Just recently someone reached out to me, prompted by a friend's loss of their 16 year old son. Since that message came through I've been praying for them, knowing all too well the nightmare they are living. Loss of a child has no human words, it is beyond comprehension, until it happens. And even when it happens, it takes years to understand, accept. My heart wants to wrap around this family and promise ....yes! promise ....that light will break through, that life will one day be okay!
For anyone reading here after having lost a child ...I know...and I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I know it hurts beyond pain you ever believed possible. I know. I know you go over and over the last moments, the last words, everything, and look for the clue, the minute you could have said something different, done something else, gone a different route, made a better dinner ...that would have changed the outcome. I know. I still ask those questions, consider the possibility, take on the blame and shame of what's happened. How could this child slip through my fingers? I know. Believe you are the perfect parent for your child, and you were handpicked just for them. We don't know the mystery of God or of His plan ...His ways elude us.
I've done my share of screaming at God, letting Him know exactly how I felt, that He didn't actually know what He was doing ...or worse ...intentionally inflicting the agony of snatching my precious girl from me for some kind of punishment, some kind 'get back at me'! And still, there are moments I find myself there. The old me would have felt guilty or bad, the new me understands that God knows and understands me far more than I know myself. He can take my rantings.
Our children are with God. Why there and not here? Only God knows.
It is over seven years since Phoebe died. I'm sitting by our Christmas tree, it's lighted but not decorated. The kids want to wait until they are all together, at least as many as can be, before the decorations are placed. I love that! Last night, I sat with one of our girls, just ten when our lives exploded, and talked about how far we've come, how bonded our kids our to each other. They were always close, but there is something different now. Phoebe remains part of them; she's here too. It takes time, but life reinvents and reworks its way into a new normal, a new beautiful! The sadness always lingers, but the joy emerges in small ways.
Hold on, with every ounce you have. Breathe, cry, breathe, cry, breathe ....and trust, as contrary as that sounds. Trust God with this! I know, believe me I do, how hard it is to trust God now. I chose to on a purely intellectual level. There wasn't a shred of emotion in me that felt trusting towards God.
Trust too I'll be praying for you, for all of you ... I was where you are, I know.
And trust, that one day, the sun will shine again. Trust that life will be good again!
It will, I promise!
Tuesday, December 5, 2017
Monday, October 9, 2017
Seven Years
Seven has always been my favorite number. I don't know why; it just is. When I was seven I wore bright red patent leather shoes for Easter with a light blue dress. It didn't match, but I didn't care then. I remember feeling beautiful. I'm not sure if that's why seven has always been the number I love best.
This seven ...I don't like much. The seven year mark since Phoebe passed. It's a good amount of time, but seems like moments in so many ways.
I watch and listen to parents new to this loss, and I remember how life ended that day. Not just Phoebe's but mine too ...and my family's. Life was over. Simple. It was gone. And like those stranded after shipwreck, we began to rebuild bit by bit, tear by tear. We found a new normal, a new way, and made a life again. All God's grace.
There is laughter and adventure, newness weaving through our family life. And yet, it still begs for Phoebe's return, her belonging here hasn't changed. We've just accommodated the loss of her.
Friends reach out, remembering and wanting to take away the pain that remains. It is a long time for them too. There will always be a hint of sorrow no matter how great the joy! The Ressurection only follows the Crucifixion ...one cannot be without the other.
Just the other day I met with an old friend I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. I hold her responsible for teaching me my faith at a time I was truly ready and eager to learn. She gathered us in, all young mothers, toddlers and babies in tow, to hear lessons on our faith. It's those same women who carried me through this loss, that sat with me in that little rustic classroom. She had left so unexpectedly for a family emergency there were no goodbyes or exchange of addresses. Our little group adjusted and carried on with other teachers trying to offer the charism that came from Mimi. Her faith was so certain and strong, and so beautifully delivered through her heavy Ukrainian accent. It grounded me. I still have the leather bound notebook I wrote in week by week, and look though it once again finding the treasures of faith.
Mimi came back as unexpectedly as she left. I saw her across a crowd and something in my heart settled. I screamed her name and wove my way to her. She stood there with one of my dearest friends, who has never left my side. There was so much to share, what had happened over the years for all of us. We agreed to meet.
When we did, we spoke only briefly of Phoebe. She shared her memory of my little girl, just five. Together they found her a job to water the plants. And she did each time we met, eagerly searching for her cup with her name on it. Those are precious memories that speak to her innocence. Mimi called Phoebe's death a mystery in the sense that it belongs to God and beyond our understanding. And in true Mimi form, she urged me onward. Her eyes spoke volumes "Carolyn, it is very painful this loss, and it cannot be understood now, but you will one day. For now, there is work that must be done, and you must do it with all your heart." And she is right! There is so much work to be done, so many hearts that need tending, so many feet that need lamplight ...way more than I could ever hope to help.
So this weekend started with a strong sense and urge to give back to someone else, to help someone who might be in need. And all weekend they came in various forms. People struggling with such hardship, such distress and despair. It is painful to watch, but so hopeful when they are willing to turn to God and allow His plan to unfold. So often His plans contradict our own. I wrestle with that constantly, and it takes time to notice His way is better.
Seven years is a long time to miss someone, a long, long time. And the aching wears on me.
But ...it is lighter and less threatening than it was in the beginning.
I have the vision to see the beauty around me, the depth of love that resides in my home among my kids and husband. It is safe here, it is safe now. I will be with Phoebe again.
God does not abandon us, ever. Into each pain, each sorrow, each loss ...is a gift. Doesn't lessen the intensity, but gives us the strength and grace we need to carry it.
Pray especially for those parents new to loss, they are living a nightmare.
This seven ...I don't like much. The seven year mark since Phoebe passed. It's a good amount of time, but seems like moments in so many ways.
I watch and listen to parents new to this loss, and I remember how life ended that day. Not just Phoebe's but mine too ...and my family's. Life was over. Simple. It was gone. And like those stranded after shipwreck, we began to rebuild bit by bit, tear by tear. We found a new normal, a new way, and made a life again. All God's grace.
There is laughter and adventure, newness weaving through our family life. And yet, it still begs for Phoebe's return, her belonging here hasn't changed. We've just accommodated the loss of her.
Friends reach out, remembering and wanting to take away the pain that remains. It is a long time for them too. There will always be a hint of sorrow no matter how great the joy! The Ressurection only follows the Crucifixion ...one cannot be without the other.
Just the other day I met with an old friend I hadn't seen in nearly 20 years. I hold her responsible for teaching me my faith at a time I was truly ready and eager to learn. She gathered us in, all young mothers, toddlers and babies in tow, to hear lessons on our faith. It's those same women who carried me through this loss, that sat with me in that little rustic classroom. She had left so unexpectedly for a family emergency there were no goodbyes or exchange of addresses. Our little group adjusted and carried on with other teachers trying to offer the charism that came from Mimi. Her faith was so certain and strong, and so beautifully delivered through her heavy Ukrainian accent. It grounded me. I still have the leather bound notebook I wrote in week by week, and look though it once again finding the treasures of faith.
Mimi came back as unexpectedly as she left. I saw her across a crowd and something in my heart settled. I screamed her name and wove my way to her. She stood there with one of my dearest friends, who has never left my side. There was so much to share, what had happened over the years for all of us. We agreed to meet.
When we did, we spoke only briefly of Phoebe. She shared her memory of my little girl, just five. Together they found her a job to water the plants. And she did each time we met, eagerly searching for her cup with her name on it. Those are precious memories that speak to her innocence. Mimi called Phoebe's death a mystery in the sense that it belongs to God and beyond our understanding. And in true Mimi form, she urged me onward. Her eyes spoke volumes "Carolyn, it is very painful this loss, and it cannot be understood now, but you will one day. For now, there is work that must be done, and you must do it with all your heart." And she is right! There is so much work to be done, so many hearts that need tending, so many feet that need lamplight ...way more than I could ever hope to help.
So this weekend started with a strong sense and urge to give back to someone else, to help someone who might be in need. And all weekend they came in various forms. People struggling with such hardship, such distress and despair. It is painful to watch, but so hopeful when they are willing to turn to God and allow His plan to unfold. So often His plans contradict our own. I wrestle with that constantly, and it takes time to notice His way is better.
Seven years is a long time to miss someone, a long, long time. And the aching wears on me.
But ...it is lighter and less threatening than it was in the beginning.
I have the vision to see the beauty around me, the depth of love that resides in my home among my kids and husband. It is safe here, it is safe now. I will be with Phoebe again.
God does not abandon us, ever. Into each pain, each sorrow, each loss ...is a gift. Doesn't lessen the intensity, but gives us the strength and grace we need to carry it.
Pray especially for those parents new to loss, they are living a nightmare.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
Passing time
The new year looms. I've never been much of a fan of new year's celebrations. I'd rather my whole family stay in, lights out at 8, rise early to greet the new year at daybreak, embracing the possibility. But we are surrounded by youth in this house and getting dressed up, joining friends is fun and full of anticipation. I wouldn't begrudge them the hope of a new year. They've graciously and gracefully navigated challenge beyond their years, wiser than their peers, but still innocent and lovely. I love who these children of mine are, but I wonder if there would be a difference if Phoebe still walked with them. There is so much we don't say to each other. We've learned a new language that carries weight and heart without words ...we urge each other onward ...we choose forward without forgetting her. This Christmas season was full of reflection, taking stock and recognizing the gift of who we've become as a family after our shattering loss. We are survivors because of each other, because of the family we are. The greatest earthly gift we could hope for.
For years, even as a young child, I looked to other families and wished my own was more like this one or that one. I grew up with a good bit of chaos and no extended family; I wanted joyful busyness with lots of people coming and going. An image took hold in my heart and mind, and it was my quest for a long time to build that family of my own. I took examples and emulated this or that of people I've loved and admired. But their families were never mine, as warmly hospitable and inclusive they may have been, or continue to be.
Our family is our own, separate and distinct from others. I see it now for who we are today, what we value, how we treat others ...and I am proud of each one. It's been a long struggle, day to day, to carry forward what my husband and I started nearly three decades ago. Phoebe's death ruptured us and might have destroyed us, seriously, as such a thing does many, many families. We felt destroyed, smashed to the tiniest fragmented pieces. Fragment by fragment we began to rebuild, but only after learning again how to breath ...sounds so simple, but it needed relearning. Truly at the core is our faith, which salvaged the wreckage. And God works in our family every day. I try to see the graces sent our way. I wonder how many I miss? I wouldn't want our family to be any different than it is, and know no other that I strive to be more like.
Christmas cards come in, and the kids open them, giggling at their friends, happy to see them captured for a card that we can post next to others in our home. Sometimes they chatter about having our own done; they've even gotten all dressed for the pose. But none of us push it, none of us want to take that picture without Phoebe. We are joyful, but we are not whole. We are together, but missing one. We are hopeful, but sorrow begs. Still.
As the world has moved on, even forgotten, remembering her is part of who we are, part of our story, our script. The calendar will turn another page, into another month ...another year. We march on. You might not even know, unless we told you, and we are weary of the telling ...because it's not a story that can be understood really, unless you've lived it. And it's not a story any one of us wants you to ever understand ...its simply too horrible and we pray it happens to no one else. And it happens often enough that time and heart goes to tending parents so new to loss, blind with pain. Whether they know it or not, God works in them, through them. That's the bittersweet, hard to grasp ...that God's plan remains at work, even in the most wretched of pain. We remain present as best we can, mostly wordless, to assure them they have another shot at living...in time ...even if that seems impossible, or maybe even undesired. It's a long road to travel, lifelong. Knowing there are others who are travelling too makes a it bit more bearable at times.
I think of the journey giving example to us all that began in a manger. Christ's journey from birth to death, in human form, gives us contemplation. It was not an easy path. Accompanied by His mother, she bore the weight of it too. Why would I expect my travelling through this life to be different? Together, they taught us the beauty and value of suffering ...real, true suffering. Keeping my eyes on them steadies me and lightens my loss, if only for a moment.
Gathered at Bethlehem, the holy family, infant Jesus, drew people from near and far. The scene is sweet, satisfying, worthy of our gaze, our rest. I go there a lot, to Bethlehem. It's where I like to believe Phoebe is, with the holiest of families. I can turn the page of our calendar, welcome the new year knowing she is safe with the Word made flesh. I consider what the new year might be like, but I don't expect magic with all sorts of superlatives clinging to events and experiences. It's another year without Phoebe, but another year closer to reunion with her ...and that lifts my heart, without rushing the days.
Please pray for all the families who have lost a child this past year. They need every prayer possible.
May you found peace and grace woven through each of your days this new year.
For years, even as a young child, I looked to other families and wished my own was more like this one or that one. I grew up with a good bit of chaos and no extended family; I wanted joyful busyness with lots of people coming and going. An image took hold in my heart and mind, and it was my quest for a long time to build that family of my own. I took examples and emulated this or that of people I've loved and admired. But their families were never mine, as warmly hospitable and inclusive they may have been, or continue to be.
Our family is our own, separate and distinct from others. I see it now for who we are today, what we value, how we treat others ...and I am proud of each one. It's been a long struggle, day to day, to carry forward what my husband and I started nearly three decades ago. Phoebe's death ruptured us and might have destroyed us, seriously, as such a thing does many, many families. We felt destroyed, smashed to the tiniest fragmented pieces. Fragment by fragment we began to rebuild, but only after learning again how to breath ...sounds so simple, but it needed relearning. Truly at the core is our faith, which salvaged the wreckage. And God works in our family every day. I try to see the graces sent our way. I wonder how many I miss? I wouldn't want our family to be any different than it is, and know no other that I strive to be more like.
Christmas cards come in, and the kids open them, giggling at their friends, happy to see them captured for a card that we can post next to others in our home. Sometimes they chatter about having our own done; they've even gotten all dressed for the pose. But none of us push it, none of us want to take that picture without Phoebe. We are joyful, but we are not whole. We are together, but missing one. We are hopeful, but sorrow begs. Still.
As the world has moved on, even forgotten, remembering her is part of who we are, part of our story, our script. The calendar will turn another page, into another month ...another year. We march on. You might not even know, unless we told you, and we are weary of the telling ...because it's not a story that can be understood really, unless you've lived it. And it's not a story any one of us wants you to ever understand ...its simply too horrible and we pray it happens to no one else. And it happens often enough that time and heart goes to tending parents so new to loss, blind with pain. Whether they know it or not, God works in them, through them. That's the bittersweet, hard to grasp ...that God's plan remains at work, even in the most wretched of pain. We remain present as best we can, mostly wordless, to assure them they have another shot at living...in time ...even if that seems impossible, or maybe even undesired. It's a long road to travel, lifelong. Knowing there are others who are travelling too makes a it bit more bearable at times.
I think of the journey giving example to us all that began in a manger. Christ's journey from birth to death, in human form, gives us contemplation. It was not an easy path. Accompanied by His mother, she bore the weight of it too. Why would I expect my travelling through this life to be different? Together, they taught us the beauty and value of suffering ...real, true suffering. Keeping my eyes on them steadies me and lightens my loss, if only for a moment.
Gathered at Bethlehem, the holy family, infant Jesus, drew people from near and far. The scene is sweet, satisfying, worthy of our gaze, our rest. I go there a lot, to Bethlehem. It's where I like to believe Phoebe is, with the holiest of families. I can turn the page of our calendar, welcome the new year knowing she is safe with the Word made flesh. I consider what the new year might be like, but I don't expect magic with all sorts of superlatives clinging to events and experiences. It's another year without Phoebe, but another year closer to reunion with her ...and that lifts my heart, without rushing the days.
Please pray for all the families who have lost a child this past year. They need every prayer possible.
May you found peace and grace woven through each of your days this new year.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
This Day
I rise before the sun. Mass for Phoebe at 7. I've rested well, so different from years earlier ...where sleep meant nothing and those hours of darkness gave me a chance for stillness. I wept my way through the night for the first two years, waking with eyes crusted shut ...it became a way. I didn't care that sleep was fleeting, I only cared that for a little while everyone else slept, and I knew they were safe.
These past six years have been hard. There's the obvious loss of Phoebe and with that the nuances of her life entwined with ours from space to noise to laundry, food, shoes, movie preferences, tooth brushes, shower times ...everything changed. And as mundane as many of these things are, when they're altered you recognize the root they have in our life and when they uproot, balance and basics of everyday become unfamiliar. It takes time to right the ship ...time to learn to sail without the mast ...time to learn how to move ahead without the sail. It takes time ...still is taking time.
So what's the difference at six years? Chronic agony does not have to be managed. It still overwhelms and envelopes me, but not quite like it did when this whole journey started. Yesterday, during our usual routine I could feel the uprising. I wanted to flee away from where I was, away from the tidal wave of memory and pain that charged at me. Eyes caught me, a familiar face, laced into our life in a unique way only God can do! She knew ...the time, the who, the why. Because every spring she steers her way gently and cautiously through the raging waves of grief. No words, just a millisecond of a gaze "I know!" was enough to catch my breath, get through the task. See how amazing God works!
Six years ago I was thrown into a raging, churning ocean, crashing against jagged rocks. I was cold and alone not knowing how to swim. And that ocean is the same ...but today, I swim strong. Every once and a while a wave catches me and carries me towards those rocks, but I graze them, knowing how to kick and move away. Sometimes I go there, but mostly to whisper into the ear of a newbie thrashing in the terrifying, deadly waters. Follow me, I say. Just like someone offered us in those early days and years.
Phoebe's death is the obvious loss, but there is so much more that nipped at our heels. Its exhausting being around someone in devastating grief. Ours was not familiar to anyone we knew. It's not the same as losing a mother or father. It wasn't like any of the miscarriages I'd had. It's just not. And its terrifying because it challenges what we like to consider impossible, controllable even. We want to manage the course of our lives, making just the right choices to maintain a certain path, keep our kids safe. People like me and my family surely must have done something wrong, or else Phoebe wouldn't have died. And who wants to catch that cootie?
And so my kids lost people who were a big part of their lives, and for children that's a really hard thing to understand ...its another loss. Most people just quietly drifted away, but others created stories and reasons why we (me really!) were terrible, cruel people, freeing themselves from any kind of relationship with us. Today, I'm glad for it, because I know who our friends really are and I learned so much about my family, myself, humility, sacrifice, patience, forgiveness. God teaches us everything we ask him too, often in ways that are enormously challenging and costly.
We lost our common step, our way. For a time.
Today, six years later, I look at these six children of mine ...plus a new one in my new daughter-in-law ...who to me, is just a plain out daughter! And I am in awe of them. Each. One. Amazing. Our lives could have detoured in all directions. But it is just where I would have it ...ready, with open arms to welcome Phoebe home. It's as if she were still here ...my sweet, challenging, dynamic, witty, intelligent, vibrant girl!
I brought Olivia home from school after six weeks of being away. We arrived to an empty house and I could see her disappointment. Why wasn't everyone awaiting her return? Shortly after two cars pull in the driveway and the front stairs pound. There is laughter and yelling and fighting over who gets there first. By the time I come out of the kitchen, all my kids are fused together in one big hug. They are holding and rocking, laughing through the welcoming of Olivia. How different this might have looked; how we might have wandered off, each fighting to survive.
God stayed at the center of this wild journey. I've trusted God since the beginning, even before I said goodbye to Phoebe. And I am so grateful for where we are today. I am so grateful for the people in our lives who've stayed and tended. And I'm grateful even for those who left, they gave what they had while they could. I'm grateful for new people who've entered our lives since Phoebe's passing. I know she had a hand in picking them. I'm grateful my husband is the man he is, with the passion for his kids and family he shows every day. I'm grateful to all of my 'Compassionate Friends' both ahead and behind me in this journey of life after such a loss.
But most especially, I am grateful to God's generosity and His invitation to draw closer to Him and trust in all things. He brought me Phoebe for a time, her time. And if you knew her, you'd know what a blessing that is. God has not left me.
Please pray today for parents who've lost a child. Beg they are surrounded by people genuine in their care. Pray they find God and rest in His plan.
On this terribly rainy Sunday ...we're off to the state championship regatta with both Hannah and Lucy rowing! Phoebe would consider this a great race day, more so because of the rain! The more elements to contend with the better; so today's weather is fitting, shows she's still in the mix.
Looking for a victory ...and something tells me ...we've already won, no matter!
These past six years have been hard. There's the obvious loss of Phoebe and with that the nuances of her life entwined with ours from space to noise to laundry, food, shoes, movie preferences, tooth brushes, shower times ...everything changed. And as mundane as many of these things are, when they're altered you recognize the root they have in our life and when they uproot, balance and basics of everyday become unfamiliar. It takes time to right the ship ...time to learn to sail without the mast ...time to learn how to move ahead without the sail. It takes time ...still is taking time.
So what's the difference at six years? Chronic agony does not have to be managed. It still overwhelms and envelopes me, but not quite like it did when this whole journey started. Yesterday, during our usual routine I could feel the uprising. I wanted to flee away from where I was, away from the tidal wave of memory and pain that charged at me. Eyes caught me, a familiar face, laced into our life in a unique way only God can do! She knew ...the time, the who, the why. Because every spring she steers her way gently and cautiously through the raging waves of grief. No words, just a millisecond of a gaze "I know!" was enough to catch my breath, get through the task. See how amazing God works!
Six years ago I was thrown into a raging, churning ocean, crashing against jagged rocks. I was cold and alone not knowing how to swim. And that ocean is the same ...but today, I swim strong. Every once and a while a wave catches me and carries me towards those rocks, but I graze them, knowing how to kick and move away. Sometimes I go there, but mostly to whisper into the ear of a newbie thrashing in the terrifying, deadly waters. Follow me, I say. Just like someone offered us in those early days and years.
Phoebe's death is the obvious loss, but there is so much more that nipped at our heels. Its exhausting being around someone in devastating grief. Ours was not familiar to anyone we knew. It's not the same as losing a mother or father. It wasn't like any of the miscarriages I'd had. It's just not. And its terrifying because it challenges what we like to consider impossible, controllable even. We want to manage the course of our lives, making just the right choices to maintain a certain path, keep our kids safe. People like me and my family surely must have done something wrong, or else Phoebe wouldn't have died. And who wants to catch that cootie?
And so my kids lost people who were a big part of their lives, and for children that's a really hard thing to understand ...its another loss. Most people just quietly drifted away, but others created stories and reasons why we (me really!) were terrible, cruel people, freeing themselves from any kind of relationship with us. Today, I'm glad for it, because I know who our friends really are and I learned so much about my family, myself, humility, sacrifice, patience, forgiveness. God teaches us everything we ask him too, often in ways that are enormously challenging and costly.
We lost our common step, our way. For a time.
Today, six years later, I look at these six children of mine ...plus a new one in my new daughter-in-law ...who to me, is just a plain out daughter! And I am in awe of them. Each. One. Amazing. Our lives could have detoured in all directions. But it is just where I would have it ...ready, with open arms to welcome Phoebe home. It's as if she were still here ...my sweet, challenging, dynamic, witty, intelligent, vibrant girl!
I brought Olivia home from school after six weeks of being away. We arrived to an empty house and I could see her disappointment. Why wasn't everyone awaiting her return? Shortly after two cars pull in the driveway and the front stairs pound. There is laughter and yelling and fighting over who gets there first. By the time I come out of the kitchen, all my kids are fused together in one big hug. They are holding and rocking, laughing through the welcoming of Olivia. How different this might have looked; how we might have wandered off, each fighting to survive.
God stayed at the center of this wild journey. I've trusted God since the beginning, even before I said goodbye to Phoebe. And I am so grateful for where we are today. I am so grateful for the people in our lives who've stayed and tended. And I'm grateful even for those who left, they gave what they had while they could. I'm grateful for new people who've entered our lives since Phoebe's passing. I know she had a hand in picking them. I'm grateful my husband is the man he is, with the passion for his kids and family he shows every day. I'm grateful to all of my 'Compassionate Friends' both ahead and behind me in this journey of life after such a loss.
But most especially, I am grateful to God's generosity and His invitation to draw closer to Him and trust in all things. He brought me Phoebe for a time, her time. And if you knew her, you'd know what a blessing that is. God has not left me.
Please pray today for parents who've lost a child. Beg they are surrounded by people genuine in their care. Pray they find God and rest in His plan.
On this terribly rainy Sunday ...we're off to the state championship regatta with both Hannah and Lucy rowing! Phoebe would consider this a great race day, more so because of the rain! The more elements to contend with the better; so today's weather is fitting, shows she's still in the mix.
Looking for a victory ...and something tells me ...we've already won, no matter!
Monday, October 3, 2016
Finding Agape
Agape is selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love, the highest of the four types of love.
I look out my kitchen window, the afternoon bright with sun, leaves falling, a slight chill in the air. I think back to Phoebe's last Monday six years ago. I remember that week well, her last days here on earth. And I want to capture this moment ...because it is sweetly heavy. Burdened but light at the same time. I think from seventeen to twenty three ...who might she be? I think of everyone I love and where in six years they will be. It's funny to pause and think about time and change. How life looks over the span of time ...how it moves to something different than what we knew. Dinner hour changes, because we have. Kids march on towards adulthood, and I watch, waiting. Missing her, wanting her to be part of it all. But I don't beg God anymore, I don't deplete the way I once did. I grab hold of anything that speaks of the glory she might be in.
Six years of missing is a long time ...too long. But it won't be forever, because one day...
In the time I've sat down to write, chaos ...the rough and tumble of big family life has thundered back in. Three different kinds of music are playing, while the piano plays an altogether different tune. Order is what I always chase, but it's not meant for here, in this home most times. Because life is dynamic and fleeting. But I want to cling to remembering Phoebe while everyone else pulls at me ....and dinner is needed before heading off again to meetings and activities.
But just before all this electricity ignited my home, my phone jingled ...from my sister. A reminder, a fence post and invitation to something that will root me in the chaos and see it more like ballet ...it gives me a lens to see the beauty and perfection of it. Agape.
My nephew has been chasing Agape for months. Waiting and wishing, hoping and praying that it will claim him, He is a very special young man, and his burning quest for this has filled my heart more than once. Someone had shared their own experience of finding Agape with him, someone he admires, and since then ...he's been after it. And today, he believes it found him. Amazing how God works, because that message to me set me on the right course in so many ways. Agape ...selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love. My nephew likely won't understand that his discovery is mine too ...and that's ok. Most of what we give to others we never know.
And so the over stimulation of sound and movement I see as a gift only because of my nephew's discovery.
Phoebe was not quiet. Her presence was obvious ....and so I pay attention and notice ...all the humming and buzzing ...the life that teems through this house. Life here did not stop when Phoebe died. And it might have. We might have curled up, shriveled up and become something other than who we were. Phoebe would recognize this place ...it still moves as she did. Her entry now would be seamless ...the door still open to her. Still, it's her home.
So my quiet, my desire for stillness to be with here is in my own head ...because that was never who she was. Phoebe was this life in motion of sound and movement ....constant ...alive.
To set the point home (because God knows I need lots and lots of help in seeing His ways), my friend arrives, arms full of food. Makings for a salad, home made bread and lasagna. She is tired after working all night, catching up on laundry, racing her kids around during the day. She brought us dinner ...when it should be the other way around. My friend leans against my counter and we laugh with our easy banter. She has seven too so we often share the struggle.
We share faith and laughter mostly ....she found her way into my life just weeks before Phoebe died. Another thread woven into my life so perfectly for what was to come. And she hasn't left.
And this friend likely won't understand that she arrives as the physical definition of Agape ....and again, most of what we give to others we never know. How could she know how she punctuates the moment?
Phoebe's last Monday ...her bags thumping at the entryway, shoes, sweatshirts dropping behind her as she moves, passing the piano and banging away, cabinet doors open and close, jumping on the counter to be swatted off by me ... She could be here ...she is here for me. God does not separate us from each other ...only we do! These kids moving through now echo her own noise and activity ...they live and move as she led them to ...fully invested in the moment they have.
Finding agape for me isn't finding an incredible immersion in peace, having order all around me ...in essence, everything going my way. Finding agape is immersion into the moment, accepting it as perfection, uniquely designed and delivered by God's own hand ...letting go and noticing ...the mystery of life spinning all around. Maybe there's more, but I'm pretty simple ...
Hey there, sweet daughter of mine, you belong here always ... And I am reminded to step back, get out of my own way and let it be as it should.
I look out my kitchen window, the afternoon bright with sun, leaves falling, a slight chill in the air. I think back to Phoebe's last Monday six years ago. I remember that week well, her last days here on earth. And I want to capture this moment ...because it is sweetly heavy. Burdened but light at the same time. I think from seventeen to twenty three ...who might she be? I think of everyone I love and where in six years they will be. It's funny to pause and think about time and change. How life looks over the span of time ...how it moves to something different than what we knew. Dinner hour changes, because we have. Kids march on towards adulthood, and I watch, waiting. Missing her, wanting her to be part of it all. But I don't beg God anymore, I don't deplete the way I once did. I grab hold of anything that speaks of the glory she might be in.
Six years of missing is a long time ...too long. But it won't be forever, because one day...
In the time I've sat down to write, chaos ...the rough and tumble of big family life has thundered back in. Three different kinds of music are playing, while the piano plays an altogether different tune. Order is what I always chase, but it's not meant for here, in this home most times. Because life is dynamic and fleeting. But I want to cling to remembering Phoebe while everyone else pulls at me ....and dinner is needed before heading off again to meetings and activities.
But just before all this electricity ignited my home, my phone jingled ...from my sister. A reminder, a fence post and invitation to something that will root me in the chaos and see it more like ballet ...it gives me a lens to see the beauty and perfection of it. Agape.
My nephew has been chasing Agape for months. Waiting and wishing, hoping and praying that it will claim him, He is a very special young man, and his burning quest for this has filled my heart more than once. Someone had shared their own experience of finding Agape with him, someone he admires, and since then ...he's been after it. And today, he believes it found him. Amazing how God works, because that message to me set me on the right course in so many ways. Agape ...selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love. My nephew likely won't understand that his discovery is mine too ...and that's ok. Most of what we give to others we never know.
And so the over stimulation of sound and movement I see as a gift only because of my nephew's discovery.
Phoebe was not quiet. Her presence was obvious ....and so I pay attention and notice ...all the humming and buzzing ...the life that teems through this house. Life here did not stop when Phoebe died. And it might have. We might have curled up, shriveled up and become something other than who we were. Phoebe would recognize this place ...it still moves as she did. Her entry now would be seamless ...the door still open to her. Still, it's her home.
So my quiet, my desire for stillness to be with here is in my own head ...because that was never who she was. Phoebe was this life in motion of sound and movement ....constant ...alive.
To set the point home (because God knows I need lots and lots of help in seeing His ways), my friend arrives, arms full of food. Makings for a salad, home made bread and lasagna. She is tired after working all night, catching up on laundry, racing her kids around during the day. She brought us dinner ...when it should be the other way around. My friend leans against my counter and we laugh with our easy banter. She has seven too so we often share the struggle.
We share faith and laughter mostly ....she found her way into my life just weeks before Phoebe died. Another thread woven into my life so perfectly for what was to come. And she hasn't left.
And this friend likely won't understand that she arrives as the physical definition of Agape ....and again, most of what we give to others we never know. How could she know how she punctuates the moment?
Phoebe's last Monday ...her bags thumping at the entryway, shoes, sweatshirts dropping behind her as she moves, passing the piano and banging away, cabinet doors open and close, jumping on the counter to be swatted off by me ... She could be here ...she is here for me. God does not separate us from each other ...only we do! These kids moving through now echo her own noise and activity ...they live and move as she led them to ...fully invested in the moment they have.
Finding agape for me isn't finding an incredible immersion in peace, having order all around me ...in essence, everything going my way. Finding agape is immersion into the moment, accepting it as perfection, uniquely designed and delivered by God's own hand ...letting go and noticing ...the mystery of life spinning all around. Maybe there's more, but I'm pretty simple ...
Hey there, sweet daughter of mine, you belong here always ... And I am reminded to step back, get out of my own way and let it be as it should.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Standstill
I met an old friend today. Our lives overlapped before Phoebe died, so she knew the stories of my girl. We hustled our way through nursing school; she was much younger, but something gelled and we became fast friends, championing each other through clinicals and exams. Life carried us forward, and we mostly lost touch after Phoebe died and her life carried her on a journey she hadn't planned.
Professional overlap let me keep tabs on her and we would send cryptic messages back and forth. But today we met, sighed, caught up. Well into sharing and updating she paused, and asked me if I'd heard about one of our classmates. I hadn't.
Bright and beautiful, fun and witty, she sat next to us during class and a few times the three of us were in the same clinical rotations. She was hardworking, capable and resourceful. I learned a lot from her. I liked her company. She ate a lot of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, pulling them out during a lecture. Her life was full of drama and disappointment, yet her compassion and kindness to those she cared for led many of us to offer better care ...a bigger piece of our heart. Jocelyn was the first to care for the seemingly unlovable, the hardest to love.
She died. And I hadn't known until today. And it has weighted my day. It's made me stand still today.
I remember her coming to Phoebe's wake, and the gift my two friends brought to me. That gift still sits on a small shelf in my kitchen, reminding me of how they'd reached out.
I think of her, and I think of her parents.
Her life was a hard one, and her successes were very hard fought. Some obstacles she faced were her own, but most weren't.
She's a person whose life many would not be surprised ended early. And likely, many will forget her and move on, remembering only her mistakes. I never saw the underbelly of her life. In the brief time we knew each other, she kept that from me, and offered her best self ...which was brilliant.
I think about her parents, the emptiness that permeates, the abyss of sorrow. Learning to carry that takes time ...lots and lots of time.
As I drive away from my visit, my questions start. Why God, do some people struggle so much more than others in life? Some people's personal struggles are so public and exposed, casting a shadow over the gem-like qualities most don't possess. Those questions can never be answered, in this lifetime anyway.
Too often, people are remembered for the mistakes they've made, or the battles they've lost, temptations they couldn't fight. Many are remembered for how they die.
I hope people remember Phoebe for who she was, not for how she died.
And I want to remember Jocelyn, my friend for a short time, for her radiance and compassion she brought to the world.
Please pray for her, and for her family.
Professional overlap let me keep tabs on her and we would send cryptic messages back and forth. But today we met, sighed, caught up. Well into sharing and updating she paused, and asked me if I'd heard about one of our classmates. I hadn't.
Bright and beautiful, fun and witty, she sat next to us during class and a few times the three of us were in the same clinical rotations. She was hardworking, capable and resourceful. I learned a lot from her. I liked her company. She ate a lot of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, pulling them out during a lecture. Her life was full of drama and disappointment, yet her compassion and kindness to those she cared for led many of us to offer better care ...a bigger piece of our heart. Jocelyn was the first to care for the seemingly unlovable, the hardest to love.
She died. And I hadn't known until today. And it has weighted my day. It's made me stand still today.
I remember her coming to Phoebe's wake, and the gift my two friends brought to me. That gift still sits on a small shelf in my kitchen, reminding me of how they'd reached out.
I think of her, and I think of her parents.
Her life was a hard one, and her successes were very hard fought. Some obstacles she faced were her own, but most weren't.
She's a person whose life many would not be surprised ended early. And likely, many will forget her and move on, remembering only her mistakes. I never saw the underbelly of her life. In the brief time we knew each other, she kept that from me, and offered her best self ...which was brilliant.
I think about her parents, the emptiness that permeates, the abyss of sorrow. Learning to carry that takes time ...lots and lots of time.
As I drive away from my visit, my questions start. Why God, do some people struggle so much more than others in life? Some people's personal struggles are so public and exposed, casting a shadow over the gem-like qualities most don't possess. Those questions can never be answered, in this lifetime anyway.
Too often, people are remembered for the mistakes they've made, or the battles they've lost, temptations they couldn't fight. Many are remembered for how they die.
I hope people remember Phoebe for who she was, not for how she died.
And I want to remember Jocelyn, my friend for a short time, for her radiance and compassion she brought to the world.
Please pray for her, and for her family.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Twenty three!
Phoebe would turn 23 today! Hard to believe and imagine who she might be if she was still fluttering through my days.
I have tons of thoughts, emotions, memories, regrets ...but mostly I just really really miss this girl who was mine. And I'm leaning into God, a bit skeptical, but trying very hard to trust Him in all His ways. Trusting Phoebe is with Him, in perfection and glory.
Little gifts here and there light the way. One of those gifts found its way into my hands, giving me words that I can't find on my own right now to help others remember .... One of her best friends wrote this soon after Phoebe died ...
Someone once asked me who you were, and I remember being surprised and frustrated that anyone could possibly not know about YOU. There was just so much to say that I didn't know how to sum it up accurately without going on forever. I ended up saying, "only the coolest person ever." You were an incredible one-of-a-kind best friend, but that description is not at all adequate for a person as outstanding as you. You're wonderful, spontaneous, vivacious, brilliant, dynamic, energetic, loving, dependable, self assured, talented, beautiful. Completely unique
Her friend goes on ...but this captures much of who Phoebe was ...and perhaps still is.
Happy Birthday my dear sweet girl ....how I miss you and all you are. I miss how you would press every button I have all at once. I miss how you move and boss me around. I miss how you critique my parking job! I miss how you would make me redress so I wouldn't embarrass you in public. I miss your beautiful eyes and how you used them to tell me so much. I miss laughing with you, fighting with you ...chasing you.
I just really miss you Phoebe ...and one day ...I will see that gorgeous smile and hold you close.
Big hugs and kisses on this birthday! I love you Phoebe ...always
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe O' Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. And may her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.
I have tons of thoughts, emotions, memories, regrets ...but mostly I just really really miss this girl who was mine. And I'm leaning into God, a bit skeptical, but trying very hard to trust Him in all His ways. Trusting Phoebe is with Him, in perfection and glory.
Little gifts here and there light the way. One of those gifts found its way into my hands, giving me words that I can't find on my own right now to help others remember .... One of her best friends wrote this soon after Phoebe died ...
Someone once asked me who you were, and I remember being surprised and frustrated that anyone could possibly not know about YOU. There was just so much to say that I didn't know how to sum it up accurately without going on forever. I ended up saying, "only the coolest person ever." You were an incredible one-of-a-kind best friend, but that description is not at all adequate for a person as outstanding as you. You're wonderful, spontaneous, vivacious, brilliant, dynamic, energetic, loving, dependable, self assured, talented, beautiful. Completely unique
Her friend goes on ...but this captures much of who Phoebe was ...and perhaps still is.
Happy Birthday my dear sweet girl ....how I miss you and all you are. I miss how you would press every button I have all at once. I miss how you move and boss me around. I miss how you critique my parking job! I miss how you would make me redress so I wouldn't embarrass you in public. I miss your beautiful eyes and how you used them to tell me so much. I miss laughing with you, fighting with you ...chasing you.
I just really miss you Phoebe ...and one day ...I will see that gorgeous smile and hold you close.
Big hugs and kisses on this birthday! I love you Phoebe ...always
Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe O' Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. And may her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God rest in peace.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
April Snow
The daffodils bow under the snow. It's a pretty sight, an unexpected one. April snow is unusual, even in erratic New England.
Nineteen years ago, we brought Olivia home from a hospital stay. Respiratory issues plagued her as a baby. I was terrified then of what could happen. Practice maybe for what would come all those years later. We left the hospital April 1, heading home in a snow storm. The snow wouldn't last, nor will today's. Life's storms do that too, blow over ...only some stay, the damage hidden, but still there. Storms take their toll! Not everything destroyed in their wake can be rebuilt or restored.
Phoebe was glad to have her baby sister home, along with her mom! It was a joyful homecoming.
I've wondered about another homecoming when my days here come to an end. The thought both tears me up and settles me ...it's the waiting that's so hard.
We laugh and joke about the snow, how out of the blue it seems. We want sun and flowers; its what we expect. Life often delivers the unexpected. And that's God's invitation ...in the unexpected. T
I write less because I have less to say. We get a little shy, a lot more private, as time moves us through life after a child dies. In the beginning, those early years, we will tell anyone our story. It's the process of accepting ...making it real. Maybe we seem grounded, maybe we seem ok ...but inside there is turmoil, a raging storm wreaking havoc on our souls. I remember! That need to talk and talk, telling the story, asking the questions and answering over and over. It's as if all the talking is our breath. We gulp at the air, hoping for a chance to survive. Hoping we might talk our way out of our nightmare.
But now, its the opposite ...so personal and precious, I rarely speak of it now. There's a sense that only those who've lived it too will understand. We simply have to go it alone! Not because people don't care or aren't there for us, but because it is a single journey. Grief takes each of us by our own hand.
I met a woman recently, very fresh to grief, her loss sudden. She reminded me of what I may have looked like, composed, managing ...telling herself she was feeling much better, believing the worst was behind her. All her energy is going to keeping it together, staying strong for everyone else. An outsider might say she's doing so well, admiring her strength and acceptance. It's a private hell no words can explain or describe. One false move and we could lose our minds ...forever. With a few years behind us, our stride a bit more steady and stable, we listen knowing where she is. Why would we tell her the journey is so very long? Why would we tell her anything other than what she wants to hear? Why would we tell her many of her friends would leave, finding all sorts of reasons? Why would we tell her that the pain won't leave, but she'll learn to live with it?
We just do what others did for us, and listen ...for as long as it takes. My friend and I recall how each of us arrived looking for the six week manual. Worker bees by nature, we had tending to others to do, our own grief needed to be expedited! I'd had a couple of years on her when she arrived and sensed right away she was looking for that map. I stayed quiet a while, and then gently told her there was no manual, I'd searched long and hard. Today, together, we give others room to find out the same ...no short cuts.
No one ever prepares for snow in April in Boston. No one ever prepares to lose a child?
The snow will melt, the flowers will stand tall once again, restored! There color bright against the white. But each flower's glory is changed, imperceptible perhaps ...but still ...changed.
And yet, perhaps to me, the yellow hint peaking through the snow ...is more beautiful than its waver in the sun.
Nineteen years ago, we brought Olivia home from a hospital stay. Respiratory issues plagued her as a baby. I was terrified then of what could happen. Practice maybe for what would come all those years later. We left the hospital April 1, heading home in a snow storm. The snow wouldn't last, nor will today's. Life's storms do that too, blow over ...only some stay, the damage hidden, but still there. Storms take their toll! Not everything destroyed in their wake can be rebuilt or restored.
Phoebe was glad to have her baby sister home, along with her mom! It was a joyful homecoming.
I've wondered about another homecoming when my days here come to an end. The thought both tears me up and settles me ...it's the waiting that's so hard.
We laugh and joke about the snow, how out of the blue it seems. We want sun and flowers; its what we expect. Life often delivers the unexpected. And that's God's invitation ...in the unexpected. T
I write less because I have less to say. We get a little shy, a lot more private, as time moves us through life after a child dies. In the beginning, those early years, we will tell anyone our story. It's the process of accepting ...making it real. Maybe we seem grounded, maybe we seem ok ...but inside there is turmoil, a raging storm wreaking havoc on our souls. I remember! That need to talk and talk, telling the story, asking the questions and answering over and over. It's as if all the talking is our breath. We gulp at the air, hoping for a chance to survive. Hoping we might talk our way out of our nightmare.
But now, its the opposite ...so personal and precious, I rarely speak of it now. There's a sense that only those who've lived it too will understand. We simply have to go it alone! Not because people don't care or aren't there for us, but because it is a single journey. Grief takes each of us by our own hand.
I met a woman recently, very fresh to grief, her loss sudden. She reminded me of what I may have looked like, composed, managing ...telling herself she was feeling much better, believing the worst was behind her. All her energy is going to keeping it together, staying strong for everyone else. An outsider might say she's doing so well, admiring her strength and acceptance. It's a private hell no words can explain or describe. One false move and we could lose our minds ...forever. With a few years behind us, our stride a bit more steady and stable, we listen knowing where she is. Why would we tell her the journey is so very long? Why would we tell her anything other than what she wants to hear? Why would we tell her many of her friends would leave, finding all sorts of reasons? Why would we tell her that the pain won't leave, but she'll learn to live with it?
We just do what others did for us, and listen ...for as long as it takes. My friend and I recall how each of us arrived looking for the six week manual. Worker bees by nature, we had tending to others to do, our own grief needed to be expedited! I'd had a couple of years on her when she arrived and sensed right away she was looking for that map. I stayed quiet a while, and then gently told her there was no manual, I'd searched long and hard. Today, together, we give others room to find out the same ...no short cuts.
No one ever prepares for snow in April in Boston. No one ever prepares to lose a child?
The snow will melt, the flowers will stand tall once again, restored! There color bright against the white. But each flower's glory is changed, imperceptible perhaps ...but still ...changed.
And yet, perhaps to me, the yellow hint peaking through the snow ...is more beautiful than its waver in the sun.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Five years angry!
Ok, so here it is five years. I've wanted to write something ...and I've written lots...but I won't share. The more time passes, the less I share!
But I'll tell how it is ....IT STINKS!!!!! Far more than human words can capture.
Losing Phoebe has challenged every single aspect of my life. There is nothing I do, we do, as a family, that doesn't carry the loss in some way ...big or small. And most times no one wants to admit that ...because we just don't want it to be real that we've lost her. So why do we have to chronically deal with so many reminders?
It's a long time, but it's really still today. There's no 'healing' ...return to wholeness. It just is, and we learn to live with it. We laugh, smile, play, succeed, fail, fight, worry, cry ...and start all over again. We live as best we can. Lots of good things happen along the way. But it still hurts, lingering, aching and longing for the return of my girl!
God stays my core, my grounding center. And I dance around him like a disgruntled child. Striving to choose joy and gratitude despite what's happened. And He offers me bits here and there that keep me moving forward. Friends who've stayed close by, keeping watch and sharing the tears. There's no words to describe that kind of friendship. Some we thought good friends found reasons to leave. And truth be told, as hurtful and hard as all that was ....it's a blessing because that's not what true friends do. I could share a few stories ...doozies ...but why? No one would learn from them ...you either have the fabric of true friendship, or you don't. It's that simple!
We have our support group, Compassionate Friends, where those stories can be told ...and they are common; predictable. Newly grieving parents come in, surrounded by a swarm of caring people, and six months to a year later, most of those swarming friends have found a reason to disown you. Doesn't matter how your child dies ....it's just too icky. So, those who stay are gems, treasures that are the most genuine people walking this earth.
Five years ago ...and for a long time after, I talked and talked about it. That's all part of making it real, processing, accepting the reality. In time though, we learn to stop talking ...because it's more of a novelty for most. There's no way for someone to know this rugged terrain unless it's been walked.
God knows the walk ...and guides us as we let Him.
Just days ago I sat outside a cafe waiting for some colleagues to arrive for a meeting. The day was beautiful and balmy ...similar to the day she died. I heard a funny comment and looked up to see two of my friends. Two empty chairs invited them to sit. And for a few moments we just were with each other...they knew Phoebe's day approached. Both lost son's to overdoses ...another stigmatized death. And you should see the pictures ...handsome, strapping, kind, achieving young men. Suicide and drugs don't sit well with most. Nor should they! But still, the stigma is so outrageous. Most people want to believe they can control the life and death of a child. I did too. One of my friends asked "aren't you just so tired? ...so tired of carrying this grief; it just won't leave." And I nodded ...yes I am so so tired. And I miss, miss, miss. Hugs mean a lot to us, so we tend to do a lot of that when we meet. I'm a bit ahead of these wonderful mothers and I've watched and learned from them. And yeah, in some ways it gets more bearable; but you know what ...it doesn't go away. Just a few stolen moments with them grounds me ...makes me feel no so alone.
So while the world whirs around us and people forget ...we don't. Our life is different.
We are different. That's hard for people to adjust to ...they want the old person they knew back.
But she ain't comin'. This is the new me!!!!
Five years out ...I've got far less to say. I'm tired of the walk, and I'm tired of talking about it. But I know more about who Phoebe is.
Phoebe is far more than her suicide.
Lots of people have pulled me aside, sent me a note or email, called me ...bared their souls and wept over fear for their own child. Thinking somehow that I could give them the secret 'thing' I forgot to do that would have saved Phoebe. They come to me when they are down and out, at their wits end with fear! They don't say 'hey, how you doing?, can you spare a moment?' They say 'only you'll understand ....'. But you know what ...no I don't get it, no I don't understand ...you've weathered a particular storm ...your child MADE IT!!!!. And once that darkness lifts, once they've weathered the fear ...I never hear from them again. I might see them, but they look away, walk away, change their gaze. Hmmmm! But they do know something ...that I do too...their child is far more than whatever detour they were on ...they made it back. And guess what else ...Phoebe is far, far more than her detour ...even though she didn't make it back!
And I wonder ...why didn't my daughter survive her detour? And why didn't my two friends, and countless others kids, who die from a stupid moment of confusion, fear, temptation? And why do other people get to pull me aside and purge then leave as if nothing ever happened ...as if it never cost me anything?
Maybe you can tell that at this particular point ...at five years ....I'm angry. I'm angry about losing her! I'm angry about my kids having to navigate life without her! I'm angry at what her death has cost me! I'm angry people think they get it when they don't! I'm angry when people jump on a band wagon and pose as though they were so close to her, when in fact they made Phoebe very uncomfortable! I'm angry someone would ask me to talk to their child so they won't do what Phoebe did ...I'm angry because no one sees the cost of all that! I'm angry that my kids lost friends because their parents were too afraid to stare cruelty in the face and call it what it is! I'm angry that the inconvenience and stigma of Phoebe's death doesn't fit in to the neatly arranged life of people I thought were friends. I'm angry that I can't get angry at Phoebe anymore ...that I can't disagree with her and argue.
I'm just plain angry. And that is what five years looks like!!!
The best anyone can do ...is pray for me, for my family, for Phoebe. And pray for every other family that's lost as we have ...because they deal with the very same things.
But I'll tell how it is ....IT STINKS!!!!! Far more than human words can capture.
Losing Phoebe has challenged every single aspect of my life. There is nothing I do, we do, as a family, that doesn't carry the loss in some way ...big or small. And most times no one wants to admit that ...because we just don't want it to be real that we've lost her. So why do we have to chronically deal with so many reminders?
It's a long time, but it's really still today. There's no 'healing' ...return to wholeness. It just is, and we learn to live with it. We laugh, smile, play, succeed, fail, fight, worry, cry ...and start all over again. We live as best we can. Lots of good things happen along the way. But it still hurts, lingering, aching and longing for the return of my girl!
God stays my core, my grounding center. And I dance around him like a disgruntled child. Striving to choose joy and gratitude despite what's happened. And He offers me bits here and there that keep me moving forward. Friends who've stayed close by, keeping watch and sharing the tears. There's no words to describe that kind of friendship. Some we thought good friends found reasons to leave. And truth be told, as hurtful and hard as all that was ....it's a blessing because that's not what true friends do. I could share a few stories ...doozies ...but why? No one would learn from them ...you either have the fabric of true friendship, or you don't. It's that simple!
We have our support group, Compassionate Friends, where those stories can be told ...and they are common; predictable. Newly grieving parents come in, surrounded by a swarm of caring people, and six months to a year later, most of those swarming friends have found a reason to disown you. Doesn't matter how your child dies ....it's just too icky. So, those who stay are gems, treasures that are the most genuine people walking this earth.
Five years ago ...and for a long time after, I talked and talked about it. That's all part of making it real, processing, accepting the reality. In time though, we learn to stop talking ...because it's more of a novelty for most. There's no way for someone to know this rugged terrain unless it's been walked.
God knows the walk ...and guides us as we let Him.
Just days ago I sat outside a cafe waiting for some colleagues to arrive for a meeting. The day was beautiful and balmy ...similar to the day she died. I heard a funny comment and looked up to see two of my friends. Two empty chairs invited them to sit. And for a few moments we just were with each other...they knew Phoebe's day approached. Both lost son's to overdoses ...another stigmatized death. And you should see the pictures ...handsome, strapping, kind, achieving young men. Suicide and drugs don't sit well with most. Nor should they! But still, the stigma is so outrageous. Most people want to believe they can control the life and death of a child. I did too. One of my friends asked "aren't you just so tired? ...so tired of carrying this grief; it just won't leave." And I nodded ...yes I am so so tired. And I miss, miss, miss. Hugs mean a lot to us, so we tend to do a lot of that when we meet. I'm a bit ahead of these wonderful mothers and I've watched and learned from them. And yeah, in some ways it gets more bearable; but you know what ...it doesn't go away. Just a few stolen moments with them grounds me ...makes me feel no so alone.
So while the world whirs around us and people forget ...we don't. Our life is different.
We are different. That's hard for people to adjust to ...they want the old person they knew back.
But she ain't comin'. This is the new me!!!!
Five years out ...I've got far less to say. I'm tired of the walk, and I'm tired of talking about it. But I know more about who Phoebe is.
Phoebe is far more than her suicide.
Lots of people have pulled me aside, sent me a note or email, called me ...bared their souls and wept over fear for their own child. Thinking somehow that I could give them the secret 'thing' I forgot to do that would have saved Phoebe. They come to me when they are down and out, at their wits end with fear! They don't say 'hey, how you doing?, can you spare a moment?' They say 'only you'll understand ....'. But you know what ...no I don't get it, no I don't understand ...you've weathered a particular storm ...your child MADE IT!!!!. And once that darkness lifts, once they've weathered the fear ...I never hear from them again. I might see them, but they look away, walk away, change their gaze. Hmmmm! But they do know something ...that I do too...their child is far more than whatever detour they were on ...they made it back. And guess what else ...Phoebe is far, far more than her detour ...even though she didn't make it back!
And I wonder ...why didn't my daughter survive her detour? And why didn't my two friends, and countless others kids, who die from a stupid moment of confusion, fear, temptation? And why do other people get to pull me aside and purge then leave as if nothing ever happened ...as if it never cost me anything?
Maybe you can tell that at this particular point ...at five years ....I'm angry. I'm angry about losing her! I'm angry about my kids having to navigate life without her! I'm angry at what her death has cost me! I'm angry people think they get it when they don't! I'm angry when people jump on a band wagon and pose as though they were so close to her, when in fact they made Phoebe very uncomfortable! I'm angry someone would ask me to talk to their child so they won't do what Phoebe did ...I'm angry because no one sees the cost of all that! I'm angry that my kids lost friends because their parents were too afraid to stare cruelty in the face and call it what it is! I'm angry that the inconvenience and stigma of Phoebe's death doesn't fit in to the neatly arranged life of people I thought were friends. I'm angry that I can't get angry at Phoebe anymore ...that I can't disagree with her and argue.
I'm just plain angry. And that is what five years looks like!!!
The best anyone can do ...is pray for me, for my family, for Phoebe. And pray for every other family that's lost as we have ...because they deal with the very same things.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
New Day
Each one of us is created solely by God for God. Each one of us has a story to write and live. We never know when we touch someone's life. And sometimes, too often, we don't see when or how someone touches ours too. And sometimes there are those few souls we know are touching our lives and everyone else's they encounter. I've shared enough about Sophie that you've probably gathered she was one of those souls you knew touched you and anyone she encountered.
The outpouring that spoke of this truth could be found Thursday as hundreds, maybe thousands even came to say farewell. And again today as Mass was offered for her. The awesome faith that wove its way among so many different people from all walks of life. She was a 'magnificent' woman. Every opportunity she had she spoke of God. And she made her way through obstacles and setbacks while calling all attention to the mighty generosity if God. A witness to the truth of our Savior, Jesus Christ ...and handmaid. For His glory always, not hers!
We stood outside the funeral home Thursday for more than two hours weaving a way through a line that finally brought us inside out of the cold drizzle. We welcomed the warmth of inside after being in 33 degrees outside. And for another hour and a half we slowly moved, passing pictures that spanned a lifetime. We listened, or watched when we could, two videos playing showing each of her nine children interspersed with beautiful holy images and quotes. Sophie continued to teach each of us ...continue to plead God's case.
Her shock of thick red hair gone, she radiated, slurred speech and all as she answered questions posed by her children and husband. It's hard not to cry now as I share this. Her oldest daughter asked her what she thought of all that was happening as she lay in her hospital bed. "Miraculous, it's so miraculous. God is so good and generous. I've prayed for this, that my family would all be together in faith and we are. And now God wants each of you to go out and evangelize your faith to others." She went on "I pray you all become great saints, but not too great, because I don't want you to suffer, that's too hard for a mother to watch." They asked her questions about the Eucharist and confession and she answered all of them keeping them central in life. Asked about her main philosophy, what is most important in life, she answered "gaining Heaven ...it's the most important thing. It's all about getting to Heaven." Sophie ...everything has always been about God and Heaven, mothering, family ...bringing as many souls as we can to God.
Remarkable.
I looked at those kids as I waited and remembered the prayers we'd been asked to offer on their behalf over the years. I wished for that time back, to sit tight with each other, praying for all our kids ...praying their way to heaven.
I remember bumping into Sophie a few months after Phoebe died. We were both in Michael's craft store. And there in a little aisle we cried and prayed. I'd been told that Phoebe could quite possibly be in hell because of how she died and I carried that like a brick wall, so fearful. Someone I had deeply trusted told me this and I couldn't escape it. No matter what others said, even priests, this thought weighed heaviest. I pleaded with God to put me there and take Phoebe with Him. Out of my mind with grief, I could not dismiss the fear that had been offered. I cried that out to Sophie, surrounded by paintbrushes. In her way, Sophie shook her head, adamant Phoebe was a child. "She's a child Carolyn. I know Phoebe, she had no idea what she was doing ...no idea! And it could have been my kid, or anyone elses for that matter. Whoever tells you she could be in hell has no idea what they're talking about. Don't pay any attention to it, you HAVE TO trust God. He's BIGGER than all of us. Do you think the God who created her would leave a child in blind moment?" And we parted, me feeling restored and the seeds of hope spreading the tiniest of roots that would grow and take hold. I already loved Sophie, but after that particular exchange, I became eternally grateful to her.
And that's how it would be for me with Sophie, chance meetings, the occasional gathering of families at our houses or elsewhere, drop offs at girls club, camp, adoration, retreats. Our lives were busy, dictated by our dynamic families. And every time I saw her, it was as though an ocean breeze cooled me. And it wasn't often enough.
But as her oldest son shared, her work, her real work, has just begun!
And no doubt, if you've prayed for her at all, she will weave her way into your life and heart, and invite you to join her in saving as many souls, leading everyone to Christ. Maybe not in the magnetic, intense way of Sophie ...but in your own way, the way God asks you to.
Please continue prayers for Sophie... and her family ...and be assured of mine for you!
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O'Lord and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, and the soul of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen
The outpouring that spoke of this truth could be found Thursday as hundreds, maybe thousands even came to say farewell. And again today as Mass was offered for her. The awesome faith that wove its way among so many different people from all walks of life. She was a 'magnificent' woman. Every opportunity she had she spoke of God. And she made her way through obstacles and setbacks while calling all attention to the mighty generosity if God. A witness to the truth of our Savior, Jesus Christ ...and handmaid. For His glory always, not hers!
We stood outside the funeral home Thursday for more than two hours weaving a way through a line that finally brought us inside out of the cold drizzle. We welcomed the warmth of inside after being in 33 degrees outside. And for another hour and a half we slowly moved, passing pictures that spanned a lifetime. We listened, or watched when we could, two videos playing showing each of her nine children interspersed with beautiful holy images and quotes. Sophie continued to teach each of us ...continue to plead God's case.
Her shock of thick red hair gone, she radiated, slurred speech and all as she answered questions posed by her children and husband. It's hard not to cry now as I share this. Her oldest daughter asked her what she thought of all that was happening as she lay in her hospital bed. "Miraculous, it's so miraculous. God is so good and generous. I've prayed for this, that my family would all be together in faith and we are. And now God wants each of you to go out and evangelize your faith to others." She went on "I pray you all become great saints, but not too great, because I don't want you to suffer, that's too hard for a mother to watch." They asked her questions about the Eucharist and confession and she answered all of them keeping them central in life. Asked about her main philosophy, what is most important in life, she answered "gaining Heaven ...it's the most important thing. It's all about getting to Heaven." Sophie ...everything has always been about God and Heaven, mothering, family ...bringing as many souls as we can to God.
Remarkable.
I looked at those kids as I waited and remembered the prayers we'd been asked to offer on their behalf over the years. I wished for that time back, to sit tight with each other, praying for all our kids ...praying their way to heaven.
I remember bumping into Sophie a few months after Phoebe died. We were both in Michael's craft store. And there in a little aisle we cried and prayed. I'd been told that Phoebe could quite possibly be in hell because of how she died and I carried that like a brick wall, so fearful. Someone I had deeply trusted told me this and I couldn't escape it. No matter what others said, even priests, this thought weighed heaviest. I pleaded with God to put me there and take Phoebe with Him. Out of my mind with grief, I could not dismiss the fear that had been offered. I cried that out to Sophie, surrounded by paintbrushes. In her way, Sophie shook her head, adamant Phoebe was a child. "She's a child Carolyn. I know Phoebe, she had no idea what she was doing ...no idea! And it could have been my kid, or anyone elses for that matter. Whoever tells you she could be in hell has no idea what they're talking about. Don't pay any attention to it, you HAVE TO trust God. He's BIGGER than all of us. Do you think the God who created her would leave a child in blind moment?" And we parted, me feeling restored and the seeds of hope spreading the tiniest of roots that would grow and take hold. I already loved Sophie, but after that particular exchange, I became eternally grateful to her.
And that's how it would be for me with Sophie, chance meetings, the occasional gathering of families at our houses or elsewhere, drop offs at girls club, camp, adoration, retreats. Our lives were busy, dictated by our dynamic families. And every time I saw her, it was as though an ocean breeze cooled me. And it wasn't often enough.
But as her oldest son shared, her work, her real work, has just begun!
And no doubt, if you've prayed for her at all, she will weave her way into your life and heart, and invite you to join her in saving as many souls, leading everyone to Christ. Maybe not in the magnetic, intense way of Sophie ...but in your own way, the way God asks you to.
Please continue prayers for Sophie... and her family ...and be assured of mine for you!
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O'Lord and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, and the soul of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Well done, dear Sophie
Our dear friend
Sophie's obituary
Thank you for all your prayers for Sophie and her family.
They are a remarkable group of faith-filled people.
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O'Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
Sophie's obituary
Thank you for all your prayers for Sophie and her family.
They are a remarkable group of faith-filled people.
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O'Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
Monday, April 6, 2015
Handmaid VII
Sophie passed into the arms of Our Lord today.
Thank you for your prayers for her, please continue to pray for her and her family as they strive to bring the message of love, compassion and salvation ...even through their grief.
We've all kept tabs with each other and as I spoke with a friend just moments before we heard, we laughed and considered that Sophie's lingering was perhaps due to her gathering as many souls as she could from Purgatory so she could stand before God and plead on their behalf. "Dear God, you know if they'd just been given better formation they would have done so many wonderful things. Just look at the size of their heart, they're truly, truly people who desire to serve You." We imagined how many battles she was fighting for the most remote, forgotten souls. Because that's who Sophie was and is ...a fighter for Christ.
She is a remarkable soul ...radiant in her burning passion and desire to bring as many as she could to Christ.
Hidden, and unburdened by the desire for human respect, she waged a mighty war against a culture that consumes and misleads so many.
Passionate in her quest to defend and save the unborn.
Passionate in her quest to spread the truth of the Eucharist
Passionate in her quest to spread the true meaning of marriage and the welcoming of children
Passionate in her quest to bring souls to reconcile with and before God
Passionate in her compassion to reach the most hardened heart
Passionate in her compassion for all those who suffered
She leaves behind a trail burned by her love and her fight for all of us.
She sought no limelight, no public appearances, no popularity
Where she drew attention she deflected to others, she took credit for nothing
If I could be a fraction of the woman Sophie is ...I will be blessed.
And I am blessed to know her.
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O' Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Thank you for your prayers for her, please continue to pray for her and her family as they strive to bring the message of love, compassion and salvation ...even through their grief.
We've all kept tabs with each other and as I spoke with a friend just moments before we heard, we laughed and considered that Sophie's lingering was perhaps due to her gathering as many souls as she could from Purgatory so she could stand before God and plead on their behalf. "Dear God, you know if they'd just been given better formation they would have done so many wonderful things. Just look at the size of their heart, they're truly, truly people who desire to serve You." We imagined how many battles she was fighting for the most remote, forgotten souls. Because that's who Sophie was and is ...a fighter for Christ.
She is a remarkable soul ...radiant in her burning passion and desire to bring as many as she could to Christ.
Hidden, and unburdened by the desire for human respect, she waged a mighty war against a culture that consumes and misleads so many.
Passionate in her quest to defend and save the unborn.
Passionate in her quest to spread the truth of the Eucharist
Passionate in her quest to spread the true meaning of marriage and the welcoming of children
Passionate in her quest to bring souls to reconcile with and before God
Passionate in her compassion to reach the most hardened heart
Passionate in her compassion for all those who suffered
She leaves behind a trail burned by her love and her fight for all of us.
She sought no limelight, no public appearances, no popularity
Where she drew attention she deflected to others, she took credit for nothing
If I could be a fraction of the woman Sophie is ...I will be blessed.
And I am blessed to know her.
Eternal rest grant unto Sophie O' Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul and the soul of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Handmaid VI
It's like holding your breath ... waiting for the passing.
But maybe things will change. Prayers continue and we truly don't know the time or place ...and often not the circumstances.
I've combed through pictures in an effort to establish some type of order for my kids. We have piles and piles of photographs. I came across several of this special group of women, picnicing on the lawn one May. We'd just prayed the rosary after our chaotic pilgrimage from parking lot to the beautiful statue of Blessed Mother. The shock of bright red hair slowed me as I looked at the smiling face, just short of a giggle. Little ones all around us. It was indeed good to look at my friend and remember.
Sophie covers a lot of ground. In a quiet, one on one way she spreads her love of God and urges everyone she meets to turn their face towards Him. A few nights back I met with my two oldest friends. One had flown in for a quick visit. They'd met Sophie when Phoebe died and remembered her. Her hair made her stand out, but what they recalled was her obvious faith, her devotion and confidence in God and her great love of the Blessed Mother. She shared it with my two friends, searching for answers, so beautifully without passing any sense of judgment on them. And sometimes, when we are trying to be faithful and good and right ...we can really come across in a way that makes people feel judged and convicted. I've felt that too sometimes ...and I know I've probably made others experience that with me, which I wish wasn't true. But Sophie never makes people feel that way and which my friends voiced.
Sometimes people cover a lot of ground as a very public witness. Maybe some of you know of this woman, Kara Tippets, who's own recent passing was expected, but evidenced such grace and trust in the eternal.
She's been a powerful witness to suffering and death. And she'd voiced a beautiful plea to the young woman who chose her death this past fall. Grab a cup of tea, and ponder, and read.
Losing Phoebe has been a painful and difficult walk for sure ...each day. But faith offers an extraordinary opportunity to take each step forward ...whether towards life, or towards death ...trusting in the promise of eternity with Christ.
Death is never easy for those left behind, and suffering towards death is difficult and painful to watch. But if we can wrap our minds just a bit, and open our hearts ...we don't have to be afraid.
Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, Christ enters Jerusalem, and for that one day, even the demons are subdued, unable to prompt and tempt people to hate Him. Great praise and welcome are offered. Palms are waved and laid on the ground in honor of his entrance. ...and we know the story. There is no Resurrection without the Crucifixion ...
Blessings to you, and please continue your prayers.
But maybe things will change. Prayers continue and we truly don't know the time or place ...and often not the circumstances.
I've combed through pictures in an effort to establish some type of order for my kids. We have piles and piles of photographs. I came across several of this special group of women, picnicing on the lawn one May. We'd just prayed the rosary after our chaotic pilgrimage from parking lot to the beautiful statue of Blessed Mother. The shock of bright red hair slowed me as I looked at the smiling face, just short of a giggle. Little ones all around us. It was indeed good to look at my friend and remember.
Sophie covers a lot of ground. In a quiet, one on one way she spreads her love of God and urges everyone she meets to turn their face towards Him. A few nights back I met with my two oldest friends. One had flown in for a quick visit. They'd met Sophie when Phoebe died and remembered her. Her hair made her stand out, but what they recalled was her obvious faith, her devotion and confidence in God and her great love of the Blessed Mother. She shared it with my two friends, searching for answers, so beautifully without passing any sense of judgment on them. And sometimes, when we are trying to be faithful and good and right ...we can really come across in a way that makes people feel judged and convicted. I've felt that too sometimes ...and I know I've probably made others experience that with me, which I wish wasn't true. But Sophie never makes people feel that way and which my friends voiced.
Sometimes people cover a lot of ground as a very public witness. Maybe some of you know of this woman, Kara Tippets, who's own recent passing was expected, but evidenced such grace and trust in the eternal.
She's been a powerful witness to suffering and death. And she'd voiced a beautiful plea to the young woman who chose her death this past fall. Grab a cup of tea, and ponder, and read.
Losing Phoebe has been a painful and difficult walk for sure ...each day. But faith offers an extraordinary opportunity to take each step forward ...whether towards life, or towards death ...trusting in the promise of eternity with Christ.
Death is never easy for those left behind, and suffering towards death is difficult and painful to watch. But if we can wrap our minds just a bit, and open our hearts ...we don't have to be afraid.
Tomorrow, Palm Sunday, Christ enters Jerusalem, and for that one day, even the demons are subdued, unable to prompt and tempt people to hate Him. Great praise and welcome are offered. Palms are waved and laid on the ground in honor of his entrance. ...and we know the story. There is no Resurrection without the Crucifixion ...
Blessings to you, and please continue your prayers.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Annunciation
This beautiful feast day ...Feast of the Annunciation! The day Mary said 'yes' to the angel Gabriel, inviting her to accept her call to give birth to Christ. A mere human, she was infused with an understanding that she is nothing without God. And she witnessed this when she said yes!
No one knows when they will die; no one knows when someone they love will die.
Isn't death a peculiar thing?!
The process of dying can be long and hard. And it can take multiple forms.
Our friend Sophie is hard at work, soul work, as she approaches her time. Keep praying.
We wait for updates, and we pray for her abundant family, for them to find peace.
My whole life is a struggle of saying yes or no to God. That's really what it comes down to!
It's so easy to say 'yes' to the good things ...everything that affirms and confirms is welcomed with a great big 'yes'!
But the hard things, the undesired, the shameful, the disappointing ...those are so difficult to say yes to. And I try every which way to not say yes, while convincing myself that I am indeed saying it.
Sophie said yes! And she's shown so so many people how to accept and carry the task God offers to us.
This morning, I thought about this day, this feast. And then I quickly thought about Sophie ...and all the yeses I got to witness her saying and accepting.
It's a hopeful day really. It's really the day our redemption took physical form ...the day the Word was made flesh. It's a beautiful day.
Please continue praying for Sophie and her family.
And I will offer prayers for you!
No one knows when they will die; no one knows when someone they love will die.
Isn't death a peculiar thing?!
The process of dying can be long and hard. And it can take multiple forms.
Our friend Sophie is hard at work, soul work, as she approaches her time. Keep praying.
We wait for updates, and we pray for her abundant family, for them to find peace.
My whole life is a struggle of saying yes or no to God. That's really what it comes down to!
It's so easy to say 'yes' to the good things ...everything that affirms and confirms is welcomed with a great big 'yes'!
But the hard things, the undesired, the shameful, the disappointing ...those are so difficult to say yes to. And I try every which way to not say yes, while convincing myself that I am indeed saying it.
Sophie said yes! And she's shown so so many people how to accept and carry the task God offers to us.
This morning, I thought about this day, this feast. And then I quickly thought about Sophie ...and all the yeses I got to witness her saying and accepting.
It's a hopeful day really. It's really the day our redemption took physical form ...the day the Word was made flesh. It's a beautiful day.
Please continue praying for Sophie and her family.
And I will offer prayers for you!
Saturday, March 21, 2015
Handmaids V
Sophie's family have invited us to pray the Seven Sorrows of Mary rosary in union with them.
http://www.themostholyrosary.com/appendix1.htm
Each Sorrow is started with an Our Father, followed by seven Hail Mary's.
She is a beautiful witness in her willingness to accept and live out God's will for her.
Please continue to pray. Thank you for each and every one offered.
http://www.themostholyrosary.com/appendix1.htm
Each Sorrow is started with an Our Father, followed by seven Hail Mary's.
She is a beautiful witness in her willingness to accept and live out God's will for her.
Please continue to pray. Thank you for each and every one offered.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Handmaids IV
One soul. The power of one soul.
We are praying for a miracle ...the miracle is in our midst. One soul. Sophie's passion is for one soul ...at a time.
Her one soul, convicted by God's truth, is moving mountains.
One soul, one lost, lonely, proud, greedy, selfish (you name the sin) is why Christ died on the Cross.
To save one soul. He died for just me ...just you ...just your enemy ...just one soul. He died for all of us, but just each of us too!
Sophie is one soul ...but a soul driven by her passion to love and serve God and bring every other soul closer to or returned to God.
And that is the passion of one soul, the power of one soul.
Imagine a bunch of teenage girls, different groups, bumping into each other at a local Panera, miles away from the town Sophie lives, spreading the word there is Mass tomorrow for Sophie before school. "I'll be there, I'll let everyone know!"
Imagine people who've never held a set of beads, pray the rosary for the first time, unafraid of not knowing how to.
Imagine people, away from God, witnessing men, women and children praising God, sad but joyful, knowing Sophie is a witness to Him
Imagine an ardent atheist, joining hands and pleading to our Heavenly Father for Sophie.
Imagine people, unaware, woken for the first time to learn of Our Lady of Guadalupe and her protection of the unborn.
Imagine someone, cynical about large Catholic families, witness nine children leading and praying the rosary, all of them like any other kid from any other family ...except for faith.
Imagine a home filled with shoes and backpacks, sporting equipment ...and a priest in a corner hearing confessions
Imagine ...what one soul ...has done!
Here is the miracle. No matter what happens ...the miracle has happened. One soul has grown faith beyond measure.
One soul has set an example for each one of us. One soul ...that's all it takes to move mountains, to bring others back to God!
On this great feast of the silent Saint Joseph, may we pray for his intercession.
Please pray!
We are praying for a miracle ...the miracle is in our midst. One soul. Sophie's passion is for one soul ...at a time.
Her one soul, convicted by God's truth, is moving mountains.
One soul, one lost, lonely, proud, greedy, selfish (you name the sin) is why Christ died on the Cross.
To save one soul. He died for just me ...just you ...just your enemy ...just one soul. He died for all of us, but just each of us too!
Sophie is one soul ...but a soul driven by her passion to love and serve God and bring every other soul closer to or returned to God.
And that is the passion of one soul, the power of one soul.
Imagine a bunch of teenage girls, different groups, bumping into each other at a local Panera, miles away from the town Sophie lives, spreading the word there is Mass tomorrow for Sophie before school. "I'll be there, I'll let everyone know!"
Imagine people who've never held a set of beads, pray the rosary for the first time, unafraid of not knowing how to.
Imagine people, away from God, witnessing men, women and children praising God, sad but joyful, knowing Sophie is a witness to Him
Imagine an ardent atheist, joining hands and pleading to our Heavenly Father for Sophie.
Imagine people, unaware, woken for the first time to learn of Our Lady of Guadalupe and her protection of the unborn.
Imagine someone, cynical about large Catholic families, witness nine children leading and praying the rosary, all of them like any other kid from any other family ...except for faith.
Imagine a home filled with shoes and backpacks, sporting equipment ...and a priest in a corner hearing confessions
Imagine ...what one soul ...has done!
Here is the miracle. No matter what happens ...the miracle has happened. One soul has grown faith beyond measure.
One soul has set an example for each one of us. One soul ...that's all it takes to move mountains, to bring others back to God!
On this great feast of the silent Saint Joseph, may we pray for his intercession.
Please pray!
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Handmaids III
Keep praying ...
Sophie is still with us, and we are all praying for miracle ...
No matter the outcome here ... miracles are happening, conversions are happening, Truth is weaving its way into hardened hearts ...God is good, answering each prayer, responding to every opening. May give each of us the grace to see His hand at work.
Tomorrow is the feast of St. Joseph, a quiet, unassuming man. His intercession is powerful. Ask for it!
Mass is being offered tomorrow for Phoebe at 6:30AM on this feast day.
Mass is being offered Friday for Sophie at 6:30AM. A time when kids can go before school. My daughter asked for this to happen ...
If you're in the area, join us if you can. If you're in the area but can't join us, or if you're from out of the area, join us in prayer.
St. Padre Pio said the greatest weapon is the rosary.
He also said the world could survive without the sun more easily than it could without the Mass.
Offer a spiritual communion for your intentions and for Sophie
Sophie is still with us, and we are all praying for miracle ...
No matter the outcome here ... miracles are happening, conversions are happening, Truth is weaving its way into hardened hearts ...God is good, answering each prayer, responding to every opening. May give each of us the grace to see His hand at work.
Tomorrow is the feast of St. Joseph, a quiet, unassuming man. His intercession is powerful. Ask for it!
Mass is being offered tomorrow for Phoebe at 6:30AM on this feast day.
Mass is being offered Friday for Sophie at 6:30AM. A time when kids can go before school. My daughter asked for this to happen ...
If you're in the area, join us if you can. If you're in the area but can't join us, or if you're from out of the area, join us in prayer.
St. Padre Pio said the greatest weapon is the rosary.
He also said the world could survive without the sun more easily than it could without the Mass.
Offer a spiritual communion for your intentions and for Sophie
Act of Spiritual Communion
O Immaculate Queen of Heaven and Earth, Mother of God and Mediatrix of every grace: I believe that Thy dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, is truly, really, and substantially contained in the Most Blessed Sacrament. I love Him above all things and I long to receive Him into my heart. Since I cannot now receive Him sacramentally, be so good as to place Him spiritually in my soul.
O my Jesus, I embrace Thee as One who has already come, and I unite myself entirely to Thee. Never permit me to be separated from Thee. Amen.
O my Jesus, I embrace Thee as One who has already come, and I unite myself entirely to Thee. Never permit me to be separated from Thee. Amen.
You remain in my prayers ...thank you for all of yours!
Monday, March 16, 2015
Handmaids II
Hi there!
If you have not read the post just prior to this one, please read it first, as this is its continuation.
So let me tell you about last night!
If you're not from around here (the Boston area) you may not know that we broke the snow record last night! Which means, people traveled in droves to pray for Sophie in really awful weather along terrible roads.
People were undeterred and we parked in her neighborhood, tramped through the snow, all drawn and called to beg Heaven for prayers.
By the time we arrived, the house was packed shoulder to shoulder. So we stood in her garage, just beneath her, joining hundreds of people praying the rosary!
St. Padre Pio said that the rosary is the greatest weapon!
We were lucky enough to find the shelter of the garage, while many others were out in the falling snow. Something tells me no one minded a few snowflakes in their hair.
We would not see Sophie, and my daughter, Lucy would not see her friend, one of Sophie's daughters.
That was okay, because the sheer power of prayer and lit candles assured everyone that Heaven would hear us and was even present in our midst.
Sophie has nine children. She is a wife, mother, nurse, friend ...and fierce promoter and defender of Christ.
The rosary has long been her weapon.
Years ago, when her first daughter headed off to a Catholic high school (the one I graduated from) she started a rosary group. We heard the baby steps it took to get it going. She didn't get much (if any) support from the administration. But, true to Sophie's spirit, she plugged along. Today that chapel, where she would pray the rosary, sometimes alone, in that school, was packed full of people praying for her. It took a long, long time, but she got that space filled with prayers to God. And because of who she is, people, who normally wouldn't be praying ...are. They are lifting their voices to God. My daughter just came and told me they will be praying in that chapel every day after school for Sophie. Well done Sophie!
Sophie has lots and lots of friends, and a large, extended family of people who love her. And lots and lots of people have stories to tell about Sophie.
So it isn't my intent to assume a central position in her life ...but on a spiritual level she holds a central position in mine, along with my other mom friends who've prayed together over the years of my own motherhood!
As I drove home tonight, after visiting Sophie and her family, I called one of my friends, unable to make it to visit her dying friend. The ride home was a remembrance of that group and that bond ...and what Sophie brought to our group. My friend reminded me of some of the stories Sophie had shared, and I reminded her of others. And though we remember different lessons we learned from the 'mom' stories she told, what we both remembered is Sophie's passion.
I got to spend time with Sophie tonight and tell her I love her and how blessed I am that she's been in my life. Its been years since we all gathered every other Monday to learn about our faith and share our struggles. But while the time of that group passed away, the bond of that group did not. I could call any one of them, out of the blue, and it would be as if we had just visited an hour before.
Why is this group so central to my life, such a core of who I am and what my life is about? Certainly I know other women of strong abiding faith, women who are an incredible witness to God's truth ...defenders of the unborn, spreaders of the rosary, vital members of their faith communities. So why this group?
And it is a shared perspective from all of us that there is something unique. Together we gave birth, we raised, we buried, we accepted, we forgave, we celebrated and we mourned.
When I pulled into my driveway, I paused for one more consideration. I knew my girls would pepper me with questions about Sophie and her family. These teenage girls of mine were central to that group too. Memories are burned of moms and kids laughing and sharing, praying and picnicing. What was it that bonded us so much?
And then it came to me as I remembered my friends comment. "No one was afraid to be imperfect!"
That's it. Together we didn't hide our mistakes, or concerns, over reactions ...we were ourselves. All. the. time. It was real.
Of course I've spent time with others in prayer, very meaningful and important. But when I think about it, there was not much room to be imperfect as a group of people. There were unrealistic standards silently imposed. If you fell asleep praying the rosary you failed to say it. If your kids were unruly during night prayer you hadn't taught them character ...yada yada yada. And no one person imposes this, rather it can become a collective expectation (shh, no one is brave enough to utter our weakness! including me!) In truth, no one is perfect, no matter how much we might pose! But more, when we pose like that, we shut down the possibility of finding God ...why would we have to if we've already arrived! I need God so so much! Because I am so terribly imperfect. Just ask around!
So back to this group, we were all desperate ...and continue to be ...for God. We start over every day! and with each other, we were and are not afraid to say it. Oh, and our kids aren't perfect! But they are all extremely lovable and bring tons of joy to us. Even still, they make us want to pull our hair out, because growing up isn't a neat straight line!
In this group, anyone of us could have lost a child! Any one of us might have lost Phoebe. From them flowed a lifeboat of compassion that has been a big part of keeping me and all of us afloat. They share the sorrow.
And then, Sophie, along with other moms from this group, picked the roses from Phoebe's grave, and it was Sophie who had them made into a rosary. The rosary travels with me in my car. Sometimes I can't pray the rosary and I just hold it. It has been there with me now nearly four years. Its a treasure to me; a link to where Phoebe is.
Tonight, I got to hold it with Sophie. I told her it would be a relic since it was touching a saint! Barely able to speak she responded "oh, I don't know about that!". But I do.
Self deprecating, relentless, unyielding to the pressures of the world ...Sophie.
Please keep praying for her, for her family.
And I will remember you as well
If you have not read the post just prior to this one, please read it first, as this is its continuation.
So let me tell you about last night!
If you're not from around here (the Boston area) you may not know that we broke the snow record last night! Which means, people traveled in droves to pray for Sophie in really awful weather along terrible roads.
People were undeterred and we parked in her neighborhood, tramped through the snow, all drawn and called to beg Heaven for prayers.
By the time we arrived, the house was packed shoulder to shoulder. So we stood in her garage, just beneath her, joining hundreds of people praying the rosary!
St. Padre Pio said that the rosary is the greatest weapon!
We were lucky enough to find the shelter of the garage, while many others were out in the falling snow. Something tells me no one minded a few snowflakes in their hair.
We would not see Sophie, and my daughter, Lucy would not see her friend, one of Sophie's daughters.
That was okay, because the sheer power of prayer and lit candles assured everyone that Heaven would hear us and was even present in our midst.
Sophie has nine children. She is a wife, mother, nurse, friend ...and fierce promoter and defender of Christ.
The rosary has long been her weapon.
Years ago, when her first daughter headed off to a Catholic high school (the one I graduated from) she started a rosary group. We heard the baby steps it took to get it going. She didn't get much (if any) support from the administration. But, true to Sophie's spirit, she plugged along. Today that chapel, where she would pray the rosary, sometimes alone, in that school, was packed full of people praying for her. It took a long, long time, but she got that space filled with prayers to God. And because of who she is, people, who normally wouldn't be praying ...are. They are lifting their voices to God. My daughter just came and told me they will be praying in that chapel every day after school for Sophie. Well done Sophie!
Sophie has lots and lots of friends, and a large, extended family of people who love her. And lots and lots of people have stories to tell about Sophie.
So it isn't my intent to assume a central position in her life ...but on a spiritual level she holds a central position in mine, along with my other mom friends who've prayed together over the years of my own motherhood!
As I drove home tonight, after visiting Sophie and her family, I called one of my friends, unable to make it to visit her dying friend. The ride home was a remembrance of that group and that bond ...and what Sophie brought to our group. My friend reminded me of some of the stories Sophie had shared, and I reminded her of others. And though we remember different lessons we learned from the 'mom' stories she told, what we both remembered is Sophie's passion.
I got to spend time with Sophie tonight and tell her I love her and how blessed I am that she's been in my life. Its been years since we all gathered every other Monday to learn about our faith and share our struggles. But while the time of that group passed away, the bond of that group did not. I could call any one of them, out of the blue, and it would be as if we had just visited an hour before.
Why is this group so central to my life, such a core of who I am and what my life is about? Certainly I know other women of strong abiding faith, women who are an incredible witness to God's truth ...defenders of the unborn, spreaders of the rosary, vital members of their faith communities. So why this group?
And it is a shared perspective from all of us that there is something unique. Together we gave birth, we raised, we buried, we accepted, we forgave, we celebrated and we mourned.
When I pulled into my driveway, I paused for one more consideration. I knew my girls would pepper me with questions about Sophie and her family. These teenage girls of mine were central to that group too. Memories are burned of moms and kids laughing and sharing, praying and picnicing. What was it that bonded us so much?
And then it came to me as I remembered my friends comment. "No one was afraid to be imperfect!"
That's it. Together we didn't hide our mistakes, or concerns, over reactions ...we were ourselves. All. the. time. It was real.
Of course I've spent time with others in prayer, very meaningful and important. But when I think about it, there was not much room to be imperfect as a group of people. There were unrealistic standards silently imposed. If you fell asleep praying the rosary you failed to say it. If your kids were unruly during night prayer you hadn't taught them character ...yada yada yada. And no one person imposes this, rather it can become a collective expectation (shh, no one is brave enough to utter our weakness! including me!) In truth, no one is perfect, no matter how much we might pose! But more, when we pose like that, we shut down the possibility of finding God ...why would we have to if we've already arrived! I need God so so much! Because I am so terribly imperfect. Just ask around!
So back to this group, we were all desperate ...and continue to be ...for God. We start over every day! and with each other, we were and are not afraid to say it. Oh, and our kids aren't perfect! But they are all extremely lovable and bring tons of joy to us. Even still, they make us want to pull our hair out, because growing up isn't a neat straight line!
In this group, anyone of us could have lost a child! Any one of us might have lost Phoebe. From them flowed a lifeboat of compassion that has been a big part of keeping me and all of us afloat. They share the sorrow.
And then, Sophie, along with other moms from this group, picked the roses from Phoebe's grave, and it was Sophie who had them made into a rosary. The rosary travels with me in my car. Sometimes I can't pray the rosary and I just hold it. It has been there with me now nearly four years. Its a treasure to me; a link to where Phoebe is.
Tonight, I got to hold it with Sophie. I told her it would be a relic since it was touching a saint! Barely able to speak she responded "oh, I don't know about that!". But I do.
Self deprecating, relentless, unyielding to the pressures of the world ...Sophie.
Please keep praying for her, for her family.
And I will remember you as well
Sunday, March 15, 2015
Handmaids
In the traditional prayers of the Catholic Church (which are my preferred!) we pray for servants (men) and/or handmaids (women). Now we all know this is so politically incorrect it'll cause tomatoes to fly through the air; but I don't really care, because things are a lot different in God's world than they are in the secular. Hence the title!
I have several posts I never publish because I can't edit or polish them to how I want them to be.mostly, or just because. So this one isn't going to be a draft. It'll go from keyboard to publish, unedited, because it is that urgent.
In a recent post, just past Christmas, I wrote about a group of women who have been pivotal in my life before Phoebe died, but even more so after. They are women I don't see regularly, but are a foundational piece of who I am and how I continue with the struggle to raise a Catholic family in a world quite openly hostile to that. Without them, I probably would have packed up and left a long time ago. And they are all handmaids for God.
One of the handmaids, my friend Sophie, is dying! And she needs a miracle!
I'd seen her just before Christmas, and she described to me what seemed a miracle already. She'd been very sick, and we were all praying ..and prayers were answered. I saw and chatted with my old friend as we usually did ...racing the clock, covering many miles in a brief, unexpected meeting. Together we gave thanks for what seemed a complete healing.
She recently took a sharp turn and she is in urgent need of prayer, and I'm trying to get as many people as I can to beg Heaven for her.
Tonight there is a candlelight prayer vigil at her home with her family. Please join us!
Let me tell you a little about Sophie.
She is a warrior for Christ! She is one who is never afraid to mention His name, never afraid to be alienated or mocked for defending him. Everywhere she went, she spoke of Christ ...everywhere.
Her life is full, and she never asked for a stitch of attention or accolades. Her calendar, her obligations were overflowing yet she always had time to listen, to share and to spread the possibility of God in your life.
She has red hair and a feisty passion that speaks of the reality of being a mother to a large family and striving to serve God through all of it. If you went to her home, or she to yours you'd likely find a saint medal tucked inside a pocket. She wants everyone protected. In short, she's not a dabbler.
She spoke regularly of her imperfection, her need for God's forgiveness and mercy, and her need to seek His will at every turn. She never considered herself above or beyond anyone.
Personally, she has helped me become the mother I am today with her humility and honesty and unrelenting trust and hope that God will guide us through.
At 7PM we will gather tonight.
Prayers are not bound by time! So pray, any time you read this ...pray for her and for her family.
Knowing the life of this handmaid, there is spiritual power to be released regardless the outcome and that can all be used for the good to serve God, to change lives and bring souls closer to their Creator.
Let's all be united in prayer to beg Sophie's healing and in Thanksgiving for all the blessings God offers us.
I have several posts I never publish because I can't edit or polish them to how I want them to be.mostly, or just because. So this one isn't going to be a draft. It'll go from keyboard to publish, unedited, because it is that urgent.
In a recent post, just past Christmas, I wrote about a group of women who have been pivotal in my life before Phoebe died, but even more so after. They are women I don't see regularly, but are a foundational piece of who I am and how I continue with the struggle to raise a Catholic family in a world quite openly hostile to that. Without them, I probably would have packed up and left a long time ago. And they are all handmaids for God.
One of the handmaids, my friend Sophie, is dying! And she needs a miracle!
I'd seen her just before Christmas, and she described to me what seemed a miracle already. She'd been very sick, and we were all praying ..and prayers were answered. I saw and chatted with my old friend as we usually did ...racing the clock, covering many miles in a brief, unexpected meeting. Together we gave thanks for what seemed a complete healing.
She recently took a sharp turn and she is in urgent need of prayer, and I'm trying to get as many people as I can to beg Heaven for her.
Tonight there is a candlelight prayer vigil at her home with her family. Please join us!
Let me tell you a little about Sophie.
She is a warrior for Christ! She is one who is never afraid to mention His name, never afraid to be alienated or mocked for defending him. Everywhere she went, she spoke of Christ ...everywhere.
Her life is full, and she never asked for a stitch of attention or accolades. Her calendar, her obligations were overflowing yet she always had time to listen, to share and to spread the possibility of God in your life.
She has red hair and a feisty passion that speaks of the reality of being a mother to a large family and striving to serve God through all of it. If you went to her home, or she to yours you'd likely find a saint medal tucked inside a pocket. She wants everyone protected. In short, she's not a dabbler.
She spoke regularly of her imperfection, her need for God's forgiveness and mercy, and her need to seek His will at every turn. She never considered herself above or beyond anyone.
Personally, she has helped me become the mother I am today with her humility and honesty and unrelenting trust and hope that God will guide us through.
At 7PM we will gather tonight.
Prayers are not bound by time! So pray, any time you read this ...pray for her and for her family.
Knowing the life of this handmaid, there is spiritual power to be released regardless the outcome and that can all be used for the good to serve God, to change lives and bring souls closer to their Creator.
Let's all be united in prayer to beg Sophie's healing and in Thanksgiving for all the blessings God offers us.
Monday, February 9, 2015
When the Mighty Fall
I lifted the phone and dialed. A call I didn't want to make since I sensed it wouldn't tell me what I wanted to hear. The day had already started hard. One child trapped far from home due to snow had hopefully made it home safely. And as I stumbled to confirm he was indeed safe, I discovered the train he took to work each day had a fire during his commute time. Not being a parent ...and just being young, he navigated his stressful morning without letting me know he was okay. I have triggers ...more than most, I think, because I've already lost one ...am all too familiar it can happen. When he finally responded, I soared. But that energy that ties me in knots still lingered. I wanted to weep ...in gratitude ...in memory. So later after I knew my son was safe I picked up messages on my office phone. As I listened to the familiar voice, and the sparse message, I'd already been primed for sad news.
The work I do is a privilege. I walk the shoreline with people whose lives have been long, but are now winding down. They know this, and so do I. I've learned a lot from these seasoned folks, and over time we learn each other's ways ...and we become friends. I like our elderly and I like to think I have great appreciation for them and the lives they've lived. From them I glean hope and joy ...and I witness a love that takes decades to grow. A love that has weathered twists and turns, the unexpected joy and gloom life brings. And though I do the best I can for each one, some pull the heartstrings a little bit tighter and a little bit closer. So I didn't want to return that call, but I did.
Walking that line ...being the professional and being the friend, maintaining your proper place ...giving family space ...can challenge. I fight back my own tears as I hear the inevitable ...he will not make it home. On the phone, I listen and smile because yes of course the personality would remain vibrant, and of course it would not be the mind, or the passion, or the sheer might that would falter ...it would be the body, the shelter for here. Earthbound has its limits ...we give out, or give up. Life here ends.
It's a matter of time, maybe one more rally, one more football game ...just one more.
Every time I am near death I think of Phoebe ...and I think about God and His graciousness.
My friend fought, as we all knew he would, for a few days. Selfishly, it was enough time for me to tell him how much he'd taught me, how much he inspired me ...and how much I loved him. And it was enough time to ask Phoebe to greet this great man and let him know again just how much her mom had grown to love him, and grow to be so grateful he'd touched her life. It is in giving that we receive ...and I received so much from him.
And then he passed, in the deep of night. God's grace wrapped him I'm sure. I was able to rise and pull out our beautiful Catholic prayers for the dying, pleading his case. It may seem a small thing, but it is a gift we can so easily give to each other. Prayer. And more prayer.
This was a mighty man. He was no captain of industry, he had no awards hanging on the wall, his home was small and tidy, he drove a modest car, lived a humble life. He was content, and satisfied with what he was given. That is not a common quality today, but it always draws me in because it's how I strive to be too.
As a nurse, he challenged me. He set up hard boundaries. It took time to gain his trust, but once I did, we worked with how he was and who he was, and I like to believe he knew I respected his choices. We had honest conversations, without conflict, both holding our ground. End of life issues are real and difficult, and they are often not black and white. Hard choices never had to be made, he was able to slip away ...probably just how he wished.
His family told me they wished I had known him before his illness. And I listened to their stories ....they knew he was a great man. To step into anyone's life, at any time is a gift. And there are meant to be only moments shared sometimes, or brief friendships that leave a mark before dissolving, or relationships fraught with difficulty and tension, or symbiotic friendships that bolster and share ...all types. Each one, each moment, each span of time is a gift meant for both.
Phoebe's death has given me that view, that nothing here is wasted ...no conversation, no altercation, no handshake or laugh is without meaning or purpose for our eternal story. I find it hard to always keep that perspective ...to live that perspective. When I can, gratitude floods me and I know I am a better person in that moment, more like God wants me to be.
For me, stepping into peoples' moments as their earthly life is winding down is pretty special. Some think it's depressing. But if we truly believe death is our return to God, it brings a certain joy to be at that threshold with someone else. Doesn't mean it discounts the pain of loss for others, but it can weave a comfort through the sorrow. If we truly believe.
We leave something behind, a story. I'll revisit my mighty friend's story many times, and remember how through knowing him, I teased out a few things I was wrestling with. He never let on if he knew he was in fact caring for me, teaching me, leading me onward ... he does now, I'm sure.
All of us can see no moment is wasted if we invite God in, allow His grace to weave into our eternal story. That view helps me smile and live in gratitude ...even when I'm sad and missing.
Please pray for my friend and his family ...they are missing a great man!
The work I do is a privilege. I walk the shoreline with people whose lives have been long, but are now winding down. They know this, and so do I. I've learned a lot from these seasoned folks, and over time we learn each other's ways ...and we become friends. I like our elderly and I like to think I have great appreciation for them and the lives they've lived. From them I glean hope and joy ...and I witness a love that takes decades to grow. A love that has weathered twists and turns, the unexpected joy and gloom life brings. And though I do the best I can for each one, some pull the heartstrings a little bit tighter and a little bit closer. So I didn't want to return that call, but I did.
Walking that line ...being the professional and being the friend, maintaining your proper place ...giving family space ...can challenge. I fight back my own tears as I hear the inevitable ...he will not make it home. On the phone, I listen and smile because yes of course the personality would remain vibrant, and of course it would not be the mind, or the passion, or the sheer might that would falter ...it would be the body, the shelter for here. Earthbound has its limits ...we give out, or give up. Life here ends.
It's a matter of time, maybe one more rally, one more football game ...just one more.
Every time I am near death I think of Phoebe ...and I think about God and His graciousness.
My friend fought, as we all knew he would, for a few days. Selfishly, it was enough time for me to tell him how much he'd taught me, how much he inspired me ...and how much I loved him. And it was enough time to ask Phoebe to greet this great man and let him know again just how much her mom had grown to love him, and grow to be so grateful he'd touched her life. It is in giving that we receive ...and I received so much from him.
And then he passed, in the deep of night. God's grace wrapped him I'm sure. I was able to rise and pull out our beautiful Catholic prayers for the dying, pleading his case. It may seem a small thing, but it is a gift we can so easily give to each other. Prayer. And more prayer.
This was a mighty man. He was no captain of industry, he had no awards hanging on the wall, his home was small and tidy, he drove a modest car, lived a humble life. He was content, and satisfied with what he was given. That is not a common quality today, but it always draws me in because it's how I strive to be too.
As a nurse, he challenged me. He set up hard boundaries. It took time to gain his trust, but once I did, we worked with how he was and who he was, and I like to believe he knew I respected his choices. We had honest conversations, without conflict, both holding our ground. End of life issues are real and difficult, and they are often not black and white. Hard choices never had to be made, he was able to slip away ...probably just how he wished.
His family told me they wished I had known him before his illness. And I listened to their stories ....they knew he was a great man. To step into anyone's life, at any time is a gift. And there are meant to be only moments shared sometimes, or brief friendships that leave a mark before dissolving, or relationships fraught with difficulty and tension, or symbiotic friendships that bolster and share ...all types. Each one, each moment, each span of time is a gift meant for both.
Phoebe's death has given me that view, that nothing here is wasted ...no conversation, no altercation, no handshake or laugh is without meaning or purpose for our eternal story. I find it hard to always keep that perspective ...to live that perspective. When I can, gratitude floods me and I know I am a better person in that moment, more like God wants me to be.
For me, stepping into peoples' moments as their earthly life is winding down is pretty special. Some think it's depressing. But if we truly believe death is our return to God, it brings a certain joy to be at that threshold with someone else. Doesn't mean it discounts the pain of loss for others, but it can weave a comfort through the sorrow. If we truly believe.
We leave something behind, a story. I'll revisit my mighty friend's story many times, and remember how through knowing him, I teased out a few things I was wrestling with. He never let on if he knew he was in fact caring for me, teaching me, leading me onward ... he does now, I'm sure.
All of us can see no moment is wasted if we invite God in, allow His grace to weave into our eternal story. That view helps me smile and live in gratitude ...even when I'm sad and missing.
Please pray for my friend and his family ...they are missing a great man!
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