Quick story before my post; though this is its own post too!
Two days before Thanksgiving, I'd finished work and as usual, I was racing the clock to pick one child up, before dropping another off! Many of us know that part of the story! My ride took me past the middle school. Years ago, when I thought I knew A LOT more than I did, I swore I would NEVER send my children there. And I had lots of well thought out reasons why it wasn't a good choice. Well, never say never, because not long after that very public declaration, two of my daughters were enrolled there and began life in our town's public schools. Five weeks later, Phoebe died. And my life, as I knew it (and controlled it!) ended.
To say I was grateful they had that place to go is an enormous understatement. I continued to home school the two left at home and did the best I could ...but seriously ...it wasn't a banner year. Of course.
There were several teachers and guidance counselors at the middle school who I will be forever indebted to because of their generosity and kindness they showed to my girls. Hannah and Olivia wanted to be as far away from what had happened as they could be. They just wanted to be normal kids, like everyone else, without this huge devastation and the stigma of suicide associated with them or their family. Of course. The dust settled quickly at their school and returned to 'normal' days for them (at least in routine and academics).
But there were two in particular who made it possible for me to hold at least that part of my life together during that first year and next few that followed.
So as I passed the middle school I thought of June Gustafson, Hannah's sixth grade homeroom teacher. I'd loved her from the beginning at the open house in September. She'd welled up with tears as she thanked us parents for trusting her with our children. Hannah had been home schooled up until this year, and so transitioning her into school was all new to us! I felt mixed; I loved home schooling, but the girls wanted to go to school. The time seemed right and I hoped and prayed it was the right thing. If I could create someone who would love my children for me while I was away from them, it would be her! And then Phoebe died.
With amazing tenderness, June kept an eye on my girls! She watched. She listened. She loved! Hannah's whole team of teachers was influenced by her lead. Not that they didn't care on their own, they did. But mama bear Gustafson stood watch ...always. And I knew this, though I could not even put it into words. A part of me rested, because I knew her gaze never left them. Hannah was under her nose, but Olivia was a distant eighth grader ...still, June kept tabs.
A year later, Lucy started sixth grade with June. I breathed a great sigh of relief.
Now Lucy is in high school, and I have no one at the middle school this year. For four years, June watched for me ...and I always knew, without an exchange of words, that she was keeping watch!
So as I drove by the other day I thought of her and decided to send her an email letting her know how thankful I am and was for her tender generosity that gave me some peace. But as our lives picked up the pace, I saw less of a window to write to her and I asked God to open that door for me, to make sure this Thanksgiving I let June know what a special part of my life she was.
Dashing from dance pickup to the grocery store, I slipped into the local pizza shop to grab a slice for Mary Claire and me to have for dinner. Tucked in the corner of the shop sat a woman, her head down, but the silhouette familiar. I looked again ..."June?" Her head lifted and within an instant her burst of smile let me know it was her. Really? What are the chances? She teaches at the middle school that gets out at 2. It was nearly 7. She doesn't live in our town. In those brief moments together I was able to tell her how grateful I was for all she had offered me and my girls. I told her how at ease I felt knowing she was keeping watch. She asked me to write again, told me she missed my words, missed my journey. I'd told her my hesitations, the assaults and criticisms from people who'd never walked my path. She shared some wisdom about human nature and gently scolded me for ignoring something I did well. She encouraged me to begin... ...again ...the writing of this new chapter, to chronicle my own tapestry of grief ...and joy ...and life.
And so here I begin again, with a deep gratitude to someone very dear ...
Thanks June! This post is dedicated to you! xo
Thanksgiving
Four five straight Thanksgiving holidays now, we've gathered 'round the table without Phoebe. Five.
That marks a lot of time without someone, without the echo of their voice among the crowd.
This year found us back where we were that first time without her. I'd had to step outside several times, overwhelmed by her absence. Back then (which seems only moments ago!) I had sensed her peeking from behind the tree, saddened and burdened by the obvious heartache that clutched every cell of me. Outside, in the dark, I felt her gaze and her own sorrow over what had passed ...over what couldn't be reversed. It was done. Finished! Unchangeable! Back then my life with Phoebe was over. Dead.
The ache and pain of then is nanoseconds away now. It can be recalled and felt in an instant. But it is not constant. And it is not alone. There is always pain, and always sorrow, and always the great missing ...but too, there is joy and laughter. There are new struggles and frustrations. Life has moved forward. And she is here! Remarkably ...she is still very much here. Though the burden and sadness of knowing I can't see her or feel her or hear her again in this lifetime stays ...there is the ripple of her throughout my life that doesn't leave.
I remember that first Thanksgiving, knowing Advent was right there, waiting to begin. I remember wanting with my whole heart to offer my precious girl to the infant Jesus on Christmas day, with pure joy and abandonment. Looking back and remembering, I think I did ...at least in moments. All those days leading up, I walked those trails in World's End imagining I was following the Blessed Mother on the Donkey as she journeyed to Bethlehem. I clung to the hem of her mantle and begged her not to leave me. She knew my desperation and walked a pace I could stay with. God is good!
Christmas day came and I found a part of my heart that let me offer Phoebe as my gift. And later, as the sun fell on that first Christmas, we went to feed the animals in the stables. An invitation, no human could devise. His plan held me that first Christmas as I placed hay in the manger.
And now we are here, four years later, to begin another Advent. I am different now.
One of my 'new' friends, I wish I never got to meet, Nancy, likes to say that we learn to 'accommodate' the loss of our child. The first time I heard her say that (though she may have shared that many times before it resonated with me) it was like a revelation. From the outside, many assume we get to a point where we are 'over the loss'. Some even get exasperated with us when it seems we haven't made their deadline for finishing up our grief. But the reality is, we never do! We live it day to day, and often find moments of great pain ...that resolves far quicker than before. But we learn to adjust our lives to our grief, and learn to navigate our steps to keep us in our comfort zone and steer away from people, places and things that really don't understand us. We get really good at that!
Advent begins, and our journey to Bethlehem is underway once more. My heart skips, excited to take this journey on once again. I can't even recall the past few years. Like bits and pieces of frayed fabric, the memory isn't fluid or linear. Part of this journey requires you to lose parts of your mind ...like going into a coma. I remember emotion and pain. I also remember laughter and joy. I remember people and moments. But mostly, I remember that Phoebe wasn't here. That's a very personal reality, and one that isn't easy on those around me. As present as I have tried so hard to be, part of me has been elsewhere, searching and longing for my lost girl. Advent has been lost on me, along with so many other parts of the Church year. And I don't wish that had been different. I was present where I needed to be. I needed to learn to be present in my sorrow, so I could learn to be present in my life. I needed to learn to carry (or 'accommodate') that sorrow, before I could step forward. This year feels different. I feel stronger and more confident, more sure of who I am. I am a grieving mother! And no one knows that journey unless it's yours too!
I'll follow the Blessed Mother again, I trust her ...and she teaches me how to trust!
She had no idea what lay ahead ...and still, she trusted.
She lost her son ...and still she trusted. Still, she stayed ...and waited ...and believed in God's promise.
So unlike the 'ideal' women of our culture, she is the perfect one to follow to Bethlehem, the perfect one to keep us focused on the coming of our Savior.
And following that path again, I'm hopeful I'll find Phoebe too!
