Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2004. Mattie was two years old. We took Mattie to the Washington, DC reflecting pool. Right by the Lincoln Memorial. As you can see from Mattie's expression he was very happy to see the ducks swimming in the water. During the spring, there are usually ducklings swimming along side their moms, and Mattie and I both loved that sight. What you may not be able to see, but you can if you look in the shadow of the picture, is that my right hand was attached to Mattie's clothing. Here is the irony of the matter. I always tried to think of all the potential risks that could happen to Mattie. Water and a two year old, always led my mind instantly to the possibility of drowning. So I was hypervigilant by water. If you would have told me that only four years later Mattie would have developed Osteosarcoma, I most likely would never have believed you. Cancer is a sobering reality check, because it showed me that there are things beyond our control, and this disease showed me that no matter how much I wanted to protect Mattie, I just couldn't!
Poem of the day: Symbols and Reality by Charlie Brown
I see the sun rising
On another cloudless day
I watch for little things
Sometimes I even pray.
A bird, a bee, a butterfly,
All are linked to you;
While I appreciate these symbols
They also make me blue.
I want so much to hold you,
To feel your arms around my neck;
To hear you whisper in my ear,
Or to give my cheek a peck.
But all I have are memories,
And objects, pictures too;
And none of them can have the force,
Of even one minute spent with you.
I do not get many days like this, where I just sit down in front of my computer, and wonder what on earth will I write today? Typically I have thoughts and feelings of some sort that I want to express or to at least catch you up on our day. Tonight, I think my thoughts are jumbled and I have many emotions running into each other inside my head.
Ann and her family are back from their trip. So I had the opportunity to spend the day with her and her children. I went with Ann to pick up Abbie from her soccer camp and Michael from his basketball camp. In this sense being around children and seeing them in camp doesn't appear challenging for me. I mean I go, and I seem to have no reaction to what I am seeing, other than observing what is around me. However, I know that I am very good at depersonalizing what I experience, and therefore I do not allow myself to accurately feel what I am seeing and hearing and apply it to myself (or at least NOT in the moment). I think this skill has been a wonderful coping mechanism to help me manage grief in pieces. None the less, if I were to remove the composed facade, perhaps today's sights do affect me. I know at least by the end of today, I can feel something bothering me. Could it be that I continue to realize that being a parent is no longer part of my life? My life is NOT like the life of a mom. I may try to help Ann, but at the end of the day, the cold facts speak for themselves. I no longer have a child to love, nurture, run around after, take to camp, and be there for. Not a pleasant reality at all. I am not saying that running around with Ann today triggered this, because if this did not get me thinking, then something else in my life would. That is the overwhelming nature of grief, it hits me in ways and in times that I least expect it. Grief can hit me when I watch a TV program, read a book, hear a song, talk to someone, and the list goes on. Simply stated, grief distorts my vision!
Peter and I received a beautiful e-mail today from a former neighbor of ours. This particular fellow lost his mom a little more than a year ago. He was a devoted son and caregiver to her, and he wanted to let us know how much he thinks of us always and he knows things are hard for us. However, he also wanted us to know that there is no magic time period when we will feel better. In fact, he acknowledged that after the first anniversary of his mother's death, he continues to feel deep grief. Naturally I am saddened to hear the pain my neighbor continues to be in, and yet on the other hand, I admire his ability to articulate exactly what I know is true. Grief doesn't end after one year. In fact, I think with certain losses, the pain and grief from this most likely lasts a lifetime. I was happy he had the courage to admit something that I hold deeply within my heart, and even happier that he shared this with me and helped normalize my feeling. If my readers are hoping that on September 8, 2010, Peter and I are going to miraculously feel better, then I hate to disappoint you. I know this won't be the case. Peter and I are trying to evolve with this loss, but this loss will always be at our core and will drive many of our thoughts and feelings now and into the future. In fact, I think time doesn't heal, but in many ways, time can cause more pain. Time allows you the chance to truly reflect on your loss and what is missing in your life. Time also tries to fade memories from your mind, and it is a real struggle to keep these special moments we had with Mattie alive.
My mom sent me a story that she wrote today, entitled, A visit from a monarch. It seems to me that so many of us are now having incredible butterfly sightings. Frankly I can recall many summers without seeing a butterfly at all. Either these glorious creatures were always there and I took them for granted, or Mattie is trying to send us a message. Either case, I hope you enjoy my mom's story as much as I did.
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A Visit from a Monarch by Virginia R. Sardi
You no doubt can relate to having the experience of walking out the door when the telephone rings and though you wish to ignore it, you know it could be important so you go back to answer it. It turned out to be a friend of Mauro’s who was to meet us for lunch explaining that he was not feeling well and could not join us as usual. We were disappointed but continued on our way. Mauro turned on the alarm and I had already walked outside the house. If we had left five minutes earlier, as we scheduled to, we would have missed this unexpected and serendipitous visit that caught me by complete surprise as I have never seen a monarch butterfly in the Burbank Hills.
But there it was fluttering its beautiful golden and black patterned wings on a low branch of our jacaranda tree that was directly in my line of vision. It was elegant and full of energy, vim and vigor as it maneuvered itself from limb to limb. I called to Mauro to hurry out to see it before it departed for other parts of the Hills. He came out just in time to see it and remarked that it was our very first sighting since we moved here in 2007. As we spoke, the monarch headed directly for me, taking my breath away, before it took off and flew away. It seemed to know us and I felt it was a sign from Mattie that he was thinking of us and that he sent this beautiful creature to let us know that love never dies!
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I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I do believe that some of the people in your life are still in it because of the blog. It makes it "easier" for people to stay in contact as if you had called us all on a party line in a one way phone call and given us the low down on your day. If not for that, I think some would have considered calling but been afraid to somehow "violate" your space since they might not consider themselves long time friends. As our lives get busy it does get difficult to stay in touch and finding the right time to call can be problematic so in a way, the blog stands as an all day (tune in when you can) call to be responded to when you are able. I think this encourages a number of people to stay in touch. But it is more than this; I believe it is also the force of your personality, the caring, loving person that you are that comes through in your relationships with people that makes them connect to you and want to continue that connection. I loved the pictures from the DC Aquatic Gardens and it is now definitely on my list of places to visit soon. I have this mental picture of you spraying Peter with water to cool him down that just makes me smile. Reading your comments about your visit with Mary was interesting. First, whether the person is in a positive or negative mood, everyone needs social interaction of some sort. Second, why do people think that they can change (or have the right to do so) someone's likes and dislikes after more than 70-80 years of behaving a certain way? Mary doesn't eat corn, has probably never liked it, but somehow the center attendants have decided she should eat it anyway. Why? And what will it accomplish now for her? Thought about in this way, it is totally absurd and worthy of laughter if nothing else. It really was a good deed on your part to see Mary every day this week and I think that Mary is in much better shape for Ann's return than she would have been without your visits. As I practice today I send you my energy to help you continue to deal with the little and not so little signs that Mattie is gone. I hold you gently in my thoughts."
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