Rambles

There are far more drafts in my folder than published posts.  I write about lots of things, but I hesitate knowing they are incomplete.  Some of those topics are just too close to leave stones unturned.  I write a lot about my kids ...each of them and their own heroism, character ...survival in this sad loss.  But those words stay tucked away.  Though I'd like to share them, I'm asked not to ...and so I don't.  I don't get to sing their praises here.  Just know they are sung often ...for each of them.
Another topic I've written about over and over is teenage suicide ...and that is the toughest because it will never be a good enough piece, thorough enough, helpful enough ...complete.  It will never STOP it from happening ...and I wish it would.
I won't write much here, I've exhausted many of my thoughts for now with reams of words. But I will share a few things that might prompt some thought, some awareness ...and maybe, just maybe help someone.
What gets covered most times are suicides that have a reason.  It's easy to write about a 'cause' and an 'effect'.  If you listen to the most basic news story, you'll hear a specific beginning, middle and end.  It might read something like this.  There was a robbery at local convenience store last night. (beginning).  It happened around 11:20 after the last train for the night dropped off passengers at 11:05PM (middle).  Police have added extra manpower to find and arrest the robber. (end).  We read or hear this and we say oh no, that's scary (beginning).  That makes sense they waited until most people were gone after the train left ...no witnesses. (middle)  Oh, thank goodness the police are on top of this so we are safe. (end).  And then we go to bed, certain everything has returned to normal.
Now take that same premise on stories we hear about teenage suicide.  Bobby died last week by suicide (beginning).  His parents say he was depressed and he was recently cut from the baseball team after tryouts (middle). He was getting help, but sadly he had missed his last appointment (end.)
Cause. Effect. Beginning. Middle. End.
Bobby died by suicide because he was depressed.  Had he not been cut from the team, and had he kept his appointment, he wouldn't have died.  Simple story.  Simple answers.  Notice your child is depressed, don't let your child try out for a team if there's a chance he won't make it, and make sure no appointments get cancelled.  And everything will be fine.
I am simplifying this for sure.  And I am not dismissing that there are many scenarios just like this.  Every suicide is tragic ...whether there are 'signs' or not.
My point is, the vast majority of teen suicides come from nowhere.  They are as predictable as a flat tire.  Which means ...if we could all observe for signs of a flat tire ...no one would ever have one.
Media coverage, school meetings, peer presentations all speak to one thing ...knowable signs that will make suicide preventable.  We all want to believe we have control and that we can prevent our children from dying.
But the raw truth ...the hard truth is this.  Children die by suicide in a five to twenty minute window of despair, fear, sadness, anger ...maybe one of those or all of those at once.  They die by suicide with some indications of teenage angst (which is normal in most), or none.  Or some signs one morning, day or week ...and not the next morning, day or week.  And no one wants to talk about that.  And no one wants to talk about the culture they are trying to grow up in and the unrealistic demands and constraints put on the them to perform at optimum levels in multiple areas. 
I want to start talking about that.  I'm tired of listening to or reading the 'experts' discuss warning signs and things parents can do.  Talk, talk, talk to your kids.  Yes, of course.  Do we really think as adults our teenage children, no matter how close, share their deepest, most vulnerable thoughts?  And do we really believe that even if they would, they'd actually have the words to describe their own inner turmoil and struggle?  Why do we believe there is a simple answer in this incredibly complicated, chaotic world?
People ask me ..."did you hear about this one or that one?"  And these are the suicides that have a beginning, a middle and an end.  Tragic for sure.  I do hear about them ...and I want to, because I want to pray for the children, ask Phoebe to greet them.  And I want to pray for the parents and families and maybe carry some of their burden for them.  But ...I also tune into the unknown, the one's few talk about, or try to by putting information together in an attempt to create an understandable story.  These suicides go hidden, fading from view ...because they don't make any sense.  Just like Phoebe!
And that is where the conversation needs to begin.  Why is this happening?  Why is teenage suicide, talk and glorification of suicide in writing, music, programs, happening more and more?  Why are more teenagers and young adults dying from drug overdoses, car  and other odd accidents?  What is going on in this Godless culture that loves success and things and uses people?  How far we've come from preserving and protecting the sanctity of human life where over 4000 babies are killed every day by abortion, and our own youth risk and end their own lives in staggering numbers like never before.  I'm wondering if anyone has stopped to consider that our teenagers know,deep in their hearts, that nearly 1.5 million of their own peers who would have born the same year as them,  never had the chance to live.  Did you, as an adult, ever wonder why you were spared something your neighbor or friend was not?  Our kids wonder, at a very basic level, how in God's name, so many of their peers never got to see the light of day ...and they did.  That is an enormous burden for this generation of kids to carry.  Its. Too. Much. For. Them.  Dismiss it if you want!  All I ask is that you think about this reality they are forced to carry.
I'm wondering if anyone else out there is seeing the same thing as me?  And I'm wondering if we'll ever have the courage to look ourselves in the eye and see the world we've so boldly and flagrantly taken from God, only to disorder it away from Him.  And I'm wondering if we'll ever have the courage to look God, our beginning and end, in the eye and beg his forgiveness for the legacy we've left our children.
Teenage suicide will not end until God is restored as the center of our world, His world he gifted to us.  Period.
Have a blessed night.

Valentines

Little packages of chocolates make their way into lunches ...tiny tokens reminding them they are loved.  Valentine's Day.  Romantic notions all around us, but really, all types of love bloom outright expression on this day.  Loving our children is intense and constant. Red hearts, chocolates, flowers all say I love you.  I'm not crazy about forced holidays, but why not have one special day where collectively we say I love you.  Maybe it forces us to be a little nicer, a bit more thoughtful ....maybe offer a 'thank you' even, where we haven't before.  Just do something that might warm a heart, bring a smile. And its fun too ...showing someone they are special.
But what if that person isn't here to offer something?  What if that deep yearning to express our love has no place to go? no one to offer it too?  This day, as commercialized as it may be, becomes more poignant and painful for those in their early walk of grief.  Someone who may normally disregard Valentine's day, suddenly is overwhelmed at the inability to express their love for the one they've lost.  It's an odd place to be, that only adds to the confusion of despairing grief.  Pray for these people ...they need to be bolstered in these moments.  Its a harsh reality to watch others freely giving and receiving.  Loneliness can surge at times like this.
Like every other morning, Phoebe is my first thought ...as she is my last every evening.  I gather my six goodies for distribution and imagine her assistance and insistence in helping me.  I had once needed seven little packages. I smile more now thinking of her ...the smiles last longer than the tears.  That comes with time.  But still, I miss her.  I think of those families, parents so new to the absence.  I wince, knowing how hard it is right now.  It won't always be so unbearable ...but they won't believe that yet.  Today I can imagine her alongside me making sure she kept me on track.  She is with me, I know.  But I wonder where she will wink at me ...if she will today.
A new job takes me on the road with another nurse.  More seasoned than I am, she navigates me through.  She has a 'way' I've noticed, a natural ease that allows her in to the most vulnerable places of our charges.  They relax around her ...trusting.  They are safe with her.  I can tell by the way she speaks of them, confirmed again by watching her interact.  There's much for me to learn from this seasoned nurse.  She offers something special here.
She tells me our paths have crossed through mutual friends.  She remembers meeting me when my youngest was just weeks old. I can't place it, but she remembers ...and the details assure me its true.
For some reason in this early working relationship am I 'at rest', and I can't say why.  I will learn though.  Sitting across from each other she tells me of the two she's buried.  She doesn't yet know about Phoebe.  I listen to her tell me and my heart cracks as I take in her loss and release mine.  And then it is her turn to know my own burden.  It is a language of hearts and eyes ...words only share a portion.  We know.  Living in two worlds.
I realize now, this work I'm called to, caring for people in their most vulnerable moments ...when, no matter how much they want to or try, they cannot get up ...they cannot be who they once were.  We both know that burden and struggle ...because we can't be who we once were. We are 'other'.  Like our patients, we glint and gleam our past selves here and there ...but we know we are limping.
I'm struck that it's Valentines day and unexpectedly my heart entwined with another knowing soul.  God is good we say ...because He is, and because he allows winks from Heaven.  Three children looked on as their moms let go and wished them a valentine.  Who could arrange such meetings, on such days?  Only God. It's a small consolation compared to the one we really desire ...reunion with our children.
Our day ends ...and we imagine our children together ...in joy.  She defines grace in carrying her sorrow, her joy from deep within.  Hers is a beacon for me ...leading me forward.  I have much, much to learn.  But the path ahead is clearer, and I have to believe it's a little valentine from that feisty girl.  I found her today holding a lantern at my footsteps, calling me forward ...onward...and I'm glad.
Happy Valentine's Day!

Fleeting

The plan is early to bed.  Often the plan, rarely, if ever, the reality.  Those so many days ago when I said goodbye and knew I wouldn't find Phoebe sitting on my bed late at night...waiting, I promised I would try my best to never miss those moments again.  I sense the quiet settling in and the urge to write pulls me, knowing the great comfort I find in flying my fingers across the keyboard.  But so often, when I want to sit quietly, compose my thoughts into words, and then slip off to bed ...other plans emerge.  First one, just needing to sit close by ...and I pull up a stool and join her, ruffle her hair until she sneaks off to bed.  So maybe now, some time to write ...maybe not.  Another finds me, special treatment, help her with something, quick conversations reviewing the day, the prom months away, pictures shown, plans for tomorrow.  And I shake my head ..yes, and yes, and of course.  A dramatic goodnight, a return assignment ...Mom, make sure you....  I do a final wipe of the counter, switch off lights, let the thoughts flow.  Quiet. Door opens to the kitchen, changing the light.  A new head, hair piled high up on top ...remember you promised ...tonight.  Oh yes, how I'd forgotten.  And we sit and squabble and conflict and resolve ...over and over.  I'm frustrated, worn out ...all I want to do is write.  All I want to do is spend time remembering and finding.  She f.i.n.a.l.l.y. patters off to bed, I think.  And I remember all those nights when there was only one teenage girl with just one other in the wings.  And she reminds me, with gusto, that these moments of juggling, of trying to eek out just a shadow of time for my own thoughts ...are really much more fun when three girls, each resembling her in their own way,  keep knocking.
I sigh deep.  You're here, aren't you?  I whisper.  I promised I wouldn't miss these moments ...and she holds me to that.  She knows me enough to know I won't go back on my word.  I'll follow through imperfectly, but I'll keep my promise, until the end.  They'll remember I was there ...and she helps me do it.  Ever present for my kids, I am one tired out momma ...but these evenings spent can't be recaptured ...and I'm glad they go as they do. 
I'd write every day if I could, and someday, when its my time, I wonder if I'll find a big book with all I've wanted to write captured and preserved. 
I find Phoebe in the ordinary evening with teenage girls parading, demanding, laughing, hugging ....and finally sleeping.  Her sisters ...so much like her that I get to peek at the great missing ...and smile.
Please say a prayer for all the moms and dads missing their precious child ...we need them.

New Friends

There's yarn between us. We talk patterns and yarn. She is far more accomplished than me, but I'm open to marvel and learn.  Kids buzz around us looking and asking.  We tell little stories, exchange observations, talk parenting.  We've shared a few cups of coffee over the past few months.  Mary Claire plays well with her girls.  My older girls babysit.  I see the books on her shelf, we're drawn to common things.  She's years younger.  I'm closer in age to her mother than her, I'm sure.  But I have many friends years older who've added so much richness to my life, it can't be a bad thing.  Friendship blooms regardless of age, culture, education ....hair color!  And I love meeting new people and making new friends, especially when you meet someone you just click with. It's fun getting to know someone, sharing glimpses here and there of who you are, what you're all about.  And its even more fun to unlock the treasure chest of this new friend, learn more, see more, hear more.  I like that!  We get to know each other through our children, witness the little exchanges that outline who we are, what we're all about.  Those things happen naturally and often.
But how do I tell someone that to really know me, you have to know Phoebe. ...and how do I tell someone that my precious Phoebe, my oldest daughter,  is dead? 
Like lots of my friendships our shared time involves our children.  With long time friends, we sneak in cryptic sentences here and there tipping each other off to our particular challenges of the day, week ...always.  We're good at eye movements, facial expression, hidden gestures that communicate far more than our environment allows in words.  But when its a new friend, we don't share those things ...that secret language comes in time.
I'm challenged by that now because truly, this new friend's passion  and interests about so many things, remind me of Phoebe, and I know Phoebe would like her. She's got nothing to prove, she's not calculating who has what, when, where, how like so many in our culture do today.    And she is funny and bright and down to earth ....real. Her kids are cute and fun and funny!  I enjoy my time, our time together.  But she has to know about Phoebe ...because she is as much a part of me as my own hands.
 But how do I say to her ..."hey, I have another daughter you haven't met ...because she died."  And how do I tell her my heart limps along in this life, soaring with great joy for my precious six living, but drags and heaves with an unbearable sorrow  and longing for my feisty girl.  Lots of times the exposure of Phoebe just happens.  Sometimes though, those natural moments don't come, and its a challenge ...because for me to be truly authentic ... you have to know my Phoebe.
Sometimes Phoebe is just too present, like the elephant in the living room, it's so apparent to me she is there, and yet unknown or unrecognized.  And that's what happened to me today.  It's almost like she's saying "so, would you introduce me already, you're being kind of rude Mom.  How'd you like it if I did that to you?"  But how do you share that when there is no natural way to bring it up? 
Anyone who's lost a child knows this struggle, this particular challenge most people don't consider, because they don't have to.  How do you reveal your lost child?  Not to just anyone.  Now its kept and considered only for people you care about and trust.  Who cares about the rest.  Phoebe's gone over three years now, so I don't blurt it out like I did the first year or two.  Sometimes people already know and they keep it to themselves, gingerly walking around the topic because who could possibly know how to ask someone "hey, so I heard you have a daughter who died by suicide ...that must be a real drag."  Or sometimes people will speak in hushed tones, touching my arm like I might break, or start sobbing uncontrollably ...and really, who wants to get that going.  Even though that's so unlikely to happen.
I guess I could just say ... Hey,  I really enjoy your company and I hope our friendship grows ...because your fun and interesting ...and you're interested in this middle aged, chubby momma with bad hair ...but can I tell you something that is very, very dear to me ...do you have a moment to listen?
Can I tell you about Phoebe? 
She died October 9th, 2010 on a beautiful fall day while I was at a soccer game.  She had gone to take the SAT at a school where she'd been bullied relentlessly the first two months of high school, and the school could not have cared less. She spent the rest of her high school years at a different school. She forgot her ID, called home, couldn't take the test without it, had to walk home. When she came home she saw that her dad and I had found pot in her backpack while we searched for her ID.  We were really mad, and she knew it!  The next day just the three of us were heading to Maine to visit a college that seemed a great match for her.  But we never got to go with her.  She just gave up on life, on herself and on us in that brief moment. She brought her own end while no one was home.  And all of us died that day too. It's taken a long time to find moments of normalcy.  It feels like it happened this morning ...probably always will. Feels like she might sidle on up next to me when we're chatting and add her two cents ... or more.
I miss her more than I could ever put in words, and I wish instead of getting mad about finding pot, I'd smoked a joint with her instead ...if it meant she'd stay.  I wish instead of being annoyed she'd forgotten her ID, I'd said 'who cares, come along to the games with me.'
Our life shattered, my heart shredded into a million pieces and we've spent the last years building a new life without her.  I know without a doubt you'd love her.  She was bright and fun, adventurous beyond words.  She'd show you places in World's End you'd never find on your own, and she'd marvel at the uniqueness of your own kids ...especially the fiesty.  She loved the mountains, the great expanse from high up.  She'd go barefoot all year round, swim in the ocean in March everyday if she could.  She was a blast of a person ...  She gave me a run for my money ...and she made me run further than I ever thought I could.  She was only seventeen, and she must have felt unbearably alone that morning.
I wish I had stayed with her ...but how could I know?
And so we live this life, here in this place, trying to stay engaged for our kids  They lost a sister that noticed the stars and the moon, paid attention to the tide, listened for the wind, thought deeply about truthfulness and being genuine. She turned a phrase faster than most.  She took the fall for her friends, blaming herself for the typical teenage stuff, while her friends sat by and let her!  She could read people quickly ...and oh, how I wish I'd paid closer attention!  She bossed us all around and we listened.  She had big, blue, beautiful eyes and a pile of hair atop her head that wiggled and jiggled.  She read many of the books on your shelf and would have discussed each and every one's merits and weakness , and asked you what you thought. 
You'll get to know her more and more over time.  I've made other new friends since she died and lots of them feel like they really know her ...and I hope one day you do too!  Because truly, knowing her will only make your life richer ...she is an extraordinary girl, forever seventeen ...forever mine.
So now that maybe you don't know what to say or how to be around me, let me tell you.  Just be.  Just be you.  I won't break, I won't bite.  Sometimes I might cry ...but who wouldn't!  And don't be afraid you'll say or do the wrong thing.  The people who do, don't stay.  The people who are genuine about life and being who they are ...stay.  I look for joy each day, and if I can't find it one day, I usually can the next.  She still makes me laugh ...and I'm pretty sure she's still bossing me around ...which I love
So how's that for a segue when it doesn't happen on its own?! 
Us parents who've lost a child have lots and lots of interesting challenges other parents don't.  And we have to find some unusual ways to navigate through life.  We can be a tough crowd, but well worth getting to know!
So I found Phoebe on this ordinary day, in the living room of a new friend.  She stood across from me waving her arms, demanding to be introduced ...so here it is.  You happy Phoebe?
Woven in an out of our day are the moments when God allows the veil to pull back for just a bit ...and I am most grateful!

Calendars

I wrote 2014 lots of times today.  Good practice, I think.  Usually it takes me a good month before I write the new year naturally.  I like a simple ringing in of the new year ...no fanfare.  Turning the calendar is enough for me; turning towards another new year without Phoebe leaves me empty and sad.  Its not that my whole focus is on her and the absence of her.  For sure, my whole life is about my family,  my kids ...their nuances and growth ...the simple act of them being.  I guess it might be like living with an amputation.  Your whole life is so much more than the loss of the limb, and yet it permeates all of your life ...forever.  But losing a child is far more than losing a limb; its more like losing part of your heart.
A new year finds us bombarded with new year's resolutions, determined hopes, plans, dreams.  I join in the banter, but more for fun and lighthearted conversation than any real conviction.  Several years ago I wrote a colorful note for my husband and each of my kids ...wishes and dreams for them in the new year.  I'd made a nice dinner, set a festive table, each plate adorned with their personal note.  Recently, those notes spilled from a box while digging through Christmas decorations.  Somehow they were saved and stored away.  Their discovery gave me pause, a treasured moment of remembering and rest. For that coming year, I'd dreamed Phoebe would ride some really big waves, that she would be the first one in the ocean that year, a title she proudly held for entering the Atlantic on some uncommonly warm day in March most years.  There were other things too, but my wishes really spoke to who she was and the adventure she loved living ...the thrill of pushing limits that I both encouraged, cautioned and sometimes dreaded.
Now too, when I imagine that great reunion with her I see a board under her arm, her hair piled atop her head, t-shirt she's customized, shorts and her forever bare feet.  Her head bends to the side and she swings the board ever so slightly in the direction she wants me to follow. Without words, I fall in step behind her, as I'd done so many times.  And sure enough, she brings me to the ocean.  We stand at the water's edge ...her eyes twinkle, she giggles ...'go on,' I say, 'show me what you know!'  A few steps in, up to her knees she pushes the board ahead and glides her body onto the length of it.  Her arms cut through the water, pulling out beyond the break.  She sits on top of our board, the Harlequin, waiting for the swell.  And because I can stand there and watch ...I know that I'm home.
A long, long time ago, she'd watch me surf from the shallow break with her dad and brother.  She'd insist she could handle the deeper water.  I knew her drive, her intensity and desire, and so I never lasted long out there alone. She'd look for an opportunity to break free from dad's watchful gaze just to get out there with me.   My worry was a distraction.  I'd rather push her in the shallow waves on my board than actually surf myself.  And she preferred that too.  I never became much of a surfer ...but she did.  She outpaced her older brother on the waves, never afraid to give her all for those few moments to fly on water.  Like me, he was more cautious.
I read all of those wishes and dreams I wrote for each child.  Most of them speak to who they are ...still, all these years later.  As a mom, it encouraged me, that I do, in fact, pay attention to each of them, their own specialness. 
Often, I struggle with having missed something very great and pressing with Phoebe.  It's a walk most bereaved parents carry, no matter how a child dies.  Most especially though, when a child dies by suicide, parents are saddled with so many questions and possibilities for preventing the nightmare from happening. Over and over, I examine every detail and aspect to find the one thing I should have said or done that most certainly would have averted Phoebe's death. Guilt plagues us ...me.  But when I stumble across something that proves I'd paid attention and noticed, I am rescued for a little while.
That's not a bad way to start the new year, to see and know I'd paid attention. 
It's the fourth calendar we've changed with her gone.  Neatly tucked away are the ones that capture her last weeks of dentist appointments, soccer games, practices, exam dates.  On those pages she is meshed in with all the others, a choreography of details that make up the tapestry of our family life.  Written so casually and without second thoughts are the details of her last moments ...before she took flight from me.
I guess that's my new year's resolution ...to recognize and witness Phoebe's taking flight.  Those final moments for her could only have held a poignant, excruciating pain so intense she saw nothing but pitch black ...no light streamed in.  But all of our lives are so much more than one moment ...and hers was so much more than most.  Her whole life was about taking flight, soaring beyond the norm.  Whatever chains bound her here, burst her free ...and she took flight home.  Away from me, from us ...toward God.
For a long time, the blow of her death had me fixed on one final, impulsive, outrageous act.  And that all remains true. I will never, ever glorify, or make suicide heroic.  But her life, my life with her, our life as a family, is not defined by how she died ...and how each of us died a little bit too.  Her life is defined in a far greater, robust way.  My life, our lives were both thrilled and challenged by her ...and we still are. 
For 2014 I'll embrace, even more, the way she lived ...not the way she died.  And when I do that, my heart skips a beat.  Phoebe could drain every ounce of energy out of me, and then in moments she could have me doubled in laughter, awed by how alive she was ...and still is. 
So while I keep my front row seats with all my cherubs here, and marvel at all they are, I'll keep a watchful gaze on the waters edge, checking out the waves Phoebe might ride in on.  And one day ...I might just catch a glimpse.
Happy New Year!

The Mass

It's been a while since my fingers graced this keyboard.  A virus struck our main computer, and between juggling time to write on a different computer with Christmas preparations ...I surrendered putting my thoughts to form.
The tree still twinkles and the fire is lit ...and we're all exhausted ...a good exhausted though.  Days for reflecting, remembering ...
I don't like the frantic pace of Christmas ...or, really of the commercialism that's taken deep root in this holy season.  I love the season and all it celebrates.  Finding the quiet to immerse in its true meaning is fleeting.  But yesterday, I was able to capture a little bit that fed my soul. 
I love being a Catholic.  I love the ancient traditions of our faith; and I especially love when those traditions are celebrated in the Mass of the ages, the Traditional Latin Mass.  My heart finds its most sacred, peaceful place there.  Because its a distance from us and because I work many weekends, I don't get there as often as I'd like ...or even need to.  But trusting that God provides us what we truly "need" I take heart and believe that the spiritual nourishment of the Traditional Mass will sustain me as long as I need.  It's at this Mass I find Phoebe.  It's at this Mass I have a sense of all those before me, all those long dead relatives who'd spent years praying for their family.  It's there I have a sense of all those family members to come, and the importance and value our prayers have today.
I don't know how well I would have survived losing Phoebe if I didn't have the experience of this Mass.  It's so different than the ordinary form offered in most parishes.  Not everyone gets the grace or opportunity to attend the Traditional form, and many don't prefer it.  It takes time to be joined to it, takes time to learn it ....and yet, it is so learnable, and so worth it.
Why do I love it so much?  Because it offers to God the best of ourselves:  our humility, our gratitude, our awe, our submission ...our weakness and total, absolute dependence on Him.  It speaks to God in a way that means something ...so outside, above and beyond the culture.  The prayers are powerful and so beautiful ...and complete. 
Phoebe's death broke me into a trillion pieces, and only by His hand could I or can I be restored.  That restoration is every day.  At the ordinary Mass God seems like the nice guy next door, rather than the all powerful, all merciful Creator.  I like the guy next door, but I have no real inspiration to spend eternity with him.  I don't necessarily sense he is capable of ALl things.  But at the Traditional Mass, I know God is not the nice guy next door ...He is God ...the only font of all things ...always. And one day, I want to go spend eternity with Him ...and come to know Him in His fullness.
It's important for me to know God is God ...different from me, from you ...and the nice guy next door.
It is here I can believe Phoebe is someplace ...Phoebe is safe and unafraid ...Phoebe is loved and returned to the complete source of love that created her.  It is here I know and have a glimmer of understanding that God's love for her is far greater than my own.  It is here I find the patience to wait ...the patience to trust one day I will see her again.
I guess it's times like these ...holidays, holy days, family days, that people stop to consider what life might be like for us without Phoebe.  And so more people make comments or ask questions around this time ...both of which I like and welcome.  The surreal fact of her absence is always present.  Her physical being is gone from us.  I miss that.  I shop and prepare for Christmas without her. There are no gifts for her under the tree.   She was my partner for many many years.  I'm not sure anyone can ever move in to that spot of hers.  I carry on conversations with Phoebe while I shop, tears fall while I wrap ...wanting her here with me, telling me what to do ...bossing me around.  I want those conversations and those tears ....they are my hugs to her now, for the little while we are separated.  I might catch a bird diving, a strong gust of wind, a picture of her making a funny face ...and I imagine her there, eyes twinkling, her giggle while she talks ...those are our gifts to each other now.
And people ask me how I've done it, how we've survived and thrived in many ways.  My answer is always the same: "God's grace."  So many people begged prayers for us, for her ...and many, many still do.  And God's grace has stayed steady and strong.  Truthfully though, had I not experienced the Traditional Latin Mass, I don't think I'd be in the same place.  I don't think I would have the trust in God that I do, not sure my heart would be open to His whispers.  I wish that for everyone. 
Years ago, someone introduced us to this Mass.  My first time there I'd felt as if I'd come home.  And I wanted to stay.  When I look back on that, I see God's hand preparing me for the great loss that was to come.  He was showing me the safe haven ...a place to truly be with my lost child.  The invitation to that place was generous, and the continued source of faith and comfort has been beyond profound.  It has been an immeasurable gift over time, for which I remain eternally grateful.  Our life once woven with the person who invited us, ultimately untangled, the loss of my daughter revealed me as someone she no longer liked or respected.  And yet, no matter her thoughts or mine, the Mass remains steady, constant, unchanged for centuries.  Humans can change, humans can disrupt and be cruel ...but the gift of the Ancient Mass never, ever changes.  And it is that constancy which settles me ...because I know, despite human frailty, human error and desire, despite 'reconfigurations' and desires to modernize the church, the Traditional Latin Mass will not change,  the true Church cannot be changed ...ever.  And that is how God is ...despite our desire to make him just like the nice guy next door ...He never, ever will be or can be ...because He is God.  And I'm really glad I know that ... because I'm very certain, when I ultimately find Him ( which I pray I do!), I will find my feisty, sassy, one of a kind daughter ...I'll find my Phoebe.

Candles

Tonight was our yearly candle lighting for Compassionate Friends, a support group for parents who've lost a child ...or two ...or three.
I remember our first one.  Making it there back then is a blur to me.  How were we even able to rally enough to find our way; it was so soon after losing Phoebe.  But we did, huddled in the back, sobbing, unable to even see ...the tears so thick.  I look around, lots of new faces ...new losses.  I am more settled now, in this grief, though I don't want to be.  My heart sags knowing the weight of the earlier grieving, the certainty you won't make it ...you will die at any moment.  You live a long time with that thought, those feelings ...its heavy, heavy stuff. Beyond imagination.
Words are offered, reflections capturing what we've all lost, what we've all gained ...the oddity of losing the expectation of our whole lives with each child.  Our lives changed, forever.  The natural order of things derailed.
Candles are lit around the world on this night.  As I look at the clock, I realize they are just now lighting in California, so the flicker of light circles the world, recognizing so many lost children.  I wonder what that looks like above the earth.  It is the single largest candle lighting in the world.  That says a lot about the magnitude of heartbreak, and the intensity of losing a child.  In our own little gathering the candles fill the room.  Names are read, more and more I recognize.  I've come to know lots of these children in their death, their habits, their hobbies, style, humor, intellect ...all sorts of qualities that make them who they are.  And within these walls, their names are spoken and remembered ...it is a safe place, a natural place for us to share our child with each other.  I treasure that!
So we are a bit ahead of others now; it's our turn to assure them they will make it, that they will learn to bear the burden with grace ...and sprinkles of joy.  Hearts will always be heavy, but knowing how much we love our children we wouldn't want it any other way.  The weight reminds us of how well we love them ...still.
The best thing you can offer someone who's lost a child is a memory ...a whisper of their name.  Too often people think mentioning the child will bring up misery. It might bring a tear, but that's okay, it's like our hug or kiss to our child we can no longer hug or kiss!  We need to speak and hear our child's name, we need to hear about their time on this earth ...we need to remember them and to have them remembered.  It is the greatest gift you can offer anyone whose lost a child.
Light a candle one day for a child gone before their own parents.