Moms and their girls!

There's nothing quite like moms and their girls!  It's a special, wonderful, sometimes rocky and crazy, relationship that involves a long, winding adventure.
I have my share of girls ...five daughters.  A true blessing!

When Phoebe first died I felt as though I'd lost so, so much, almost everything, really.  Not only was she gone, my oldest daughter, but how on earth would anything ever be joyful or wonderful again. My world had shattered.  So broken, I feared I'd never be able to find or bring joy to my other kids' lives.

Oldest daughters are particular in their lives with their moms.  I run through the mothers and oldest daughters I know. It's a team adventure for sure.  First time through with a girl is a little scary, really.  You get a little better, more confident with each one.  But that first one ...the steps can be a bit shaky.  We learn a dance with each other, little interactions that bind us, hard and fast, to that first girl.  For me and Phoebe, it was with her eyes, our eyes.  They spoke volumes to each other ...serious lots of times, but funny so many others.  We noticed things the same way, a quick glance at each other, a slight curve of lip ...on the same page.  "Mom remember ..ha, ha" and then a quick "Oh my gosh that was so funny!'  Or, "Hey mom can I.." "No way" was my response before the request was even out there.  We didn't have to complete thoughts to understand, or know what was being communicated.  I've missed that.  It's not the same with my other girls.  There are lots of special little things with each one of them, just not that story writing with our eyes, or complete thoughts known without words. 

Our first Thanksgiving, just weeks after her passing, I'd stepped outside of our friends home.  We went between two houses, two families trying so hard to soften the day, make it pass without so much pain.  As night fell, I needed a place to compose myself.  Outside, as I wept so aching and broken and unkempt, I felt her eyes on me ...the one's that pleaded "I don't know what to say ...it's done Mom, I can't take it back."  Her floppy bun steady, barefoot in the cool night ...confirmation it was all real.  Her eyes ...gorgeous eyes.  There was no comfort there, just the reminder of the nightmare I was living.

I miss my first girl, miss making plans and seeing the world with her, sharing a laugh, a dream! ...an argument.  We weren't perfect with each other, we weren't symbiotic ...we just were ...all in.
Its hard going through life not making any plans with her, not getting invited to do anything with her.  How could that ever be? How do you make plans with someone who can't show up?
But maybe it could ...again, and again, because God is so good.

I'd been asked to work a shift and a floor that isn't typical for me.  After several requests, I agreed.  It was against better judgement, a Friday night ...three teenage girls (no licenses yet ...soon though).  I felt uneasy leaving home. My constant conversation with God shared my uneasiness.  I looked at the roster, saw the familiar name, an old friend from years ago when I thought having lots of little kids was much harder than having teenagers.  My friend knew Phoebe and all the rest.   Our protocol is to officially change the shift, get report, check the medications.  But something pulled me quick.  I headed to the room, knocked gently and opened her door.  The lights were dim and I could see she was resting.  Still, I whispered her name and she turned.  "Do you remember me?"  Immediately her hands went to her face.  Nurse instincts kick in; I assume she's in pain.  I ask her if she is, does she need something.

Her hands drop from her face and I see she is crying. "Carolyn ...I can't believe it, I can't believe its you.  All week I've been praying.  It's Phoebe's week, I know."  And so the distance of many years falls away and I tell her I know she's been praying for us, for Phoebe.   We fill in the blanks, we pray, we hug.  It is a wonderful reunion.  She knows my heart.  Fifteen years ago she buried her daughter. We share that agony.  Our beautiful girls ...we long for them, always.

"You'll come for tea with her to my beach cottage!  Phoebe and I are building a cottage by the sea.  We've reworked the porch several times, but she knows just what I want."
"Well, we won't be at the beach. We're going ice skating, that's our plan, the first thing we'll do, she loves to ice skate."
"Okay, that sounds fun.  But after, come for tea.  Phoebe would love to see you."
"And me her.  I can't wait to see her again!  You know my girl loves the ocean, she'll be happy to go."
"Great! And there's gonna be a screened porch, so you can stay in the shade if you don't want the sun."
"Well, that's something to look forward to, isn't it!"
"It will be a great day."

And so I've made my first real plan with Phoebe.  It's hard to put into words how much that conversation means to me.  She gets it!  We are waiting ...and waiting, for that moment when we see them again.  It doesn't mean we aren't fully invested in our lives here.  We are! Perhaps even more than most because we've paid a very high price. But we live with an emptiness from separation unlike anything else.  We miss our children, we are disoriented by the loss.

I have plans, finally, to do something with my oldest daughter, my friend and her oldest daughter. And it will be a great day.
 Of course I've made lots of plans with Phoebe already, even for the here and now.  But they are just for us.  Or sometimes I give her instructions on where to go and who to be with.  More and more I trust God allows that.  The depth and passion of her personality ring through for me as if she were very much here.  Never one to experience God in an emotional way, I am convinced through reason and promise that we are not separated from those we love. 
More and more I share a glance with her ...believe she's right there, catching the same view as me, finding the same things funny.  Soothing me too when the heart aches ...when the piercing sears through and stops me cold.
And more and more, I believe I am building a life with her still ...and it is a good one, rich and vibrant.
Sometimes as I walk, you might see my hand reach out ever so slightly, trusting she will slip her hand in mine.  And together we walk hand in hand ...me and my oldest girl ...my Phoebe.

God is good and generous and kind ...in all things.