Tonight's picture was taken in December of 2008. Mattie was in the Lombardi Clinic and had received an infusion of the experimental drug, MTP-PE. In usual fashion, this drug made Mattie ill with a fever and rigors (intense chills, that were frightening to see). In the midst of this reaction, in which he could barely keep his head up, Santa and Mrs. Claus came to visit Mattie. They brought him several gifts (one of which was a Lego set!) and for that moment in time, Mattie lifted his head, smiled for Santa, and then basically collapsed into the pillow right after the picture was taken.
Quote of the day: Tell me in mournful numbers life is but an empty dream! Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leave behind us footprints in the sands of time. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
As I look at the picture I posted of Mattie tonight, it shows the innocence of a child, who despite battling cancer, appreciated the joy and magic of Christmas. Mattie was so sick that day in clinic, he was so debilitated, and yet he mustered the energy to greet Santa and take a picture. The spirit of Mattie speaks loudly and clearly to me here and though Christmas of 2008, was a horrible Christmas, I have found that the past two Christmases without Mattie in them have been even worse.
Though I haven't been reporting this on the blog, I have been suffering with a migraine headache now for about two weeks straight. It was my hope that it would subside with my change in scenery, but it has not. It can be very debilitating to have such intense headaches day in and day out. This morning, my mom, Peter, and I went for a walk. We walked over 3.1 miles and were out in the sunshine and the fresh air. Sometimes walking and air can make me feel better, but unfortunately that did not happen today. I do think the holidays are weighing heavily on Peter and I, and frankly the notion of another year feeling this way is a daunting prospect.
My parents were having friends over to their house tonight, and Peter and I tried to help them with the party. Peter and I actually work very well together in the kitchen and with party planning. Perhaps that comes to my readers as no surprise, since we (from my perspective!) did an excellent job coordinating Mattie's care. We have shared a lot of pain together as a couple but we also share a history of friendship. It is that history that we pull from in times of crisis and pain. We are fortunate to have such resources because our pain outweighs what most couples have to face in a lifetime.
Before my parent's friends came over tonight, we snapped some pictures of the evening to capture the moment. Though I haven't reported this on the blog, Peter began a diet over a month ago. Some of you may be able to see the wonderful progress he has made in this picture. The stress of Mattie's illness and death has been not only emotionally complex, but physically taxing for us. However, I admire Peter's commitment and dedication to regain his health.
Christmas is a very challenging holiday for us. As I look at holiday photos friends are sending me, many of which include pictures of their children in them, Peter and I can't help but feel out of place and very confused. On one hand we are happy for our friends, and love seeing their children grow, and yet on the other hand, this seems like a reminder to us that Mattie is gone and we will never see this growth and development in him or in ourselves as parents. It is very hard not to harbor bitter and angry feelings, and then of course intense guilt for having these feelings toward others. In many ways visiting my parents for the holidays was a very wise decision. We are all feeling the same way, and when I lash out with my feelings they understand where they are coming from. I serve no purpose right now to my friends when I feel the way that I currently do. In fact, I find that my own toxic feelings, if not kept in check, could most definitely harm a friendship.
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