Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Tuesday, March 9, 2010 -- Mattie died 26 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2007. You may consider this an odd picture, but once I explain it, you may get a better feeling for why I snapped it. Each spring, Mattie loved to collect tent moth caterpillars. This tradition started at his preschool and continued through kindergarten. Mattie would acquire at least 10 caterpillars, bring them home in a cup, and expect me to do something with them. I have to admit, unlike Mattie, I never had a fascination with BUGS or anything creepy and crawling. So when he presented me with this treat, my gut reaction was to fling them out into our yard space. But I did not, because I knew he was seriously interested in these caterpillars and I figured what a wonderful way to learn about metamorphosis. So I found a jar, and together we placed the caterpillars in it. Mattie and I then went outside and got some sticks and leaves for the caterpillars to climb and eat. Around our home, we have mostly maple trees. We quickly learned tent moth caterpillars do NOT like maple leaves. So by the process of elimination, we learned that they love to eat oak leaves. Almost every two days, Mattie would put new oak leaves in the jar, because these little fellows had quite an appetite. Mattie loved watching the whole process from the hungry caterpillar stage, to the formation of a cocoon, to the transformation into a moth. Mattie and I would then have a releasing ceremony on our deck, and he waited for this moment with great anticipation each spring. So in tonight's picture, you can see the joy on Mattie's face as he holds his caterpillar jar. In this jar, you may be able to see some of the white thread-like cocoons on the bottom sides of the jar.

Poem of the day: I Wish by Randah R. Hamadeh

Mother, I never imagined you’ll be standing at my grave
Praying, chatting with me, fearless and brave
Mother, I know you are so miserable and sad
And no one can ease your pain, even Dad
I know your happy days with me are gone
Can a mother ever be content after losing a daughter or a son?
Life will forever be to you incomplete
And joyful events will always be bittersweet
Mother, rest assured that I hear your cries
And listen to your aching heart and silent sighs
I wish I can come and wipe away your flowing tears
Including the dry ones that no one but me sees and hears
Oh Mother, I wish I could ease your pain
And for your sake, bring myself back to life again


As tonight's poem asks, "can a mother (and I would also add, "and a father") ever be content after losing a daughter or a son?" The plain and simple answer as you can probably imagine is NO! However, you may be asking why? I can immediately respond to this by saying losing a child is like losing a part of yourself. A part of us died on September 8, and though we physically look intact, and are functioning, inside there is a part of us that is hollowed out, or gone. This empty part, which others can't see, but I assure you is ever present, impairs our ability to see, feel, and experience the things around us like we once did. Besides this empty feeling, with grieving the loss of a child also comes an incredible sense of guilt. Guilt that we survived and Mattie did not. This guilty weight is carried into every interaction we have each day making true happiness or contentment nearly impossible.

Today marks the 26th week of Mattie's death, and for me, Tuesdays will never be the same. Ironically I went into labor on a Tuesday, but Mattie wasn't born until Thursday, April 4, 2002. So Tuesdays seem rather symbolic of Mattie for me, and when I truly allow myself to reflect on this loss, I simply am left perplexed and confused.

I had the pleasure of meeting Mattie's oncology, Kristen today for lunch and a trip to the US Botanical Gardens to see an orchid exhibit. I could tell while Kristen was Mattie's doctor that we had a lot in common. However, despite these commonalities, Kristen always kept our relationship professional. With that said, I think there is a fine line between being professional and being a compassionate and caring person when you are a pediatric oncologist. This is why I most admire Kristen and Aziza (the director of the Lombardi pediatric practice). They are highly competent professionals, but fine human beings first and foremost. Neither one of them was afraid to shed tears with us. A rare sight in the medical profession. But a very human and real response, of which I needed to see and experience.

Kristen is having a baby and looks wonderful. We traded pregnancy stories, and I shared with Kristen that I never wore maternity clothes. I am not sure why, I just bought clothes a size bigger than I was. I guess I was very cognizant of my 50 pound weight gain, and some how I think this affected my choice in clothes. I encouraged Kristen to take a picture of herself pregnant, because someday her child would appreciate it! I know that Mattie loved looking at pictures of me when I was pregnant. He just couldn't get over that he was in my "stomach." Mattie loved hearing about the day he was born, and some of you may recall me mentioning that under times of stress, especially when we learned his cancer spread to his lungs, we sat in the hospital rose garden together. He sat on my lap, and requested to hear the story of the day he was born. It was through the retelling of this story that we somehow were bonded further together, if that were possible. 

I typically do not befriend the medical professionals in my life. But clearly with Kristen (as well as Dr. Bob and Aziza) the nature of the battle we were fighting changed the playing field. I will never forget the fact that Kristen was Mattie's doctor, but when I was out with her today, I felt that I not only could appreciate her for what she did for Mattie, but I got to appreciate her for who she is as a person. We had a good time chatting and exploring the US Botanical Gardens. We soaked up the beauty of the world of orchids, and I learned today that vanilla extract comes from the flower of an orchid. That was news to me. Vanilla is apparently used to reduce anxiety and for nausea.

For those of you interested in orchids, here are some interesting facts about these glorious flowers. Many tropical orchids grow on trees or rocks as air plants. Such plants, called ‘epiphytes,’ are not parasites and use the tree or rocks for support only. Such plants get their nutrients from decaying plant material that lodges in the bark of the tree and water that drips from the tree leaves above. To preserve orchids in the wild, it is essential to protect the insects and birds of the region. Orchids are masters at making such creatures do their bidding, all to insure pollination and reproduction. Some species lure specific insects to them with the scent of food. Others fool male flies by looking like a female fly. A particularly active orchid shoots sticky pollen balls at bees while another is said to intoxicate them so they fall into a bucket of water and, in taking the one path out, pick up pollen on the way. Each orchid is pollinated by a specific insect or bird and it is only rarely that an orchid species can successfully use another bird or insect as pollinator. Because of this specificity, preservation of orchids in the wild depends on preservation of the entire ecosystem. Orchid flowers also come in every conceivable size, from small enough to fit on the nose of President Roosevelt on the United States dime (Platystele stenostachya) to Cattleya gigas which forms flowers between eight and eleven inches across, sometimes in clusters bearing more than half a dozen of these huge flowers at once.

Below are some pictures I captured today on our journey.

Left: You can see the color and size diversity of the orchids.
Right: Check out the root system of this orchid. It is NOT growing in dirt!

Left: Kristen named this orchid, "the Santa Claus Orchid." See if you can see Santa's face!

Right: A very unique orchid, with such tiny and intricate flower blossoms.

I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first one is from Kristen. Kristen wrote, "Vicki, thank you for spending a beautiful afternoon entertaining me with your wit and your wisdom. Peter, I wish you could have joined us. And for you both, know that on this Tuesday and every day I am thinking of you."

The second message is from my friend, Charlie. I read Charlie's message this morning and was deeply touched and honored! Thank you for such a high compliment. Charlie wrote, "You do good deeds almost unconsciously without judging them or looking for payback. In Judaism, we call that person a "mensch." A mensch literally means "a person" in Yiddish, but figuratively it means something much deeper. A mensch is a person with whom you would be happy to befriend and associate with, because you feel genuine in a mensch's presence. A mensch is a highly evolved human being. Menschlichkeit (the art of the mensch) has nothing to do with looks, with wealth, with success or with intellect. A mensch exudes a certain magnetism that attracts us, whether or not words or glances are exchanged. A person is a mensch because he simply makes others feel good. That to me is what you are and why people connect with you the way that they do. I am glad you got to reconnect with Margaret yesterday; those connections are critical for your emotional well being. One of the things you have to do as you help others is remember to take care of yourself as well. As your friend Karen told you, it is all about becoming tuned into yourself as much as you tend to be tuned into others and then doing what is necessary. It may seem an indulgence, but if you are not well, you cannot care for others. I will send you my energy today from practice so that you may use it as it is needed. I hold you gently in my thoughts."