Tonight's picture was taken on April 20, 2002, when Mattie was 16 days old. In the picture, it looks like Peter's eyes were closed, but they really weren't. He was instead batting his eyes open and closed to get Mattie's attention. As you can see Mattie was eagerly trying to focus! Naturally in the background was Patches, our cat, resting on the couch. When Mattie entered our world, Patches did not know what was going on. We were up at all hours of the day and night, and she wasn't getting the attention she was accustomed to. Mattie was a huge adjustment for her, but she learned quickly. In a way, Patches misses Mattie too. Patches spends a good portion of her days now lying on Mattie's bed, something she NEVER did when he was alive. But she doesn't just lie on the bed, instead she curls herself up into a ball inside of "Sunshine," Mattie's stuffed animal albino boa constrictor, which sits on Mattie's bed.
Poem of the day: The Search by Charlie Brown
When I look back
Upon my time
What will I say
Was really "mine?"
My work, my job
My home, my space
None of these
Can take first place
I am, I was
A mother of
A special child
Filled with love
He embraced his life
Until age seven
And touched many hearts
Before heading to heaven
And now I'm left
And trying to find
Something else
For my heart and mind
What is my "job"
What am I to do
Since my life task
Seems to be through
I am questing
I am on a search
I don't think my answers
Are found in church
Perhaps in nature
That's His too
And where I still connect
With my memories of you
All the rest just
Seems to be
A way to wait
For eternity
Some days hope
Seems near to hand
And on others
Like shifting sand
So I go on searching
For those things
That will give life meaning
And the satisfaction that brings.
When you lose a child, it leaves you "searching," as tonight's poem so aptly states. Searching for meaning, purpose, direction, and a future. Mattie's cancer diagnosis and then his death, in a way were two different back to back traumas for Peter and I to deal with. I find that surviving a trauma fragments one's life in a way, because my life is broken into times when I was a parent of a healthy child, times when I was a parent battling pediatric cancer, and now my current existence after Mattie's death. Some days, it is hard to put these fragmented parts of my life together, and I find this is the case because this is how a traumatized brain learns to manage and cope. It is coping in steps and in pieces. I am sure if I accepted all these realities at one time, I most likely would be paralyzed. I recently read Sammie's mother's blog. Many of my readers were familiar with Sammie, who died of Osteosarcoma in October of 2009. Chris (Sammie's mom) basically said on the 9th month anniversary of her daughter's death, that when the real reality of this loss hits her, she dreads this day, because it will be overwhelming. That may sound strange to some of you, because you are probably saying.... don't they know their child died!? Yes cognitively we get it, but it is quite another story to emotionally accept the true ramifications and the many layers of this loss. I understood exactly what Chris was saying. I have had some of these flashes of reality, and they are not pleasant and can be very overwhelming. In those times it almost feels like there is a tornado going on inside my head, and as anyone knows, when in an eye of a tornado, there is no escape, there is only chaos. Naturally, when having this feeling, I become scared because I am always uncertain as to when this feeling will pass, or whether I will instead get sucked inside this chaos.
Peter and Dr. Bob spent the afternoon at a restaurant together watching the World Cup. While Peter was out, I completed our final set of Foundation Walk paperwork. It was a good feeling to accomplish this! I went out for a little bit, but then came home and sat outside on our deck to read. When Peter returned home, he brought up two packages that were held for us at our front desk. Today's gift theme centered on oak trees and the memory of Mattie. I found it ironic that two separate people sent us oak tree related gifts. To me there is a message in that alone. The first gift is a book entitled, "The South Overlook Oaks." The book was sent to us by its author, John Reardon. John wrote a lovely inscription inside the book, in which he dedicated it in memory of Mattie. John is a SSSAS parent, and this is the perfect book for us considering that the second grade families at the school just dedicated an oak tree to Mattie on the lower school campus. John's introduction caught my attention, because he has his readers imagine how much oaks trees have seen and heard in all the years they have been standing in one place. These oaks are like windows into our lives. The second gift was sent to us by my in-laws for our upcoming 15th wedding anniversary. The gift was a handcrafted birdhouse in the shape of an acorn. The message in the card was that this would be a beautiful addition to Mattie's tree. Peter and I liked that idea, and will be crafting a way to attach it to the tree, without damaging the tree in any way. So stay tuned for pictures of Mattie's oak tree with an acorn birdhouse attached!
I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "As we've said so many times in this blog, children know how to grieve and how to keep alive the memory of the lost in a way that we adults no longer do. Abigail's story about Mattie and the legos resonates because it is honest and natural and reflects who they both are. I am so glad Katharina is doing well; I am sure that prayers went out on her behalf after many read about her surgery in the blog; her mother has been a stronger support to you and I know she appreciates your return assistance. I thought your sharing of Peter's story about Mattie's "signals" was lovely; it confirms what I have always believed, that no matter how well we think we know someone, another can always share a different view, a different story, some precious detail that was missed. That's why one of the greatest gifts one can give a griever is to share a story of their loved one with them. As you go through your day, I send you the strength from my practice to help you on your road. I hold you gently in my thoughts."
The second message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy, "I am touched once again by your sensitivity and compassion. I heard your mixed emotions as you discussed Katharina using Mattie's chair. I sensed the sadness as you recalled the permanence of his condition. Abigail and Katharina want you to know that they think about their friend. We, adults have much to learn from our young teachers. They know that you are one of the adults who can hear them no matter what is happening for you personally. I agree with Charlie, Ann, and others that there is something special planned for you besides the tremendous courage, love, and integrity that you displayed during Mattie's illness. Peter's remembrance of how Mattie said 'I Love You So Much' especially touched my heart. They had a special bond as well. Mattie was destined to come to the right set of parents given the challenges he would have to face. Here is where I see G-d working. I believe that the Foundation will provide the families needing to go through this tunnel of illness with more than knowledge. They will have an advocate and support needed to weather their storm. I believe that your courage in sharing your story with so many people has given others the ability to withstand the pain and realities of pediatric cancer along with other loss. Grief comes in so many packages. Life requires that we open them, hopefully, one at a time. I hope that Peter and you are feeling better as we greet another week."
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