Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2009. It was during that time, that Mattie and I made up a game involving cooking plastic bug stew. Mattie was chef Mattie, and I was the health inspector coming in periodically to check the cleanliness and standards of his restaurant. Naturally as the inspector, I was always very disturbed to see the chef cooking bugs! Mattie loved my reactions, and particularly loved the different accents I would use, to signify the different customers coming into his restaurant. I remember this interaction as if it were yesterday. Mattie had a good sense of humor, and one couldn't help but laugh, as Mattie was talking about his famous bug stew.
Poem of the day: My Son by Suzanne Kleczar
Time is moving forward
But the pain remains the same
Eight months have passed now
And nothing seems to change.
You were taken so suddenly
I could never be prepared
For the pain that I would feel
For the deep and dark despair.
A dark cloud descended
Over my world that day
For the loss of my child
There are no words I can say.
I long to see your face
To see you walk into the room
I long to hear your voice
Saying Mum I love you too
I know this will never be
I know this for a fact
But that doesn’t stop the longing
The longing to have you back
I can’t deal with the pain inside
I feel emotionally shutdown
From the pain that I try to hide.
The pain that’s so deep down.
I have asked myself many times
Will it always hurt this way?
Will the pain ever subside?
Will it ever go away?
They say time heals all wounds
I really don’t think that is true
I just have to learn to live
With the pain of losing you.
So on this sad day my son
I want to say to you
How very much I love you
And miss you so much too
This poem, "My Son," accurately portrays the feelings of grief experienced by a parent who has lost a child. The loss of a child is traumatic. NO amount of time will heal such a wound, and to advise someone that things will get better is not only being optimistic, but is rushing the grief process. I can certainly understand why someone may want to do this for me, because watching me and hearing me throughout this process is not easy. I may only be seven months into this process, but I know myself, I know my feelings, and what I can sense is that a parent never gets over the loss of a child. If books and articles claim that such healing can occur, I would challenge it. The best outcome possible is figuring out how to live with this intense pain and grief. That is most likely as good as it gets. Which is not an upbeat prognosis from where I stand.
Asking a parent who has lost a child to look toward the future is fraught with issues. There is so much that needs to be worked through emotionally before allowing one's self to even conceive of a future. Surviving your child is NOT natural, and seeing your child suffer with cancer and die before your eyes in a horrific way, are earth shattering. There is NO way you can look to the future, when you are stuck in the past and present. Moving toward the future to me can have negative connotations, not positive ones. The future only reminds me of the fact that I have a future without Mattie. Being able to accept the future, and the fact that time is moving on, also means that I can come to peace with my past. I don't see that happening any time soon, and this forward thinking only brings about further feelings of guilt. The guilt that I am here, Mattie isn't, and there was nothing Peter or I could do to change this outcome. When your child dies, many existential questions can be asked, such as... is life worth living without your child? What is life about without your child in it? What defines you as a person now that your child and your role are gone? What does the future hold, what do family holidays look like, etc? I am sure these questions are not easy to read, nor are they easy to write. However, it is the fact of the reality. Putting these raw feelings and emotions aside to look toward the future are counterproductive in my book. I can't see the future. Some days I am lucky I can make it through the day. But I do know that solutions to my crisis is NOT what I am looking for. Because when you loved someone so deeply, who was a part of you, there are NO solutions to this lost love. Nothing can replace Mattie. Instead of solutions, I am simply looking to be understood. That in and of itself is a very powerful therapeutic tool.
For many years I always questioned the 12 step approach to addictions. In one class in particular that I taught at the University, I required my students to attend a 12 step meeting and come back to class and discuss their thoughts and feelings about the process. Twelve step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous for example are not support groups, nor are they therapy. The whole premise is to attend, hear other people's stories, and to see that you are not alone with your issue. The problem I had with this model is there is no cross talk. An individual can spill his/her guts to a group or audience of people, but the group doesn't respond back in any manner. The thinking is just being heard is a powerful force. In a way, each night as I write the blog, I am doing the same thing. I am sharing my thoughts and feelings about grief, and the sheer process of verbalizing my feelings in a way is therapeutic. Some times I get feedback from others, but for the most part, I am experiencing the power of being heard, and naturally I appreciate the support of all of you listening.
I finished the centerpiece for Ann's table, and brought it to her house today. As the week moves on, I promise to take pictures and post them. I had the opportunity to spend some time with Ann's son today. Michael and I were in the car together and he was telling me about one of his DS games. In fact, each character he showed me in the game, made me laugh. Mainly because they are funny looking, and it is hard to tell whether these characters are animals or people. I had Michael laughing as well because I renamed all the characters in the game and by the time I was finished, even Michael was seeing these characters differently then how they were presented. The fun did not end there. Michael then asked me what Zen was. I had to think about it but then recalled that it is a Buddhist philosophy asserting that enlightenment can come through meditation and intuition. Michael found that interesting, and I asked him how he thought one could get this kind of enlightenment. His next line had me practically driving off the road. He said... how about getting it at CVS! He was joking, but it was the way he said it that truly made me laugh!
I received a lovely e-mail today from one of my former students, Tess. I have taught hundreds of students over the years, but she was definitely very memorable because of her skills, ability, and sensitivity. You can see her message to me today below. Tess had to take time away from reading the blog. I am sure a part of her felt bad doing that, and perhaps perceived this as not supporting me. Nonetheless, after a period away she did return to being a daily reader. I appreciate Tess' honesty and I agree with her, that what I am writing about is painful to hear, and it can rock your world and everything you hold dear. I admire her courage for telling me this and I admire her even more for knowing that she needed a break to regroup so that she could return anew to give further support.
I would like to end tonight's posting with three messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "It sounds like the plans for the march are coming along well. I am looking forward to being a part of the march again this year. You and Peter are a very strong team; together you can do so much and it is lovely to hear how you use your complementary skills. Many thanks to Ann and the planning committee in advance for all they have already done and all that is yet to come with respect to the march. I hold you gently in my thoughts."
The second message is from a mom I met only once at Abigail's dance recital last summer. In fact, Chris came up to me at the recital and gave me a huge hug. She wanted to thank me for doing what I do. She never met me before that day, and we haven't met since, nonetheless, I am deeply touched by the fact that Chris reads our blog each and every day. Chris wrote, " I have wanted to write for awhile but just haven’t found the courage to write. But today was different for me so here goes. I want you to know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. I want you to know how I look forward to reading the blog and how this has become a part of my morning routine. I didn’t know Mattie but Mattie and your family have become a part of my life in a very special way. Your family warms my heart. (You are genuine and real) There are certain times in my day that make me think about Mattie and I thought you should know. I was watching the Country Music awards last night and Toby Keith and Miranda Lambert both sang songs that remind me of Mattie. Also, my daughter went to RCC and I was going through some of her art work recently and saw that she was the moon sign one year at RCC and it made me think of Mattie. There are many more ways that Mattie has touch my life but one last one is my daughter and I were traveling to visit my family and while driving we had this long conversation about all kinds of things and some of the discussion was about the upcoming walk, how I knew so much about Mattie and why Mattie had to die. The conversation wasn’t easy but it was real and again it just warmed my heart knowing that this boy has touched my life in such a special way. Also, I want you to know how amazing I think you and Peter are for allowing us to join you on this journey and how you both have given me strength in dealing with some difficult circumstances. I hope you don’t mind me sharing this with you but I thought you should know how you all have touched my life."
The third message is from my former student, Tess. Tess wrote, "Not a day goes by that I don't think of you with welling emotion. After taking a short hiatus from reading the blog in order to try and calm my own anxiety around death, I am back to reading it daily, and am so appreciating the beautiful and precious pictures of Mattie, your tender descriptions of moments shared, opportunities lost, and the daily battles and small victories you face. I continue to be in awe of all you manage, and of the grace and heart with which you articulate it to those who love and care so deeply about you. It was such a pleasure to see you at GW a couple of weeks ago; when I heard I could have an opportunity to say hello, I nearly tripped over myself writing back to Honey immediately that YES I would love to come. Having you share your experience has so intimately deepened my compassion for others' tragedy and my desire to dedicate my life to improving the circumstances of those in need. I am hoping to come to the second Mattie March, and hope we'll have further chances to interact soon. I struggle greatly with synthesizing Mattie's death and your pain, as I know many of your readers must - it is such an overwhelming, unjust, cruel and unthinkable situation. And imagining what your world must be like if the loss of Mattie is affecting me this much just makes it all the more heart-wrenching. Tears take over when I reflect on your loss, and I wish the warmth and love with which I surround you in my mind and heart could bring some real comfort to your day. Whatever love is capable of doing, I know that your love for Mattie, and the outpouring of love so many feel for your family, is bound to produce miracles of one sort or another. I know it will never be the one miracle that was your greatest wish, but I know there are some powerful forces at play here which will no doubt move mountains."
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