Separations

I wonder what the greeting was like?  I wonder, as Gram passed from this world to the next, who was there for her? She was the last of six siblings to die, she had a son to meet again ...and of course, her granddaughter ...precious Phoebe.
But most especially, she has her chance to meet God and begin to understand the mystery of Him.
In the most peaceful way possible, she slipped away, trusting the faith she'd held since a young child.
And we trust that too!
Thank you for your prayers ...please continue.
Giving thanks ...always.

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving morning.  I am alone in the quiet of the early day.  I close each bedroom door and marvel at those beautiful bodies slumbering ...and I am grateful.  It is our fourth Thanksgiving without Phoebe.
My husband's mother has been peacefully slipping away.  Likely, she will die today.
I remember thinking how horrible it would be to die on Thanksgiving day ...a slap to the loved ones, the sting of it carried year to year.
I don't think that anymore.  Today is a beautiful day to die ...in the context of our faith, all things are done with thanksgiving.
We've prayed each night for the angels and saints to greet and accompany Grammy.  And we've prayed our beautiful Phoebe will too ...take her by the hand and lead her home.
Great mystery surrounds death ...what actually happens, how it happens.  But our faith gives us so much to rest on, so much assurance and promise, that we can be certain in the great mercy and generosity.
Our own generosity cannot outdo Gods.  And if we're living our faith, as best we can, we know to trust His great promise of eternity with Him.  And if He allows my children to have a say in who gets to help Gram find her way there ...Phoebe is there ...waiting to take her grandmother into her arms.
While we wait here, she waits there.  Together we all wait ...and so, we are indeed ...together.
Giving thanks today for the great blessings of this life.

Please pray for a peaceful death for Gram ...and for all her children and grandchildren.  And I will pray that you all see the abundant blessings of your lives.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Remembering

Thirty years ago one of my best friend's mother died.  Just like that.  We were sophomores in college, different schools, and our lives had started to diverge and build separately.  I remember taking the phone from my mother in our kitchen and hearing the news.  And then I remember sitting down at my kitchen table in disbelief.
My friends dad was a high profile guy.  Mention his name and most often people knew him.  He had gained a following over the years because of his great heart, his true manliness ...and just because.  Sometimes people would find out I was friends with his daughter and treat me like I had access to royalty. We still laugh about that. I loved her dad, who died shy of three months before Phoebe.  He was a great man.
But her mom ...love runs real deep sometimes.  And I loved her so much.  I sat with Kelly when her mom died and we didn't talk much, just sat in that space we claimed so often, taking over and relishing being there with her ...or just with the sense of her.  We'd watch her iron shirts or we'd run to Friendly's to buy her a beloved Fribble.  She loved us back. 
A simple photo sent today with her picture ....her big moon face and smile.  Kelly's sister has that same face and smile.  I see it while I'm at work, feel the jolt, the memories of this woman who made such an impression on me when I was a teenager.  She was one of those rare people I felt "got" me.  I missed her for a long time, and seeing her picture again makes me miss her all over.  I miss her for me, for my own kids.  But mostly I miss her for her own kids, for her grandchildren ...the one's who've never known her in any physical way. 
And then I think that now, maybe, Phoebe knows her ...this woman I'd told her so much about.  I'd told Phoebe all the funny stories, little secrets she taught us to take care of ourselves in good ways.  I told her how much I loved her.  Phoebe heard how this mom had laughed at our stories and at us ...the joy of three girls at an all girls high school trying to meet boys.  She never minimized us, she saw all the things we took so seriously and never mocked us.  When a crush on someone crushed us ... she felt our pain ...knew the romance in our heads had found its place in our hearts.  She knew the pain of letting that go. 
I remember telling Phoebe how I wanted to be like that ...but she had that special gift few people do.  And she shared it with me.  Pretty special!
So I think today that Phoebe must know her now.  And I can see Phoebe smiling as the moonbeam face greeted her.  "Did your mom ever tell you how the three of them would eat all my meatballs so I had none left for dinner?  A hundred times maybe."  And I can hear Phoebe say back with a giggle "yeah she did, but mostly she told me a whole lot about how much she loved you.  A hundred times maybe!"
She died way too young ...like Phoebe.
God weaves us in and out of each others lives, sometimes here, sometimes later on. 
So tonight I'll take comfort in Phoebe and Anne being together.

Inbox

There it is again.  Another teenager dies.  It's staring at me from my inbox.  In my head I scan a crowd for the parents.  I want to race to them ...tell them I'm alive, we are all alive ...and living our lives.  I want to grab the hand that reaches up from the cliff they've tumbled over headfirst.  I want to package the balm that soothed the raw searing pain, eviscerating them.  I want to scream from the depths with them, for them, like savage wolves howling to fill the sky with 'why?', 'how?'.  I want to tell them to claw at the earth, sleep out in the rain, run naked through the woods ...all those things that assure you you're alive, you are in one piece, you are whole ...you are broken, destroyed, ruined through and through, but you are alive.  I want to tell them those things no one else can, unless ...they too staggered in disbelief while flung from their orbit of familiar.  But there is no hand to grasp, no balm to soothe ...it is alone, only alone, they must be  for now.  And knowing the depth of their pain makes me tremble.  Please pray for them.

Soon after Phoebe died, I'd started writing 'Losing Phoebe, Heading for Home', it settled my racing brain and words rallied round my heart, making some sense of the chaos.  I've been rereading some of those entries to see how far we've traveled.  It's been an arduous walk, only possible through God's amazing grace and constant prayer from so many.  We've been blessed in so many ways.  One day, I hope these newly grieving parents will find the same for themselves. A month after she died, I wrote the following words ...I still feel all those things, but I've learned to live with the discomfort, and I've learned that my relationship with Phoebe continues as God allows. And where I only saw despair and sadness ...I see hope and joy amidst the great missing.

Quiet 

Thursday, November 11, 2010

My house is quiet now.  It's not very often quiet.  Before when it was, when the last of the littles would finally find stillness, I would usually hear Phoebe's footsteps headed my way ...a chance to be together, if only for a moment.  I always loved that sound.  Over the past year, it happened more and more ...she would be there, just waiting for me.  I'd come from the shower and she would be sitting there on my bed.  We had lots to discuss ...about her, about me.  Family, friends, school, future ...all those set on the table of talk.  Lots of our conversations were easy banter ...the more I just listened, the more I would learn, and the better she would arrive at her own solid, well founded conclusions.  Sometimes, they were heated, especially when I expressed concern.  Those were harder conversations because they seemed to threaten her ...a typical teenage response.  How I wish she knew she didn't know everything ...yet.  I grapple with the teenage arrogance that dismisses a parents experience and wisdom ... We had some tough times for sure, maybe harder than most.  Phoebe was full of passion, full of her own will.  At home, parent's can find their children come up against them, while outside these same kids are a beacon, notable in so many ways.  And that was Phoebe.  She was notable.  She reached out for others when she thought they didn't get a fair shake ...she paid attention to the student who struggled with the English language.  One teacher told me one of these students told her Phoebe was her only friend because when she struggled to talk, search for the words of this foreign tongue, she would find Phoebe's eyes that always said "it's ok, take your time, you will learn."   She fought for the girl who tried out every year for soccer and didn't make the team ...she fought because this girls character, perseverance and hard work would be an asset to any team.  She fought for her siblings when she thought she could help mom and dad see more clearly.  She fought for the boy in third grade who was made to wear a skirt for the afternoon when he had an accident.  She fought for the friend who had lost so much in her life, so many loved ones.
Phoebe was notable because she noticed.  So why, why why, did she not fight for herself ...why?
I don't mean to place her on a pedestal, make her something she was not.  But an advocate for the unnoticed was part of her tapestry.  I think about these kinds of things in the quiet, when she isn't here.  I think about who she was, is...still.  And I can't help but wonder ...did I notice ...enough.  I certainly prayed hard and long for her about so many things.  I certainly loved her and went to bat for her when she needed that, or at least I thought she did.  I certainly thought about her and enjoyed picking up little things for her she hadn't asked for, like mango strips, funky socks, an iced coffee.  Silly little things really, but it made my heart sing when she would giggle out "thanks mom."  But did I NOTICE her?  Were there tear stains on her face I didn't see?  Did her sides hurt her lately because she had cried so hard during the night?  Did the twinkle in her eyes fade while I was wearing sunglasses?  Did she mouth to me "help me" as I turned my back?  What, oh what dear God, did I miss ...because I sure am missing her right about now?  Did she fight for the unnoticed because she was among them?????
What now can I do?  I scream to God ....where were You?  You have seen my struggle, my fight for my children, my battle for their safety ...for YOU!!!  Where were YOU that dreaded morning as I raced off to soccer?  Was that MORE important than my daughter, my Phoebe?  Did You not notice how much I love her ...was it not enough?  Are you asking me how much I love You?  What are you asking of me?
I struggle, oh how I struggle.  I am a strong woman ...always have been.  It is an extraordinary strength I've been given ...a gift, I always thought.  But is it?  Did I show such strength to Phoebe that she felt she couldn't keep my pace?  Did she see a mother who charged through chaos and disorder to establish order in line with natural law ...and think she didn't have the strength to do that too?  Did she not know that the reason I've done that, carved out an order in life pleasing to God, contrary to so much of this culture, was so that she and her siblings wouldn't have to?  Didn't she know that her father and I wanted a better way for her and her children ...and theirs?  Didn't she understand it was for her, to spare her.  And she has not been spared, she has been taken, and I, we have been left with a gaping open wound.
This unusually strong woman will go on, my life will move forward.  But not without great reluctance.  A life ahead without Phoebe?  If you knew her ...you know the cost of that.  She was not just a girl, she was Phoebe, and she was mine.

Three years later, I still ask those questions of God.  I always will, perhaps.  Answers aren't expected now, or looked for.  Phoebe is far more than the way she died, and that's where we are today ...living with the memories of her, rather than living with her death.  God gets us there ...one, little, tiny step at a time.
Pray for those parents, please, who've lost a child to suicide.

You can rest, God is Awake

I was drawn to the pictures on the wall in the library.  The colors were rich and warm, blues and yellows, rose and green ...inviting. I looked at each one carefully, taken by the simplicity that spoke volumes of beauty. 'Poet Trees',  by Santjes Oomen, a series of artwork that captures the beauty and essence of trees, what they mean for us, to us.  I love trees, always have.  My father loved trees and taught me many, many things, but mostly he just taught me to appreciate them, and I do.  Phoebe loved trees too!

October really is tree month, with leaves changing and falling, naked trees reveal their shape and intricacies of branches and bark.  It's amazing to observe the differences among them.  In our region, we're blessed with great variety.  New England is like that, abundant in its flora.  Behind us is a 400 acre preserve called World's End.  Trees not natural to our area were brought in years ago and thrived, adding to many prolific species.  We pay attention to them, notice them at every phase of the season.  One stands statuesque in the spring, calling our attention with its girth and smooth, pale grey bark ..."there's Mom's tree!" my kids will say.  Early leaves are bright red, turning darker brown, understated as the air warms.  Though a mighty tree, it glories only in the spring.
I love every New England season.  Fall, though, seems to give a final punch with the vivid range of colors.  Not every fall offers great color, but this one did.  I took note.

In the first few months after she died I would sometimes go to my backyard and wrap my arms tight around one of our own big trees.  I would press my body into it and find relief ...for some unknown reason.  Phoebe loved trees.  Since she died I scan the tops of the trees every time I step out of my car or leave my house.  Big trees are all around us. Sometimes the air is still, but when I look to the tops, leaves flutter, bend and sway.  Tall enough to catch the breezes above us.  I imagine Phoebe scampering atop, running wild and free ...barefoot.  How she loved to be barefoot.  If she could have, I'm sure she'd have found a way to move across the tips of the highest branches.

The arch of a tree dancing with a strong wind has always called me outside.  If home when a wind kicks up I can usually be found outside, even if just for moments, standing face to the wind, loving the power of it.  Before our lives changed, Phoebe would come find me, stand next to me, eyes bright, smiling.  "I love the wind!," I'd say to her.  "I know," she would answer.  Time after time, our moments in the wind, watching the trees sway and toss happily ...us too.  Shared, simple, moments.

I could see this artist loves trees too.  Each picture framed in a phrase, expression, thought ...repeated around the perimeter.  I loved them all.  But one caught me so quick, I read and re-read ...it was a little message I so needed to hear, "You can rest now.  God is awake."  Like a child, feeling safe, the warm embrace of assurance that all will be well ...all is well.  Tears sprouted.

October was closing, just days left.  I could close the door to my fourth October of grief ...my fourth October of missing my great girl.  God had extended his hand, assured me He was listening to the very core of me, the words never spoken ...when, oh when dear God, when can I rest?  It had been spoken in my heart for weeks, the stress building, the exhaustion mounting, threatening to bind me.  I felt as though I simply couldn't go on.  I would be fine when moving, distracted at work, at a game, shopping, cleaning ....but when I stopped, when night fell ...it would wash over me like a rogue wave.  When can I rest?  When can my husband rest?
And here before me, framed, away from a church, outside of a prayer, was the answer gently written around the leaves ..."You can rest now.  God is awake."
I pause, Phoebe beside me in the wind ...that's how it felt to read those words ...my great girl beside me, watching the great wind dance with the leaves.
I take pictures ...they are so beautiful, imagine her rhythmic breath just behind my right shoulder, where she would often stand with me ...looking, watching.
I can't shake how that one picture spoke to me.

I know the artist.   Olivia is good friend's with her daughter, she's spent time away with the family.  I have no note cards to write on, so I tear some simple paper from a journal and write her a note, telling her how her art moved me, consoled me, promised me.  The Holy Spirit works through all of us ...I had found an answer here, a respite ...rest.  I wanted her to know what it had meant to me.  I stick it in an envelope, quickly drop it in her mailbox.

I've learned in a real way to tell people how they've made life better ...tell them I love them, tell them what joy they bring to this world, how they brighten the day ...affirm them because everyone is a child of God and has a gift to share ...simple or big, obvious or hidden.  She had hugged me long and hard when Phoebe died.  She had cried too ...without knowing me or us.  Quietly, she'd tended to my broken Olivia, in ways I couldn't ...just by being warm, welcoming ...open.

A knock on our door yesterday finds her at my doorstep with her husband.  She carries a package.  I am so glad to see her, tell her in person how her art spoke so deeply to my heart, answered a restless prayer.  Offering the package, I start to cry.  "It's okay.  Cry!," she says to me.  I tell her I can't take it.  "Its for you, take it."  I unwrap the paper and behold the beautiful peace of art that assures me once again ...You can rest, God is awake.  To me, she has given this great gift.  Messenger of relief and promise.

I know, by faith, God is present always.  I know He hears my prayers, and will answer them in perfect time ...in the perfect way.  It's not doubt I struggle with, but weariness.  I'm tired from this journey.
When things like this happen, when threads get woven into my tapestry that offer a depth and richness I didn't know were missing ...it's like quenching a thirst you hadn't noticed before.  You are surprised by how much you  needed the water ...but you needed it.

Often times, God speaks to us outside and beyond our parameter of comfort, the familiar.  I look for answers, consolation in prayer, devotions, the Mass ...all those beautiful, rich elements of our faith.  I treasure them.  Because I am so close to it, because it is where I look for answers, understanding ...I miss the offering, the grace at times.  God knows me, knows my plea for rest, my love for trees ...and answers me their ...in a frame of leaves ...in the town library ...You can rest now, God is awake.