Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Tuesday, November 24, 2009 -- Mattie died 11 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture features Mattie in the drama production at Resurrection Children's Center of "The Three Little Pigs." Ann sent me this picture last night. When I saw this picture it brought a smile to my face because I remember his class production as if it were yesterday. Mattie loved the process and it was beautiful to see Mattie come into his own at preschool. He developed confidence, a sense of humor, and seemed comfortable with himself and with those around him. It was such a gift to see him develop into the charming character that he was during those two years, and I am so thankful I chose a co-op preschool so that I have these memories to pull from.

Poem of the day: To My Little One by Ethel Romig Fuller

I, your guiding star? Ah, no.
You, the light by which I go -The candle with the bright, small wick,
Whereof I am the candlestick.
In His wisdom, One once said,
"By a child you shall be led."(I had no way of knowing how Beautiful this truth, till now.)
O precious little beacon, burn
Along my course, until I learn
In all humility to be
Splendid as your faith in me.


As I look at pictures of Mattie, I can't help but pause and reflect on those moments captured on film. Moments which seemed like they would last forever, or at least that we would have a lifetime together of one special moment after another. I have learned the hard way that nothing in life is guaranteed, especially the life of a child. However, looking at pictures reminds me of the special love Mattie and I shared. Mattie and I were very much alike. We understood each other and we understood people. We had facial expressions for everything, and we could communicate without having to say a word. It is hard enough to say good-bye to your child, but in losing Mattie, I also lost a part of myself. The part that was innocent, fun loving, active, and hopeful. I miss the bond Mattie and I had with each other, a bond that is irreplaceable. His smile and laughter had a way of filling my mind and spirit, and without them, the world seems just a little bit duller and muted.

This afternoon, I met Ann at the mall. I arrived there an hour before I was to meet her. I brought my book with me, and sat on a bench and just read. I am not ready to engage with the world in all reality, but somehow sitting there, I could hear the world around me, yet not have to participate in it if I did not want to. It has been very hard for me to focus my mind on anything, and reading for the most part has been impossible for me. Mostly because I can't concentrate, and my eyes, like the rest of me, are simply tired. It may take me longer to read a book now than it did before, but again, I am in no hurry. Just like with other aspects of my life, I have to accept whatever energy I can devote to things, and not be disappointed in my reactions or with my lack of productivity.

While talking with Ann at lunch today, I realized that I have been working on one of the tasks of grieving, which is accepting the reality of the loss. Intellectually I always understood that Mattie had died, but emotionally I had a hard time accepting that I would never see him again. Accepting the emotional fact that my son died from cancer, that our 13 month battle did not have the results we were hoping and praying for, and of course trying to pick up the pieces of our lives without Mattie is next to impossible. Accepting the reality of not being a parent as well as all the future expectations associated with raising a child are still concepts that on any given day I may have trouble coming to terms with. Being numb for two months enabled me to stay very attached to intellectualizing things and my feelings, and not really and truly feeling them. In a way not feeling anything is safer, but I do realize denying my feelings is not going to bring Mattie back and being able to reflect on his life, helps me have a connection with him in some way. I would still rather have him physically present and I can't tell you the pain within my heart that I feel to know he is no longer with me. Some times the pain almost takes my breath away.

Today was another day in which I physically wasn't feeling well. It is amazing that my physical stamina was so steady and solid throughout Mattie's illness and hospitalizations. But my body, mind, and spirit, did pay the price for this intense stress and heartache. Things that shouldn't be taxing for a person my age, are indeed challenging, and some days just waking up and getting dressed seems like a major accomplishment. It is hard to write this reality much less accept it, since I have always been an active person. But Mattie's death has sucked the life out of me, and I can only hope with time and healing that I can restore aspects of myself.

I would like to share with you the remembrances Peter wrote about Mattie. Peter wrote these reflections for the memorial service that we attended on November 8, at The Georgetown University Hospital. I found them very touching and moving, and I hope you do too.

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"Remembrances" ~ Peter J. Brown

Matthew Joseph Brown or as anyone who knew him and loved him, called him “Mattie” was born on April 4th, 2002 and died on September 8th, 2009 at the tender age of 7. Mattie had multi-focal Osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer that required a year of aggressive chemotherapy treatment using things like Doxorubicin, Cisplatin, Methotrexate, Ifosfamide, Etopocide, L-MTP-PE, and suffering through three major surgeries including two to remove his arm and leg bones and implant prostheses, plates and screws as well as a Sternotomy that cut his chest open to remove metastases from his lungs.

As of November 8th, it has been 61 days since we lost Mattie, yet I still remember the morning Mattie was born, it was a Thursday at 12:53am, and I remember greeting Mattie into this world as he squirmed and twisted in the newborn trays in the nursery, looking around, taking everything in about his surroundings.

I remember the endless diaper changes, the feedings at all hours, the spells of vomiting, the bouncing, the kicking of my seat, the whining, the fussing, the difficultness, the sleep deprivation. I also remember the hugs, the kisses, the smiles, the giggles, the “daddy I love yous”, and that inquisitive, bright and infectious look upon his face when he was onto something or experiencing something new and engaging.

I remember being a proud Dad, and the daily and sometimes hourly challenge of living up to what being “someone’s dad” really meant.

I remember throwing the Whiffle ball until it was so dark you could not see it, and biting my lip when things did not go as I thought they should go, but instead went at Mattie’s pace, at Mattie’s speed.

I remember celebrating the “little” things in our lives, since they were “big” things in Mattie’s life.

I remember watching a little boy, so enraptured and in love with his mother, hug her so tightly it almost inflicted physical pain.

I remember the loyalty and fierceness with which a little boy protected and cared for his mother, when he realized there were moments when she needed it more from him, than he needed it from her.

I remember the indescribable and irresistible feeling of being totally loved, totally trusted and totally vulnerable to someone so small, so young and yet so very wise.

I remember Mattie at 3:11am in the morning calling out the words “Daddy I love you… Mommy I love you” two nights before he died …. some of the last coherent and meaningful words he spoke.

I remember the moment Mattie died. It was 7:15am in the morning. It was also the moment when a large part of Vicki and myself died too…..

So in all these remembrances, I want you to remember this.... that time is but an apparition, a fleeting and elusive goal that has no definition but that of what we define for it. So make the most of it, hug your children, tell them you love them, roll on the ground and be silly with them, take the time to make them laugh and connect with them, but most of all, do not take for granted the time that we have on this earth. You never get second chances, you never get to "re-do" that which has already happened, so no regret, and just do, for you will never go wrong.
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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 am glad you got out yesterday even though I am sure it was difficult to be back on the hospital campus without Mattie. Memories are funny things, sometimes they are just out of reach when we want them (like recalling a voice or a face when we definitely want to) and sometimes they simply swamp us like a tidal wave and we are overcome with emotion. It sounds like you had both ends of the spectrum yesterday. Although talking about Mattie was probably difficult for Brandon and Toni, to try to talk without Mattie in the conversation would have been more difficult and untruthful and the conversation probably moved everyone a tiny step toward healing. The orchid sent by Miki sounds lovely and it must help to know that you and Mattie remain in everyone's thoughts. May today you find some measure of comfort in knowing that so many of us continue to pray and think about you and Peter daily (hourly).

The second message is from Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Dr. Kristen Snyder. Kristen writes to us every Tuesday to acknowledge Mattie's day of passing. Kristen wrote, "Today is Tuesday...and a Tuesday that precedes Thanksgiving. I know this Thanksgiving will be a Thanksgiving you never dreamed you would experience. Keep in your heart, all day long, all the lives that Mattie has touched. Know that all of us are thankful for him, for his gifts, for his tenacity, for his courage, for his impression left on our hearts. It's a very palpable and tangible impression. Know that we are thankful too, for the two of you. Sending you warm thoughts today and always."