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.