Thursday, December 3, 2009

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Tonight's picture features Mattie doing one of his favorite things, playing in sand. When Mattie was one and two years old, we took him to the beach. Both times he was deathly afraid of the sand. Which is truly ironic, because once he got to preschool, he absolutely LOVED sand. In fact, he could spend hours upon hours playing, creating, and building elaborate mounds for vehicles to drive through or in.

Poem of the day: His Journey's Just Begun By Ellen Brenneman

Don't think of him as gone away--his journey's just begun

life holds so many facets

this earth is only one.

Just think of him as resting

from the sorrows and the tears

in a place of warmth and comfort

where there are no days and years.

Think how he must be wishing

that we could know today

how nothing but our sadness can really pass away.

And think of him as living

in the hearts of those he touched...

for nothing loved is ever lost--

and he was loved so much.

Today was Mary's (Ann's mom) 81st birthday, and like last year, this year I had the opportunity to celebrate it with her. I vividly recall attending Mary's 80th birthday party that Ann planned. It was at that party when I first met Mary, which is ironic, since I feel like I have known Mary for much longer than a year. It is amazing what can transpire in a year's time. After all, within that time frame, Mary lost her husband and I lost Mattie. I am pretty sure neither one of us could have predicted how 2009 was going to end for us. However, it is through these deep loses that we are bonded together, and though we can't possibly understand how the other feels, we have a pretty good sense nonetheless. We all had a lovely lunch together and it was wonderful to see what pleasure food brings to Mary. A woman after my own heart. The gift of food and conversation seem to be so meaningful to both Mary and myself.

Later this afternoon, I picked Ann's oldest daughter, Katie, up from school. We chatted about her day and other happenings and when we got to her house, she immediately noticed the centerpiece that I have been working on for her mom's table. Katie seemed genuinely interested in this project, asked how I made it, and she told me that she really liked it. She even guessed which of the trees was the hardest to create. I am not sure why her reaction surprised me, maybe because I just wasn't expecting it. Katie also thanked me for picking her up from school and for other things I did for her throughout the afternoon. Again, I don't do things for the feedback, but felt very touched that we had these moments together today.

As I promised, I took pictures of Ann's table this afternoon. The picture on the left shows a closer view of the three trees I made. One tree is made from starlight mints, the second is made from cinnamon red hots, and the third is made from candy canes. For those of you who are interested, the candy cane tree was the hardest to make. I then placed the trees on a mirror that is covered in faux snow. Within the snow, if you look closely, you will see miniature ice skaters.

The picture on the right shows the other items I surrounded the centerpiece with, in the hopes of carrying over the winter wonderland theme down the table.

Before I left Ann's house today, her youngest daughter, Abigail, told me a story. She showed me a pretty locket that she received as a gift. I commented on how lovely it was, since I can still remember how special it was to receive a locket as a child. However, there was more to the story, and as it began unfolding, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Abigail told me she put something in the locket. I was expecting a picture perhaps. Do you want to know what she put in it? Well, some of you may recall in the spring, Mattie stayed over night at Abigail's house, and that was a memorable sleep over for him. It was his first and last and I am so thankful to Ann that Mattie got to have this "normal" experience. At the sleep over, Mattie and Abigail planted a "fairy garden." I remember it vividly since Ann sent me pictures of it. In any case, when Abigail opened the locket, she showed me a pink petal from the "fairy" garden that she saved. She said this way she can always remember Mattie, her friend. I was lost for words as she told me this story! As I drove home, I replayed this story over and over in my mind. I later wrote to Abigail because I wanted her to know how deeply touched I was by her story. The beauty of this story is that it was completely self initiated by Abigail. She did not tell me this to make me feel good, she did not put the petal in her locket to please me, she did this because she truly cared about Mattie and wants to remember his friendship. To me I received the best Christmas present this year. It is not something I had to unwrap, and I did not find it under a tree. This gift is priceless because I know that Mattie is remembered in the heart and mind of his friend. At age 7, Abigail has taught me a valuable lesson, the power of friendship, a power that goes beyond the physical and tangible needs we have as adults.

This evening Peter and I attended a presentation in Northern Virginia on "surviving the holidays after the loss of a loved one." I went into this presentation with low expectations, and thankfully I did, because it met my expectations. The presenter was a lovely lady, but she read from index cards and the presentation was clearly geared toward people who lost an older adult in their lives. She covered many topics, but unfortunately I left with no better idea of how to deal with Christmas than when I entered the presentation. The valuable comments came from the participants and it was interesting to hear them express some of the similar feelings Peter and I have on a daily basis. The presenter discussed the importance of "moving on" and how our loved one would expect us to move on and also enjoy the holidays. Maybe so, but for us, Mattie's loss is too fresh for me to even appreciate this sentiment. She said that other professionals have told her to remove this nomenclature ("move on") from her presentation, and I would highly agree. I don't want to be told to "move on" right now. I did appreciate however, her description of grief. She equated it to having a cut on your arm. Over time, the cut heals, but under the surface the cut is always there and if you hit your arm the wrong way, you could reinjure the site, or in other words, in the emotional sense re-experience grief. Losing Mattie is indeed a wound I will always carry around with me.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I feel the same way as you do about the rain in Washington DC, particularly in the winter; it all seems very gray to me. However, there are a couple of songs (Holes in the Floor of Heaven-Steve Warnier and Clouds by Montgomery Gentry) which take the opposite view of these days, that this gray rainy weather shows the ones we love are with us. All I can say is that from my perspective it took a lot of courage for you to go into the Lego store when you were shopping with Ann. I have always thought of you as determined and passionate and now I add brave to my list. Although talking about how you feel might seem a waste of time, it is part of staying connected and staying on a path that will eventually (in your own time and own way) bring you back into the world. I know that hardly seems either desirable or worthwhile right now but you are still very close to Mattie's death and where this grief path will lead is very unclear. Try to open your heart and your mind to those who would offer to help and use what seems right to you. In days of both rain and sunshine I hold you in my thoughts."