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.
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.
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."
2 comments:
vicki, you don't know me, although I've been a reader of your blog through your journey. you may ahve done this already, but if not, i'd urge you to check out a local chapter of The Compassionate Friends, a group specifically for parents who have lost their children, to find others whose grief and grieving may be similar to yours. They may give you some comfort. The Arlington, VA chapter can be found at http://www.tcfarlington.org/.
-- Helen
Having read the blog today, I can only agree that the greatest comforts you feel will come from those sources that you least expect, just as the smallest, most obscure remembrances sometimes elicit a severe response.
I also agree that, despite losing Finnegan nearly 9 months ago, we are still only beginning to process the grief of the holidays and anniversaries (he would've been 5 1/2 yesterday) now that we are "in the season". We still don't know for sure how it will manifest itself - we are taking precautions in healthful ways to temper the heaviest blows; we have gotten away a few times and are planning to do so again for Christmas.
Know that you and Pete will always have the love and support of those with whom you choose to share the story of Mattie's life and - just as importantly - your lives together.
Sincerely,
Patrick and Kerry Burns
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