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.