Friday, October 23, 2009

Friday, October 23, 2009

Tonight's picture features Mattie with a submarine creation he made thanks to his kindergarten teacher, Leslie Williams. Leslie came to visit Mattie in the hospital, and Mattie asked her if she had any construction club materials from school with her. Mattie enrolled in an after school club with Leslie when he was a kindergartner. He absolutely loved this club. In fact, I always credited Leslie as the person who inspired Mattie to first create things out of cardboard boxes. A craft which he perfected in the PICU. In any case, fortunately for us Leslie did have materials in her car, which she went to get that day. After she left, Mattie became very focused on working independently to create the submarine in this picture.

Poem of the day (Thank you Charlie, this poem touched my heart!): What Makes A Mother


I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard him say
A Mother has a baby
This we know is true
But, God, can you be a mother
When your baby's not with you?
Yes, you can he replied
With confidence in his voice
I give many women babies
When they leave it is not their choice
Some I send for a lifetime
And others for the day
And some I send to feel your womb
But there's no need to stay.
I just don't understand this God
I want my baby here
He took a breath and cleared his throat
And then I saw a tear
I wish I could show you
What your child is doing today
If you could see your child smile
With other children and say
"We go to earth to learn our lessons
of love and life and fear
My mommy loved me so much
I got to come straight here
I feel so lucky to have a Mom
who had so much love for me
I learned my lessons very quickly
My Mommy set me free.
I miss my Mommy oh so much
But I visit her each day
When she goes to sleep
On her pillows where I lay
I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek
And whisper in her ear
Mommy don't be sad today
I'm your baby and I am here
"So you see my dear sweet one
Your children are okay
Your babies are here in
My home
And this is where they'll stay
They'll wait for you with Me
Until your lessons are through
And on the day you come home
they'll be at the gates for you
So now you see
What makes a Mother
It's the feeling in your heart
It's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start
Though some on earth
May not realize
Until their time is done
Remember all the love you have
And know that you are
A Special Mom



I woke up this morning and in my e-mail inbox, I found this poem from Charlie. This is how I began my day. I found this poem so moving, and I can certainly say I explore this question a lot these days, "what makes a mother?" I realize Mattie's death happened not that long ago, but I do not have dreams of Mattie. Certainly I feel like I have had signs in my external world from him, but at the end of the day, that is all I have, signs. I have no little person to care for, no little person sitting on my lap, and no little person giving me hugs and kisses. I can't say this strongly enough but TIME DOESN'T HEAL ALL WOUNDS. If you truly believe this, then I think you haven't experienced the loss of a child. I find this statement so often used in our society, mainly because we just don't know how to handle death. It makes us uncomfortable, and instead of living in the pain and with the memories, we want to brush all of this under the rug and say with time things will get better. However, to me this statement is condescending, trite, and simply ignorant. Some losses will always be with you, and you may think that I am talking prematurely since Mattie has been gone less than two months. But I am and will always be Mattie's mom. He was a part of me, and by removing Mattie from my world in a way it is almost as if you have cut off my air supply. Sure I can breathe with less oxygen, but it is uncomfortable, difficult, and at times doesn't seem sustainable.

Today I had the opportunity to connect with Margaret. Margaret was Mattie's first preschool teacher at Resurrection Children's Center. However, Margaret and I became instant friends Mattie's first year at the school. On my way to Margaret's house today, I had to actually pass Mattie's lower school campus. Since Mattie death, I haven't been near the general vicinity of the campus at ALL! Somehow I never even thought about the fact that I would have to drive passed the school today to get to Margaret's house. That is until I got closer to Mattie's school. At which point a deep sadness came over me and I began to cry. I couldn't help but feel Mattie's loss in a profound way and then a part of me couldn't help but reflect while I am in pain, all of Mattie's classmates are just blocks away from me, at school, learning and playing. It is moments like this where I pause because I do not like this feeling of envy that I possess, and am conflicted with regard to all of my raw emotions.

I had a lovely lunch with Margaret. She took me to a restaurant with the perfect name, Le Refuge. Goodness knows I feel like I need a refuge! We talked for hours, so much so, that Margaret's car was towed off of the main thoroughfare in Old Town Alexandria. Margaret and I had an adventure tracking down her car, and in the process got a chance to talk more and see the beautiful architecture in Old Town, not to mention the gardens. This is something Mattie and I also shared, we loved to look at houses and gardens, and I know he would have loved today's experience. It is very hard to reconnect with the outside world, because in a way, I do not view myself as part of this world. Put me in a hospital, and I now feel comfortable. This is a complete 180 for me, because prior to Mattie's illness, hospitals scared me. I appreciate Margaret understanding where I was coming from, and being able to accept this and to truly be there to listen. We had moments of laughter and tears throughout lunch.

After visiting with Margaret, I went to see Mary, Ann's mom. Because I haven't been feeling well, I hadn't seen Mary all week. Mary was happy to see me and we sat and chatted for a while. She is feeling under the weather too, and did not feel like going to the dining room for dinner, which is always a tell tale sign that she isn't up to par. Instead, we spent the time looking at pictures, and picking out her outfit for Sunday. On Sunday, Ann has planned a memorial mass for her dad and brother, and Mary is eager to attend and wanted to arrange her clothes for this occasion. As we were talking Mary and I got onto the topic of Ann. I told Mary that she was a good mom and did a good job raising her daughter. She was very happy to hear this comment, and then paused and said, to me, "you are a special person, and you know your mom did a good job with you." Mary spoke to me about the fact that she will never get over the death of her son, similarly she feels that I will never get over the death of Mattie. She acknowledged that we have a lot in common, which I thought was astute, but then she asked me if I thought we were special some how because we both lost our sons. I told her this was a good question. I told her I don't feel special, but I think our sons were special and they had a higher calling which we can't understand. She had no response to me, but was clearly processing this. I just sat back in my chair, and then just smiled at Mary. Mary looked up and smiled at me, and whether she remembers this dialogue tomorrow is really irrelevant to me, because I know that in this brief moment of time, through our smiles we understood each other perfectly.

When I got home tonight, I cooked dinner for Peter and I and we sat down together at our dining room table and chatted. This is almost a foreign concept for us, and in many ways these quiet moments remind me of our pre-Mattie days. Nonetheless, our reality always weighs heavily on us and we sit with a great deal more pain and sadness than those previous days.

I would like to share the Mattie tribute that Debbie Pollak delivered at the Celebration of Life ceremony. Debbie was Mattie's art teacher, and the inspiration for the beautiful painting, "Mr. Sun."


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Debbie Pollak's Tribute





Luda, Junko and I had lunch after setting up Mattie's artwork. As we left the restaurant, I said that I needed to stop in CVS to buy a hairbrush. I did not explain why I needed it.I went to the rear of the store and began squeezing the hairbrushes. A store employee asked... "What are you doing?" I replied... "I'm feeling the hairbrushes." She said... "May I ask why?" I said... "To see which one causes the most pain!" The girl stepped backwards to get further away from me (I can’t say that I blamed her). It almost made me laugh to think of what she was imagining me doing with the hairbrush. After all, it was Georgetown and almost Halloween. I decided on a brush and went up to the check out where I proceeded to tell my two friends what had transpired in the rear of the store. They just shook their heads. I tried to tell them that if I felt pain in my hand, I would not cry. The pain in my hand would distract me from the pain in my heart. Some 6 hours later, it was my turn to step up to the podium. I was concerned that everyone was feeling way past exhaustion. What could I possibly say that had already not been said? I began by saying that my relationship with Mattie was very different from all the people before me. Our relationship was serious, work oriented, heart to heart and artist-to-artist. As I tried to explain the concept and creation of Mr. Sun, I felt myself beginning to break down. I was squeezing that hairbrush so hard I thought my hand was bleeding. I raised the hairbrush in the air and cried out… “Luda, this is a two hairbrush speech!” At that point I had to stop my speech and relay the story behind the hairbrush. Some people laughed a little and it was enough to enable me to go on. I completed the story of the day I spent with Mattie watching him paint Mr. Sun. I told everyone how my contractor sent his brother to get a level to make sure the canvas was seated perfectly on the easel. When I told him it was OK. He said… “Miss Debbie, you said you want this to be perfecto. I will make it perfecto for your little boy.” “Miss Debbie, I know you three years. I know when you say you want perfecto, you MEAN perfecto!”The next day, Mattie, Vicki and Peter arrived. Two wonderful families were coming to provide a fun lunch and hot dinner. We ate lunch, frosted a big gooey chocolate cake to surprise Peter with for his birthday. We proceeded to the very steep huge staircase. Peter offered to carry Mattie up the stairs. Mattie said… “I can do it myself.” When we got settled upstairs, Mattie sent his parents back down to the lower level. The first thing Mattie asked was… “Miss Pollak, are we cooking or painting?” I replied…. “We are painting.” He then asked . ...“Why are we using butter brushes to paint?” I explained….. “I thought the handles would be easier for you to hold and the big bristles would allow you to get more paint to the canvas more easily.” As Mattie painted, I knew he could not reach the whole surface and continue the strokes in an outward direction like the rays of the sun. I rotated the canvas four times so he could reach every area with his working arm. He never complained, he just painted with the gusto of someone who had painted his whole life. He would not let me help him at all. He stopped painting at three different times. I was playing the soft flute music of Carlos Nakai and Mattie twirled around like a leaf in the autumn breeze. When he felt he was done painting he allowed his parents to come up to the studio. He had a giant smile on his face. Vicki and Peter gasped when they saw what he had done. Mattie wanted to add some feathers to the canvas. Vicki held feathers in line with the brush strokes. I hovered, glue gun ready, and added the feathers where he wanted them. Peter was taking pictures. Vicki and I kept suggesting feathers for the lower left quadrant of the painting. Mattie said…. “NO, it’s perfect. It’s finished.” It was, and it is, to this day, perfect and finished.


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I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I can hardly walk into a store right now without seeing all the Halloween displays and all I can think about is how much Mattie liked Halloween and what he might have been this year.I understand your feelings about the pharmaceutical representative and the pumpkin. All I can say is that I can see Mattie dressing up a pumpkin in medical gear if he was in or around a situation when someone had to go masked. The mask would probably get stickers and the pumpkin would get special treatment (hands, feet, a house, etc) because I think he was inclined to find a way to make play of serious things and that is a good thing! I hope you begin to feel better; migranes make it impossible to concentrate on anything at all except pain-I have no idea how you manage to write the blog in such a condition. And I hope Peter is coping with his first week back at work, I know that can't be easy. For today, treat yourself gently and try to get back in touch with yourself, stretch gently, find a comfortable position and practice breathing."



The second message is from my friend and colleague, Sara. Sara wrote, "How beautiful Jack's essay is about Mattie. My goodness. I continue to be stunned at how well the children who knew Mattie have expressed not only their love and affection for Mattie, but their sadness and bewilderment at his loss. They are so verbally profound. It is so incredibly simple, true, and honest that it really stops you in your tracks. Thank you for continuing to post such messages you receive. It not only gives me a window into your daily life but helps me recenter myself to hear these messages. Children are just so amazing. There's no other way to put it. I wish as adults we didn't get so disconnected from these attributes we have in childhood. I wonder why that happens."