Tonight's picture was taken in March 2009, in Mattie's bedroom. Mattie was dressed as a knight ready to do battle. Mattie, from my perspective, was the perfect knight. He was brave, courageous, and persistent. All the qualities one would need to fight multifocal osteosarcoma. I can't recall who said this to me at Mattie's funeral, but I do remember someone telling me that if Mattie couldn't beat multifocal osteosarcoma than no one could. It is a disease that is just unbeatable. This comment has stuck with me all these months, because I would agree, Mattie was a force to be reckoned with.
Poem of the day (Thanks Kristi, a fellow osteo mom!): Please don't ask me
Please, don't ask me if I'm over it yet
I'll never get over it
Please, don’t tell me he's in a better place
He's not here with me
Please, don't say at least he isn't suffering
I haven't come to terms with why he had to suffer at all
Please, don't tell me you know how I feel
Unless you have lost a child
Please, don't ask me if I feel better
Bereavement isn't a condition that clears up
Please, don't tell me I had him for so many years
What year would you chose for your child to die?
Please, don't tell me God never gives more than we can bear
Please, just say you are sorry
Please, just say you remember my child
Please, just let me talk about my child
Please mention my child's name
Please, just let me cry.
The past two days have been very challenging for me. I have come to really see that perhaps the way to heal or find peace with such a massive loss is to do just what Kristi's poem tonight mentions... to talk about Mattie, to remember Mattie, and to cry. I have spent many months SO numb to what has happened, that as my defenses start to come down, with that comes emotional outbursts, tears, anger, and at times great sadness and depression. I am sure for those closest to me, the Vicki who was numb was a lot easier to deal with, because no one likes to see someone you are close to crying and in pain. Yet there is NO way to bypass this pain and this anguish. The scary part about dealing with such intense grief is there are moments when I can't ever see it ending, nor do I see a foreseeable way to help myself through these moments. This is frightening because I used to consider myself a resourceful and self-reliant individual.
Today I was scheduled for a medical test at Virginia Hospital Center. This is the same hospital where Mattie was born and also where he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma. At times it is hard to return to this Hospital, and as I waited in the radiology department this afternoon, I couldn't help but reflect on being there with Mattie in July 2008. Somehow that wasn't that long ago! Yet so much has happened since that point.
After this testing, I went to have tea and sat for several hours reading a book. I needed to do this because I worked myself up into an anxious state over having to have this diagnostic test. Prior to Mattie's illness, testing and going to see a doctor did not bother me, but now I associate all tests with negative results. After all, I was conditioned for over a year. Each form of testing Mattie underwent, a negative result followed. I have been classically conditioned in a way, not unlike Pavlov's famous studies with dogs. They learned or were conditioned to salivate after hearing a bell ring. Well similarly I have observed time and again that Mattie's diagnostic testing produced negative results (once I received negative results from Mattie's testing, I then became anxious), so now just the mention of testing brings about instant anxiety for me.
The one bright spot of the day, was I had the opportunity to read an article in Counseling Today. Counseling Today is a monthly publication distributed by the American Counseling Association (ACA), of which I am a member. ACA's executive director is Rich Yep. I have know Rich for many years, and in addition to his role in ACA, he is a fellow St. Stephen's and St. Agnes School parent. Rich has supported Peter and I throughout Mattie's battle, and a few weeks ago, he asked me if I would give him permission to mention us in his upcoming column. I of course said yes because I feel educating others about osteosarcoma is crucial. When I read Rich's article today, I was deeply touched. I was moved because he was writing an article about resilience and within this article used Peter and I as an example. Mental health professionals do experience vicarious trauma as they help clients who are undergoing crises, however, as Rich astutely points out, what happens when a counselor is experiencing his or her own personal trauma and losses? How does one heal from this? I value Rich's insights and support and I asked him for an electronic copy of his article so I could share it with you.
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American Counseling Association Executive Director’s Column by Rich Yep
March 2010
Resilience and Moving Forward
For the past several months, I have been thinking about the word resilience. This past fall, I had the fortune of attending the Illinois Counseling Association’s conference, where the theme was resilience. And at the upcoming American Counseling Association Annual Conference & Exposition in Pittsburgh later this month, we have at least six Education Sessions or Learning Institutes that focus on client resilience. Professional journals often look at the role of the counselor in helping to facilitate resilience in clients. In fact, an article in this issue of Counseling Today discusses how school counselors can collaborate with teachers and other school personnel to strengthen the resilience of students.
We know professional counselors must develop resilience themselves because of the many situations, incidents and issues faced by the clients they serve. In all honesty, the ability to continue functioning as a mental health professional can be challenging at times, regardless of work setting. To constantly hear about a student’s or a client’s life challenges, obstacles and, sometimes, cruelties can wear on a professional counselor.
But what happens when the challenges, obstacles or cruelties are even more personal? What if the situation is something that impacts you directly — not as a counselor, but in your everyday, nonprofessional life? How do counselors react? I should clarify that when using the word resilience, I am not speaking of someone who quickly recovers from something and returns to “normal.” I am talking about making adjustments, finding ways to cope, moving through life and trying to find something positive to hold onto after a critical incident or crisis.
Let me share an example with you. In the summer of 2008 as ACA prepared to bring all of its division and region leaders together for a meeting, I was responding to various inquiries from those who would be attending. One of these e-mail exchanges was with Vicki Sardi, who at that time was the president of the American Mental Health Counselors Association, one of our largest divisions. We discussed the location of the meeting and where she could park her car. Then I received another e-mail in which
Vicki explained that she would not be attending the meeting because she had just found out that her son, Mattie, then 6 years old, had a serious illness. As it turns out, Mattie had osteosarcoma, a cancer of the bone that is quite lethal. Treatment began immediately.
For various reasons, Vicki and her terrific husband, Peter, started a blog in which she described the various issues they were facing in their efforts to find a cure for Mattie. Along the way, we learned about the uniqueness, courage and joy that this young boy possessed. We learned about Mattie’s disease, and we also learned how both Vicki and Peter became incredible advocates for their son and his care. Vicki was religious in her postings despite the trials and tribulations that she, Peter and Mattie faced. And during all of this, we read about those who provided care and support to the Sardi-Brown family.
Unfortunately, this past September, young Mattie lost his battle, but not before he and his parents put up one hell of a fight. You can read more at mattiebear.blogspot.com. Earlier in this column, I asked what counselors do after experiencing a very personal and traumatic incident. I want to tell you about an extraordinary endeavor that Vicki and Peter have undertaken in the wake of Mattie’s death. Despite all they went through between Mattie’s diagnosis back in July 2008 and his passing in September 2009, they have established a foundation dedicated to “finding better treatments and a cure to Osteosarcoma and Pediatric Cancers.”
The Mattie Miracle Cancer Foundation is an amazing tribute to this very brave, very talented, Lego-loving boy. But beyond being a fitting tribute to Mattie, I think this effort is a way to try and funnel what Vicki and Peter experienced this past year into something that might one day help others avoid such pain and trauma. I have made a contribution to the Mattie Miracle Cancer Foundation, and I hope you will consider doing so as well. For more information, including ways in which you can make a tax-deductible contribution, please go to mattiemiracle.com.
Please contact me with any comments, questions or suggestions that you might have via e-mail at ryep@counseling.org or by phone at 800.347.6647 ext. 231.
Thanks and be well.
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