I recall now

how I bent over you, a swan neck curled around your fresh life

clucking mother sounds.

The brothers had come under fluorescent lights,

welcomed into the world by rubber gloves and hospital smells

but you,

you went from waters to water

your slippery self first touched by your father’s hands

in the middle of a Mexican August

in a suburb of a city

in the warm deep.

The drums and the dancing outside the building, a background song to our long work,

it was the celebration of the patron saint of that city

and you came amidst the noise and din

in that quiet pocket of our love.

When he handed you to me

the pearl blue cord curled around my leg and we were still attached

for a little while longer.

You practiced breathing air and I inspected your pink hands,

tiny fingernails

rose bud lips.

My “amen” a long and satisfied sigh…

Fifty months I would have you.

Fifty months to pack in a lifetime of love

To memorize you

and how you tilted your head back when you giggled

and told me Happy Birthday even when it wasn’t my birthday.

Twenty months of blonde curls and then that sweet bald head

and your little walk/run

and how you loved everyone you met as if you’d always loved them.

Oh to jump into one of your videos and just live that moment with you again.

This missing you is messy

and I am not brave like they say.

What else have I to do but face each day because He wills it.

But you my love, you are the brave one

You handled yourself so beautifully through it all.

Your bright illuminated light

still helps me see

in the dark

 

 

~

I haven’t known what to write lately. My thoughts don’t feel cohesive and I’ve been distracted by life. We seem to be finding a new rhythm; something I’m thankful for and hate all at the same time. I don’t want a rhythm without Phoebe/ I need a new rhythm to fill up her absence. It’s a sad limbo.

Our days have been filled with school, gymnastics, Bible club and church on Wednesdays, and counseling for the boys. I think we are doing what we are ‘supposed’ to be doing; we do life and then we stop to cry when the longing for her overwhelms us. We share memories of Phoebe’s silly antics or phrases around the dinner table and laugh with eyes brimming with tears and it is good. I sit on her bed and let the hurt come when it’s obvious I can’t move forward until I do.

It’s strange as an adult, to cry like I did when I was a child; that heaving, weeping that leaves you spent and almost hiccupping at the end. I am often surprised by it, by the intensity of it. But I always feel better afterward. Grief demands it’s own way and at times I am powerless to do anything else but let it come.
We are all moving through this time in our own way. Nathan has found a lot of comfort lately in serving others; he has spent time with the men’s the group at our church doing various projects for widows or those in need, last week he shared at a local Spanish-speaking church who has partnered with us in ministry in Mexico, and now he is working to promote missions-awareness in our church. He has also started back attending staff meetings at YWAM and has a meeting this week to pray about future ministry goals. He and Benjamin (11) are coaching an Upwards Basketball team of 1st and 2nd graders and really enjoying that as well. It has been good for him, and for us, to focus outward.

The boys have started counseling on Thursdays and have enjoyed it so far. They each grieve of course, in their own way. Deacon lamented not playing with her more the other night and wished Phoebe was here to take a bath with him. “Oh why didn’t I play with her more while she was here?” he said..poor little guy. He had so many conflicting emotions throughout Phoebe’s illness and I imagine he’ll be working through those memories for years as he matures. Averic spends time in her room thinking about her; he spent the most time cuddling her to sleep in the evenings or spending the mornings in her bed with her since he is my early riser. He has so many sweet memories of those times to draw from. Benjamin’s grief works itself out through tears, random tears here and there and sometimes when he least expects it. He gets frustrated with that, but I encourage him to let it happen because it needs to happen. He understands the most and as the oldest has always taken on a responsibility for his younger siblings, so he has a road to walk. We all do of course.

We have enjoyed spending time with friends, new and old alike, and we feel blessed to have the support system we do. I have been focusing on home school and trying to get back up to full speed in my motivation while still giving myself permission to not be super-Mom right now. I have also been praying about some writing projects and mustering up the courage to step out in that area. In the evenings I have been mentally planning our spring planting efforts and dog-earing my seed catalogues. So, this is life and grief and learning how to forge ahead. Some days are better than others, some are full of hope and possibility and others are just for surviving.
I do love to talk about Phoebe, and I love to hear her name spoken, we all do. I appreciate it when people feel comfortable talking to me about her, a special memory, or some way she has impacted their life. It just feels good to talk about my daughter, who is still alive, just not here. I fear the day no one talks about her anymore. The thought that brings me the most comfort is imagining what she is doing today or what Christmas in heaven will be like for her this year. I know she would not want to leave His presence if given the choice, and that gives me peace.

Thank you for loving our family, Amey