Tonight's picture was taken in September of 2006. Mattie was about four and a half years old. Potty training Mattie was a true experience, and just like everything else with his development, he was going to do that only when he was ready. When Mattie entered Resurrection Children's Center, he was three and a half years old, and was not potty trained. However by the spring of his first year in preschool, Margaret (his teacher), said she thought he was ready to try moving to underwear. That was an adventure for all of us. Mattie had a couple of accidents, naturally, but for the most part, when he was ready to do something, he was really ready! I must have snapped this picture of Mattie in our bathroom, with his tractor stool (that he and Peter made together), and sunglasses of course. Doesn't every one wear sunglasses in the bathroom? This picture was SO Mattie, and I must have grabbed my camera that day to capture this very entertaining sight!
Poem of the day: Something by Author Unknown
I want to leave you something.
Something much better than words or
sounds. Look for me in the people
I've known and loved or helped
in some special way.
Let me live in your heart as well as
your mind. You can love me most
by letting your love reach out to our
loved ones. By embracing them
and living in their love.
Love does not die, people do.
So, when all that's left of me is love,
give me away as best you can.
It is hard to believe that another Tuesday has passed us. Today marks the 44th week that Mattie has been gone from our lives, and as is typical with most Tuesdays I find myself reflecting on the magnitude of the day. I spent a great deal of time today reading the book, My Sister's Keeper. This book intrigues me because it is about a couple who decides to have a third child. However this child is genetically engineered to be a perfect bone marrow donor to her sister (their first daughter) who is dying from leukemia. If this seems like a farfetched story, I assure you it isn't. In fact, Peter and I have met a mom through Georgetown University Hospital who had a "rescue" child to help her son who was dying from cancer. I think knowing that this story is based in reality, makes it very compelling. The way Jodi Picoult, the author, describes cancer and its devastating impact on family dynamics is very well done. It has captured my attention, because I can feel what she is expressing in the book and it is quite legitimate. I spent a great deal of time reading outside on Ann's porch. Though it was hot out, the sun wasn't out, so to me it was quite pleasant just to sit still. While reading, something caught my eye. When I looked up, I saw a rare sight. A hummingbird had landed on a branch and wasn't moving. It eventually fluttered away, but seeing his tiny and delicate body up close was a beautiful sighting.
I saw Ann only briefly today, but while we were chatting, Ann saw a familiar face in the distance. It was Lee, the speech therapist, who works at Mattie's preschool. Mattie's preschool is an inclusive school, meaning that each classroom has around 25% of children with special needs integrated into the classroom. The beauty of this school, is that children with special needs and typically developing children can learn side by side, and in fact, they can learn a great deal from each other. Children with special needs have a unique view of the world, and many times from my experience are very sensitive, intuitive, and perceive a great deal more than those who are typically developing. Lee eventually worked her way toward us, and when she saw me, she gave me a big hug. Lee and I are both graduates of the George Washington University, and while Mattie was in preschool, we had many wonderful opportunities to chat. Lee told me she thinks about Mattie and I often, and that she wanted me to know that his life mattered and made a difference. Lee shared with me that a friend of hers was recently diagnosed with a form of sarcoma. This same friend went to a wedding last weekend and while at the wedding she noticed that the bride and groom were asking guests to contribute to the Mattie Miracle Cancer Foundation in lieu of gifts. Lee's friend asked her if she knew of a Mattie Brown who went to school in Alexandria, VA? Lee naturally knew Mattie and explained our story to her friend. Her friend with cancer, was so touched to see that people who are unaffected by this disease care. This made her feel less alone, and in a way she felt supported by observing this generous act at this wedding. But this story gets better. We actually know the bride from the wedding Lee's friend attended. The bride is Becky and she is a St. Stephen's and St. Agnes school 3rd grade teacher. I met Becky for the first time in May, at Mattie's tree dedication ceremony. Becky is an avid blog follower, but I had never met her in person until that day. When I met Becky she told me she was getting married and in lieu of gifts she was asking her guests to donate to the Foundation. It seems quite remarkable that on a very special day for this young bride, instead of thinking of herself and the gifts she could accumulate, she instead is thinking of Mattie and the Foundation. To me, this special story and person needed to be mentioned, and I am happy that Lee inspired me to write about this tonight. As always, it was wonderful to see Lee since her smile has a way of warming your heart.
This afternoon, I attempted to go back to the same spa I went to a few weeks ago. You may recall, the spa in which I told you a mom brought her newborn baby. I am happy to say that the spa was quiet today, and I had a moment to relax and to continue reading my book. Relaxing doesn't come easily to me, but as I continue to have problems sleeping at night, I find that by day, if I am relaxed enough and not moving, I literally will fall asleep. Later in the day, I headed home and completed some Foundation paperwork.
When Peter got home tonight, we experimented with yet another recipe. I am not sure what we enjoy more, cooking the product, or critiquing it. But it brings us together and through the process we connect about our day.
I would like to share a passage I read today from, My Sister's Keeper. Just so you understand the cast of characters in the book, Kate is the daughter of this couple who is dying from leukemia. Jesse is this girl's brother, and Anna (who I am quoting) is the genetically engineered child, conceived solely to rescue her sister, Kate, from cancer. Anna says, "If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister, even when the other half of the equation is gone? I crawl onto the bed, which is narrow, but still big enough for both of us. I rest my head on her chest, so close to her central line that I can see the liquid dripping into her. Jesse is wrong, I didn't come to see Kate because it would make me feel better. I came because without her, it's hard to remember who I am."
The last line of this passage catches my attention. I did not lose a sibling, as in the book, I lost my son. However, I understand this line of questioning. Am I still a parent, now that Mattie is gone? Certainly before Mattie died, when clients of mine lost a loved one, I would work hard to help them see that this person will always be a part of their life. However, now that I have experienced such a traumatic loss, I get the true quandary of this question. Certainly on a cognitive level our loved ones will always be a part of us and our lives. But without their physical presence, our roles really do CHANGE, and they CHANGE dramatically. As Anna asks herself in this book, "who am I" without her sister? I often ask, who am I without Mattie? When you are a parent, your children define you. Children give our lives structure, purpose, meaning, and a trajectory toward the future. When you lose someone of great importance in your life, it is an existential crisis. Not only am I grieving the loss of Mattie, but I am also grieving the loss of my identity.
I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "First, I want to tell you I came back several times to the picture of Mattie you posted yesterday at the DC reflecting pool. I read what you wrote and I looked at Mattie, who usually to me looks like you, but in this picture I saw his resemblance to Peter. I came back several times to it and I finally realized that it was his "stance" that reminds me of Peter; how he was holding himself, while intent on his objects of interest. I am not surprised that you have so many thoughts and emotions all whirling in your head; while you were helping Ann out, doing things with her family, her children are not yours and the relationship is not quite the same. You don't make the decisions for the child, teach him or her your values system, share your inner self the same way. It is a loss that can never be filled but the edges of the "hole" will hopefully soften with time. Stepping over the mark of September 8, 2010 will certainly not stop your grief nor will Sept 9 likely find you in much of a better mood but you will know that you survived the first year and that you can go on sadly, without Mattie. As you move on this path toward your first year without Mattie in your life, I send you strength to help you with your journey and to search for ways to continue to connect to others. I hold you gently in my thoughts."
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