Sunday, January 10, 2010

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2002. Mattie was three months old! Right from the beginning, Mattie seemed to have a sense of humor and smiled. Of course, his pediatrician assured me he really wasn't smiling at me, but instead was passing "gas." Contrary to scientific belief, to me, Mattie was smiling and that is the story I am sticking with!

Poem of the day: Right Now by Scott Tallman

Right now you feel helpless,
So lost and confused,
God has taken your child,
You’re feeling abused.
Right now your heart breaks,
When you hear the name,
Of the child you brought forth,
Life will never be the same.
Right now you feel lost,
You keep asking how,
You struggle each day,
What will you do now?
Right now you feel heavy,
And every last step,
Like pulling an anchor,
You’re feeling inept.
Right now there is sadness,
No one can ever know,
The feelings inside you,
The tears start to flow.
Right now you are angry,
You have every right,
How could God take them,
Their future so bright!
Right now you are longing,
Please just one more touch,
One more smile, one more kiss,
For the one you love so very much.
Right now you feel lonely,
Though many are near,
Some will reach out,
While others will fear.
Right now you are feeling,
The pain so intense,
When will this pain end,
Will it ever make sense?
Right now there are no answers,
To any of this,
Right now you would long for,
One moment of bliss.
Right now I am here,
Your family, your friend,
Right now I will help you,
My shoulder to lend.
Right now you must know,
No matter what time of day,
I’m here for you always,
Together we will pray.
Right now I am sending you,
All of my love,
Right now I am with you,
You the hand and I the glove.


Charlie sent me this poem today, and I told her it captures my feeling perfectly. In fact, I could just post the poem and not have to say another word. I do think others in my life try deeply to empathetize with how I am feeling, yet at the end of the day, Peter and I feel the pain so intensely that I am not sure others can understand, appreciate, or comprehend our internal dialogues and feelings. Yes you can walk the pathway of grief with me, but certainly not all aspects of it. I am very aware of the fact that the loss of Mattie affects us all differently, our reactions may be different too, but Mattie was my son. We spent an inordinate amount of time together, and now that he is missing from my life, it produces an unexplainable void. This void clouds my vision of everything. Certainly I am not generalizing this to everyone I know, but I do sense that others have moved on with their lives (which of course they should, this is healthy), and therefore expect me to do the same. I know seeing me sit in grief and being unhappy isn't pleasant, but unfortunately this is my life, and only I can determine how and when I will progress through this.

Today, Abigail and Charlotte had a joint birthday party. They both turned 8, and decided to have an ice skating party. Before the party began, a bunch of us worked on transforming the room into a snowflake wonderland. There were streamers, snowflake cut outs, and balloons everywhere. It was very festive, and while we were running around, Mary (Ann's mom) was getting a kick out of watching us. Mary was awake and alert for the whole event, and took everything in. I know being there (though a feat to get her there!) meant a great deal to her. The kids had a fabulous time, though I knew I couldn't watch them skating today. I only observed for maybe five minutes, and then spent the rest of the time with Mary in the party room. I can take short dosages of happiness. I am sure that sounds very strange. But seeing happiness affects me, it reminds me in a very bold way of what is missing in my life, and the pain I am experiencing.

By the end of the party, I could feel as if I was shutting down. I neither wanted to talk about anything nor did I want to be around others. As I was heading home, Ann called me, because I imagine it was evident to her that I wasn't in the best of places. Some times in my low moments, of which I admit to having, I can't see any way out of this pain. It is almost as if I am paralyzed with feelings. As I was driving home, I prepared Peter through a text message that I wasn't in a good place. He helped me with dinner, but I was in no mood to talk. Peter and I in some respects do not need to say anything, especially when we are feeling the same way. So I stuck with the task of making dinner, and tried to work out the hopeless feeling within me.

I was e-mailing my lifetime friend, Karen, back and forth tonight. She of course wasn't at all surprised by how I felt considering I went to a birthday party. I know she is absolutely correct, certain things can set me off. The question is do I set myself up for these major let downs? Maybe I do! However, how do I go from doing mom things for SEVEN years, to nothing?! Sure I could have stayed home, not helped Ann, and heard about the party instead. With that said, I have no doubt something else would have popped up that would have triggered a reaction in me. This is what is so pervasive about grief, it is everywhere, and I could isolate myself from the world, and still feel a profound uneasiness, because my grief comes from within.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a lovely message I received today from my friend, Charlie. It meant a lot to me to hear how Mattie's life has affected those who did not even know him. Charlie wrote, "What you described yesterday, making a plan, putting your emotions temporarily on a shelf to gather your energy for this battle is exactly why I have hope that you will show us all the way to journey back to hope. That is something I have heard survivors say over and over again. I did want to share with you that your blog, Mattie's story, reaches much farther than you know. I shared his story with those I work with, several took time to read a number of blog entries and then went on to share those with others they know both here and far away. So Mattie's story has a much wider circle than you can imagine and occasionally I even get a note from someone who says, I told my cousin about Mattie and she and her husband read the blog and wrote back to me mentioning that they decided to take all their daughter's art supplies to the local hospital in his memory. Things like that. While nothing will bring Mattie back, I find it hopeful that people are willing to do in memory of someone they have not met as a way to pay a good deed forward. I am glad you took the time yesterday to get a haircut and manicure and be good to yourself. May you find a way to be gentle with yourself today as well."