizon for the sunrise. "It simply is," my mother would say. Nothing to be done about it, but step forward.
For a long time, I didn't have the vision, the keen sense of wonder and appreciation to marvel at all she'd given me. Phoebe's death has helped me to see it more clearly, to recognize the magnificent gift my mother gave. God knew what was in store for me, and He knew how to prepare me, to ready me for the walk ahead. He allowed my mother to train me, to teach me to carry the heavy load ...
Betsy shares a bit of her story, spiced with a touch of this women who shaped us on her blog
Comfort me with food.
Please pray for Betsy. I picture my mother and Phoebe tending to her. My mother monitoring the medical care and Phoebe finding all the quirky personalities and making sure there was plenty around to make Betsy laugh.
On my mirror is a picture of my mother with her wig, arm around Phoebe in her First Communion dress. They are both beaming smiles. That picture starts my day ...and ends it! A remarkable woman with a remarkable girl. How blessed am I to have walked this earth for a time with each of them.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Charlie
Back in September, with Phoebe's second year mark approaching, my husband and I went away overnight to celebrate our anniversary. Like most couples with lots of kids, squeezing in a twenty four hour get away is never an absolute ...until its actually over. Between various sports games and countless other commitments we shuffle our kids to, finding a sliver of time alone together is heroic, really. Had it been up to me I would have ignored the idea; just didn't have the energy to coordinate all that needed to be done. But, Stephen insisted, so I hopped out of one car and into another with just enough time to grab a poorly packed overnight bag.
We hit the road. When we do have a chance to sneak off we stay pretty local, as in about five minutes away, literally. People find it comical, but we stay on the ocean, a place we both love, and our moment of relaxation starts immediately. I don't stress about being too far away from the kids if they need us (they never do!). This time though, we couldn't get a reservation and planned somewhere else, though still pretty close. Once I make a plan, I like to keep it. I was oriented to where we were going ...or so I thought.
Stephen offered a different place, unrevealed to me, but he promised me I would like, and was almost certain I would love it. But I was tired, and the increasing emotions of marking two years without Phoebe had begun. I was wrung out sad. I just wanted her back ...only her. Couldn't he tell I just needed to rest, to cry ...away from the concern my kids feel when I yearn for her. I just wanted a room, a place to close the door and weep ...and remember. Adventure, trying something new, different wasn't in my plan. Let me be, please. But we drove ...north, through Boston and beyond. As the day grew dim and I had no idea where I was going, I nestled into the wanting ...and my tears spilled and spilled. How could two years feel just like two hours? How could we have lived without her for so long? We remembered her ...each of us different things, our different, unique relationships with her.
All I wanted, I begged, was to know she knew how much I loved her. "She does! She did!" he assured me. But I shook my head no, she couldn't have because she wouldn't have died had she really known. And the more he assured me, the less I believed, the stronger the case for her not knowing became in my heart. We arrived in the quaint little seaside town after the sun had set and weaved our way through tiny streets. He pointed where we would stay. There was no sign, no bed and breakfast motif ...too intimate for me ...I needed respite, a steal away ....a hiding place, just for a little while. I couldn't make conversation, didn't want to engage with anyone. Please let me be, I thought. But at the door there was warmth and welcome and a winding staircase down to a magic space. Private and beautiful right on the harbor, and beyond the great Atlantic ...our ocean, Phoebe's ocean. Peace took root, the lapping tide settled me. I could restore in this space. I was cried out from the ride, needed to walk and breath in the salt air. We made our way through a precious town, settled on a restaurant and took our seats.
Something about the way she moved caught my eye. That's not unusual, I'll notice lots of things that remind me of Phoebe. But then she came to our table, and I looked at her, the shape of her mouth, her smile, her hair ...and was reminded again. As she walked away to give us some time to peruse the menu, Stephen looked at me ...."have you ever met anyone who could wear her clothes." I shook my head, no I had never met anyone else with the body of Phoebe, not even her sisters. Powerful, compact, short ...exuding strength. No one else was like her. Our waitress was such an image of Phoebe, not her face, but her way, her body, her manner ...so many things. She came back to us and I asked her name. "Charlie," she told us. "You remind us of our daughter." "I do? what's her name? How old is she." I spoke my daughters name, said she was seventeen. "Oh, well, I take that as a compliment because I know you must love her very much." "Yes, we do!"
I had begged that question all through the drive, been reminded of how she took up space, how her body moved by this waitress. Her name a name Phoebe would likely give to a girl. I never told her Phoebe had died ...just that she was seventeen ...and she had answered my question ...that she knew I loved Phoebe very much.
God works through us, if we let Him. He allows us to comfort each other, even strangers.
I could easily say it was coincidence, unrelated ...but I don't think so. I know God hears us, He knows when we cannot bear more breaking, and He restores us. Charlie told me she knows I love Phoebe very much ...she answered the question I needed answered.
It's stayed with me, that moment in that restaurant with Charlie. And likely she will never know the comfort she offered to this hurting mom. But I hope because of it, she had a moment of peace, a moment of full awareness of her Creator. And I hope she knows she too is well loved.
We played in the sand, climbed on seaside rock walls and journeyed down wooded paths that opened to the ocean. The big wide sea ...so steady, so majestic and certain. I can find peace there ...in the waves, the sand, the wind ...or in a young woman just passing through.
We hit the road. When we do have a chance to sneak off we stay pretty local, as in about five minutes away, literally. People find it comical, but we stay on the ocean, a place we both love, and our moment of relaxation starts immediately. I don't stress about being too far away from the kids if they need us (they never do!). This time though, we couldn't get a reservation and planned somewhere else, though still pretty close. Once I make a plan, I like to keep it. I was oriented to where we were going ...or so I thought.
Stephen offered a different place, unrevealed to me, but he promised me I would like, and was almost certain I would love it. But I was tired, and the increasing emotions of marking two years without Phoebe had begun. I was wrung out sad. I just wanted her back ...only her. Couldn't he tell I just needed to rest, to cry ...away from the concern my kids feel when I yearn for her. I just wanted a room, a place to close the door and weep ...and remember. Adventure, trying something new, different wasn't in my plan. Let me be, please. But we drove ...north, through Boston and beyond. As the day grew dim and I had no idea where I was going, I nestled into the wanting ...and my tears spilled and spilled. How could two years feel just like two hours? How could we have lived without her for so long? We remembered her ...each of us different things, our different, unique relationships with her.
All I wanted, I begged, was to know she knew how much I loved her. "She does! She did!" he assured me. But I shook my head no, she couldn't have because she wouldn't have died had she really known. And the more he assured me, the less I believed, the stronger the case for her not knowing became in my heart. We arrived in the quaint little seaside town after the sun had set and weaved our way through tiny streets. He pointed where we would stay. There was no sign, no bed and breakfast motif ...too intimate for me ...I needed respite, a steal away ....a hiding place, just for a little while. I couldn't make conversation, didn't want to engage with anyone. Please let me be, I thought. But at the door there was warmth and welcome and a winding staircase down to a magic space. Private and beautiful right on the harbor, and beyond the great Atlantic ...our ocean, Phoebe's ocean. Peace took root, the lapping tide settled me. I could restore in this space. I was cried out from the ride, needed to walk and breath in the salt air. We made our way through a precious town, settled on a restaurant and took our seats.
Something about the way she moved caught my eye. That's not unusual, I'll notice lots of things that remind me of Phoebe. But then she came to our table, and I looked at her, the shape of her mouth, her smile, her hair ...and was reminded again. As she walked away to give us some time to peruse the menu, Stephen looked at me ...."have you ever met anyone who could wear her clothes." I shook my head, no I had never met anyone else with the body of Phoebe, not even her sisters. Powerful, compact, short ...exuding strength. No one else was like her. Our waitress was such an image of Phoebe, not her face, but her way, her body, her manner ...so many things. She came back to us and I asked her name. "Charlie," she told us. "You remind us of our daughter." "I do? what's her name? How old is she." I spoke my daughters name, said she was seventeen. "Oh, well, I take that as a compliment because I know you must love her very much." "Yes, we do!"
I had begged that question all through the drive, been reminded of how she took up space, how her body moved by this waitress. Her name a name Phoebe would likely give to a girl. I never told her Phoebe had died ...just that she was seventeen ...and she had answered my question ...that she knew I loved Phoebe very much.
God works through us, if we let Him. He allows us to comfort each other, even strangers.
I could easily say it was coincidence, unrelated ...but I don't think so. I know God hears us, He knows when we cannot bear more breaking, and He restores us. Charlie told me she knows I love Phoebe very much ...she answered the question I needed answered.
It's stayed with me, that moment in that restaurant with Charlie. And likely she will never know the comfort she offered to this hurting mom. But I hope because of it, she had a moment of peace, a moment of full awareness of her Creator. And I hope she knows she too is well loved.
We played in the sand, climbed on seaside rock walls and journeyed down wooded paths that opened to the ocean. The big wide sea ...so steady, so majestic and certain. I can find peace there ...in the waves, the sand, the wind ...or in a young woman just passing through.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, I had seven kids weaving in and out of my day. And then one day, I had only had six. That's because one of my cherubs died. My husband says it was a category five hurricane and the roof of our home blew off. It was the end of our life as we knew it. I say the sun was eclipsed and we were thrown into the raging, freezing cold Atlantic and were smashed against the rocks over and over ...and no one knew we were lost at sea. However we describe it, it was bad ...as in nightmarish, devastating ...beyond human words. And it still is, but we're stronger now, accustomed to living without a roof, managing the swells of a stormy sea. I spent well over a year sharing my story of my own struggle to survive, while striving to comfort the rest of my kids and husband. Losing Phoebe,Heading for Home tells the steps I took forward and backward, sideways, uphill and down, trusting God, placing all in His care and believing that despite all appearances, His was a plan of love, mercy, redemption and eternity.
For lots of reasons I stopped writing, mostly because the struggle to stay afloat was enough. But I like to write, it clears my head and opens my heart big and wide. And I've been told by lots of different people that what I wrote helped them, either personally, or in caring and understanding someone they loved who lives with the loss of a child. What I say now, what I see and experience is different in many ways than I did in the first days, months and year. And other experiences I've had during this time of life without Phoebe have shaped the way I continue to experience losing my girl.
Sadly, the number of teenage suicides is on the rise and the pressure our kids live with is absurd. One thing that is especially important to me is that no more children die by suicide, that no other parent journeys this route. This is a painful, difficult path ...it hurts, really bad. It doesn't go away. I don't say that to be morbid or hopeless ...just real! Because what happens around us is that most of those in our world heal. The loss of our child becomes a moment in history, something in the past. In silence, the world screams at us "aren't you over it yet? surely enough time has past!" For us, the parents, and the closest of our world, never heal ...it is an open wound. A child has died, our world has changed ....we speak a new language, live by a different code, see through a very different lense. It's not obvious to the outsider, but it is there, always. When everyone else is at 45 degrees, we are at 39, or 42, or even 44.5 ...but never again where most others are. We're into our third year of physically losing Phoebe. And I'll be quite honest ...it's lousy, as in ...doesn't get better, easier, forgotten.
But ...there is hope. A new relationship, a new way of mothering, a new reunion to look forward, a new way of being ...a "new normal" springs. The steps begin, forward ...not away from, not distanced, but towards ...the promise of eternity, the promise of all time together again ...forever.
I trust God. He is my root in all things. His voice is often silent in my life, but sometimes quite loud, forthright, clear. I trust Him in everything, and very slowly I'm learning to thank Him for all of it ...even the really hard unbearable things.
For lots of reasons I stopped writing, mostly because the struggle to stay afloat was enough. But I like to write, it clears my head and opens my heart big and wide. And I've been told by lots of different people that what I wrote helped them, either personally, or in caring and understanding someone they loved who lives with the loss of a child. What I say now, what I see and experience is different in many ways than I did in the first days, months and year. And other experiences I've had during this time of life without Phoebe have shaped the way I continue to experience losing my girl.
Sadly, the number of teenage suicides is on the rise and the pressure our kids live with is absurd. One thing that is especially important to me is that no more children die by suicide, that no other parent journeys this route. This is a painful, difficult path ...it hurts, really bad. It doesn't go away. I don't say that to be morbid or hopeless ...just real! Because what happens around us is that most of those in our world heal. The loss of our child becomes a moment in history, something in the past. In silence, the world screams at us "aren't you over it yet? surely enough time has past!" For us, the parents, and the closest of our world, never heal ...it is an open wound. A child has died, our world has changed ....we speak a new language, live by a different code, see through a very different lense. It's not obvious to the outsider, but it is there, always. When everyone else is at 45 degrees, we are at 39, or 42, or even 44.5 ...but never again where most others are. We're into our third year of physically losing Phoebe. And I'll be quite honest ...it's lousy, as in ...doesn't get better, easier, forgotten.
But ...there is hope. A new relationship, a new way of mothering, a new reunion to look forward, a new way of being ...a "new normal" springs. The steps begin, forward ...not away from, not distanced, but towards ...the promise of eternity, the promise of all time together again ...forever.
I trust God. He is my root in all things. His voice is often silent in my life, but sometimes quite loud, forthright, clear. I trust Him in everything, and very slowly I'm learning to thank Him for all of it ...even the really hard unbearable things.
Welcome!
Hi there!
I'm not sure how you ended up here, if you traveled from my older blog about losing Phoebe, or if you just stumbled along. Welcome!
I've given up urgency for 2013 ...so I'll pull this blog together as I go along ...no rush!
I lost Phoebe over two years ago, actually two years, three months and one day. Yup, I count the days, always will I think. She was only seventeen and she died by suicide ...out of the blue.
My story is a lot like anyone elses who lost a child. I wrote about my loss before. I hope to write about my finding ....finding Phoebe in both the ordinary and extraordinary of everyday ...God is good. Sometimes she shows up in remarkable ways, and sometimes it is as simple as "pass the salt."
I strive to live a Catholic life, practicing my faith as authentically as I can. God is my source of strength, and hope. He makes all things new ....all things.
Walk with me a little while if you care, I'd love the company!
I'm not sure how you ended up here, if you traveled from my older blog about losing Phoebe, or if you just stumbled along. Welcome!
I've given up urgency for 2013 ...so I'll pull this blog together as I go along ...no rush!
I lost Phoebe over two years ago, actually two years, three months and one day. Yup, I count the days, always will I think. She was only seventeen and she died by suicide ...out of the blue.
My story is a lot like anyone elses who lost a child. I wrote about my loss before. I hope to write about my finding ....finding Phoebe in both the ordinary and extraordinary of everyday ...God is good. Sometimes she shows up in remarkable ways, and sometimes it is as simple as "pass the salt."
I strive to live a Catholic life, practicing my faith as authentically as I can. God is my source of strength, and hope. He makes all things new ....all things.
Walk with me a little while if you care, I'd love the company!
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