Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2009. Mattie was home and playing in his sandbox. Many of you have heard me talk about this sandbox lately, and how we have relocated it outside our deck door. Well this is a picture of the infamous sandbox in the shape of a frog! Mattie had pieces of wood in the sandbox to use as ramps for his cars, and despite the fact that he had a broviac central line in his chest, I felt it was important for him to play in the sand and to be 7 years old. From this picture, I think one could perhaps draw the conclusion that Mattie always loved the sand. This however, couldn't be further from the truth. It took Mattie three years at least to get adjusted to the feel and texture of sand. He may have been a slow starter in that department, but once he acclimated to sand he made up for lost time. Mattie learned to appreciate the versatility of sand, to play with, to build with, to feel, and to create endless possibilities!
Quote of the day: The years of our marriage are few when measured against a lifetime. We have encountered joy and shared confidence in our future. We have known hope's ending and have borne the death of dreams. We have together been diminished. Even minor aspirations have eluded our grasp in the cruel shadow of the loss of our child. Yet we still share our lives. And though the brightness we once knew has fled, we have grown enough to sense a return of laughter - an uplifting to shatter the dimness, to remind us that tomorrow will come and dreams may again be born. ~ Don Hackett
I came across tonight's quote in the book of quotations that my friend, Denise, gave me. It captured my attention because it was written by a man to his wife. This man clearly reflects on how their marriage has not gone the way they had envisioned or expected, that through their union, they share the death of their child and of their dreams. Thankfully most married couples do not share this commonality with us and frankly who would even think about having such a grim future when getting married. Certainly all marriages face hardships, it is a fact of life that is inevitable, but the death of a child is neither predictable or understandable. Dealing with such grief can be wearing physically and emotionally, and it has done irreparable damage to Peter and I. However, finding a way through this, to continue to grow together, and to rebuild meaning in our world takes inordinate amounts of courage and strength each day.
Peter and I had a slow start to the day, and neither one of us felt compelled to race around or do much of anything. Which was fine considering we both had a very busy day yesterday. I did visit with Mary, Ann's mom, today for a couple of hours. Mary was at Ann's house, and we sat outside together on the porch and I gave her a manicure. As we were sitting, Mary could see her reflection in Ann's window, and Mary was startled by what she saw. I tried to explain to her that for 81 years of age she looks very good, but that I can imagine when she sees herself, she no longer sees the person she remembers. A person before developing a neurological disease. Mary's observations of herself caught my attention, mainly because I realize Mary doesn't always have the opportunity to see what she looks like on a regular basis. I appreciate Mary's insights and I appreciate her openness to discuss what is on her mind, something we share in common. As I left Mary today, she wanted me to know that she appreciates all the ways I pamper her. Mary has become my friend, and whether she acknowledged what I do for her or not, I would continue to do it, nonetheless, having feedback always helps to guide my behavior and in a way her honestly only strengthens our friendship.
When I got home this afternoon, I started cooking an early dinner. Peter and I chatted with each other, and this time that we connect and share thoughts and feelings in an uninterrupted manner is so important. I find trying to navigate in world without Mattie very difficult, and just when I think I may be the only one feeling this way, I receive a message from a fellow osteosarcoma mom that normalizes my reality. Today I read a posting by Karen, a woman who lost her son to osteosarcoma last October. Karen still maintains her son's blog, and when I read what she wrote, I simply had to pause, because it could have been me writing the message. We are feeling similarly and the profound nature of the loss makes it hard to come to some sort of reconciliation about the death. There are no solutions to grief, but I must say I do appreciate hearing the words of other moms who lost their children to osteosarcoma. These women understand the battle all too well, and they also understand the daily battle we now face living.
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