Tuesday, October 6, 2009This picture was taken on Mother's Day when Mattie was four years old. It was a memorable day, and it is hard to believe that this year, when Mother's day comes upon me, I will not have Mattie with me to celebrate the occasion. Yes I realize I will always be Mattie's mom, but I am also very aware of the fact that I won't have Mattie with me to make this day seem real. I suppose I need to take one hurdle and challenge at a time.
Poem of the day (Thanks Charlie!): Letter to Mom by Joy Curnutt
It was just my time to go.
I see you are still feeling sad,
And the tears just seem to flow.
We all come to earth for our lifetime,
And for some it’s not many years
I don’t want you to keep crying
You are shedding so many tears.
I haven’t really left you
Even though it may seem so.
I have just gone to my heavenly home,
And I’m closer to you than you know.
Just believe that when you say my name
I’m standing next to you, I know you long to see me,
But there’s nothing I can do.
But I’ll still send you messages
And hope you understand,
That when your time comes to “cross over,”
I’ll be there to take your hand.
Today marks Mattie's one month anniversary of his death. I can't believe that four weeks have passed by and yet, for Peter and I it seems like just yesterday. We live with a constant ache, a constant level of fatigue, and sadness. The emotions that we live with each day are overwhelming and at the same time indescribable.
Last night at 9pm, Ann's father died. Unlike Mattie, Sully died a peaceful death. It fact his heart rate just continued to become slower and slower, until it eventually just stopped beating. I still can't get over the huge difference between Sully 's death and Mattie's. However, both were similar to the extent that there was no dialogue or two way good-byes. Not being able to have a two way conversation toward the end, I find unsettling, but I guess you just have to have faith that your loved one is hearing you as you express your final thoughts and feelings.
As I told Ann last night, being able to help her the past two weeks was a privilege. I feel very honored to be able to be with her through this intense process, and to be able to sit with her while her dad was dying. In a way, watching a loved one die is a private and intimate experience, and yet Ann allowed me to participate in it, and to support her. Not unlike how she supported me for over a year. It really intrigues me to find out just how many people have had the experience of watching the death process unfold with a loved one. My guess is not many people experience death in such an intense manner, but maybe I am wrong. Needless to say, I have seen two people die before my eyes in just less than a month. Certainly that is not easy for me, and yet, after helping Mattie, not much frazzles me. Not much scares me, and most certainly no medical personnel is going to intimidate me. Georgetown Hospital taught me well. I learned to question and advocate everything, and in the end I found Mattie's doctors respected me and I felt as if I was included as a valuable part of his team. However, sitting with Ann over the past two weeks has enabled us to learn more about each other, and as I always say, under times of crisis, you really learn what a person is made of. Experiencing such life and death situations, bonds you to a person instantly, like nothing else I have ever experienced. I am not saying I am looking for these near death experiences in my life, but Mattie and Sully's death are now a part of my life, and as such I have the need to make sense out of them. There has to be a reason I am going through this, I can't imagine why, but I am hoping that the reasoning presents itself. In the mean time, I just keep doing what I can to feel safe and somewhat able to cope.
As Ann heads to Boston tomorrow to plan her father's funeral, a part of me feels almost guilty or incomplete, because I will not be able to participate on this final journey with her. Naturally it makes perfect sense that I can not go to Boston right now, since Mattie's funeral is this saturday, but I have become invested in the caring of Sully, and it seems like not attending the funeral doesn't put closure to our time together.
I had the opportunity to spend some time with Mary (Ann's mom) today. Mary, as is to be expected, is out of sorts today. As she let me know, she feels "empty." She looked at me as she was telling me this, and I told her I could completely understand how she feels. Mary is not crying, like myself, but you can tell she is profoundly sad. Sad for the loss of her husband and the loss of her son. Mary asked me today how I felt after Mattie died when I had to come back to our home. I thought that was an insightful question, especially as she sits in the room that her husband died in. This afternoon, Margaret also came by to visit with us, and Mary enjoyed her company and we appreciated the wonderful homemade goodies Margaret baked and shared with us.
We want to thank the McSlarrow Family for the wonderful breakfast treats you dropped off at Ann's house for all of us today! Thanks Alison for starting off a hard day on a sweet note. We also want to thank the Bensten Family for a lovely dinner! Thank you for your thoughtfulness and generosity. I appreciate you helping both myself and Ann!
I would like to end tonight's posting with four messages. The first one is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I do believe Mattie will be there watching the service and attending with us. It is just something he would not want to miss. I know you are hoping that the foundation that you are in the process of setting up will be the answer to what comes after. I think it will be part of it; I think the rest of what you are meant to do has yet to show itself.I am glad things are coming together for the funeral and memorial service. I like many others, am looking forward to the art gallery and to get the chance to see in person what I've only seen in pictures through the blog this year."
The second message is from one of our Team Mattie supporters, who is helping us tremendously as we plan Mattie's funeral. Olivia wrote, "I continue to feel pause at the experience of planning this ceremony. Somewhere, inside, I have ‘shut off’ some feelings as I walk through these organizational steps now and am busy in the ‘technical, detail, task-oriented manager’ role . . . not accessing my ‘emotive, fellow mother, want to hold you, friend’ role since I now have a ‘project’ with which to busy myself. But, I have to listen to this disconnect in my heart in how I write to you these past few weeks since Mattie died. I apologize if my words are now so task-oriented and not offering a compassionate ear. I have not meant to interact with you on such a pedestrian level as if this effort were simply a ‘volunteer project.’ I am just trying to stay focused and hear what you need and respond to those needs . . .or else I kind of fall apart. I don’t know how you and Peter are shutting on and off all day – the thought of it exhausts me and I continue to pray each morning that you may be free to be authentic – laugh, cry, curl up in a ball or fling yourself wide open and scream – and that others let you be you. I may not understand you, for I can’t know your pain, but I can accept your authenticity and the gift of your son, your beautiful life’s work, that you are working so hard and nobly to bring to others this Saturday."
The third message is from a former student of mine. Kelly wrote, "With tears in my eyes I write the email to you having just learned about your beautiful Mattie's passing. Email is a terrible way to communicate my heartfelt feelings, but I wanted to reach out to you as soon as I heard. While I'm one of hundreds of students you have helped, I consider you one of the few teachers who have had the most impact on me personally and professionally. You are a special woman, and it's just not fair that you and Peter have been dealt this hand. I can't begin to imagine what you are going through although I do have personal experience with the surreal tragedy of losing someone too soon. My brother Mike was killed in action in Iraq when he was 24-- certainly not the same as losing your own young child, but still a difficult loss. I know there is a hole in your heart that will never heal, but based on your blog it's clear you have many wonderful memories of that special boy that will provide some comfort in time. The hurt never goes away though."
The final message is from my mom. My mom wrote, "Has it been a month already? I agonized about leaving September behind because Mattie had been with us then and selfishly I thought of how much I missed his physical presence though my rational mind told me it was a blessing that he was no longer suffering and in pain. It just felt like time was marching on oblivious to my need for it to slow down because I was not ready to let go of the past. If there were a time machine, I would jump right in it and have it transport me back to the good years and relive all the wonderful moments I had with Mattie. It is a fantasy based upon my unwillingness to accept the finality of death. It is a heart breaking experience to long so much for a lost loved one. But the rational component of my personality brought me back to reality and I stopped to consider whether or not I would be better off if there had never been a Mattie. It was only then that I realized how lucky I was to have been enriched by having Mattie in my life at all and to be able to love and interact with him for seven precious years. In an effort to confront the loss of Mattie in a positive light, I vowed to preserve his memory by writing an account of his life through my eyes and tell the world about our experiences together. Not just for myself but for posterity, so that the light, buoyant, funny, insightful and happy child that Mattie was will never be forgotten by future generations. Let others know about the real Mattie, before the cancer, who loved to sing, dance, frolic, create, tell a joke, giggle and play a prank or two just like any other ordinary kid even though he was precocious, extraordinarily gifted with perception and artistic talent that was remarkable in its scope and its imaginative release. That is how I will try to come to terms with my loss. It will be my own personal contribution to Mattie’s legacy and it is my hope, there is that word again, that it will bring happiness to me and others because his innate joy of life had a magnetic effect on all who fell under his spell and were transported back to childhood by his good natured antics and escapades that in the end leaves us with a story about a short life, but luminous like a shooting star, that begs to be told and remembered."
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