Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2002, when Mattie was one month old. He was sitting on my lap and we were both getting fresh air on our deck. As you can see from this picture, Mattie was a cutie, with his chubby cheeks and his eyes wide open. Mattie was born alert and curious, and never liked napping. It was if he was going to miss out on something if he closed his eyes. Of course looking back at his baby years, I can't help but feel that he knew on some level that he had to take everything in, absorb life, because a long life isn't always a given.
Quote of the day (or perhaps I should say Peter's fortune for the day): Life is a tragedy for those who feel and life is a comedy for those who think.
Tonight's quote is not necessarily a quote, though it reads like one! It is instead a fortune, that came right out of fortune cookie tonight at dinner. My fortune was silly, but Peter's fortune caught my attention. When I read it at first, I had to think about it. But it did not take me long to agree with its sentiments. I consider myself a deeply feeling person, and when you are a person who observes, absorbs, and processes your own feelings and that of others around you, it is very easy to view life as a tragedy. There is a great deal of pain, evil, and confusion in our lives and in our world. At times I admire those who don't feel as much, or don't care to feel. Life in a way is much easier if you live in a numb or indifferent state. However, what I do believe is that experiencing deep feelings also allows one to see the beauty of things and people on a level that would be impossible to reach if closed off to emotions. So feelings are in essence a double edged sword.
Mary looked particularly lovely today, as she was wearing her new birthday outfit, and was truly excited to be going out to lunch to celebrate her birthday. I told Mary that it is hard to believe that I met her two years ago on her birthday. Somehow it seems like we have known each other for a longer period of time. However, I have to think the intensity of time we have spent together over the past two years, and the common bond we share (the death of a son through cancer) has enabled us to connect on a very meaningful level.
After lunch, I went back with Mary to her assisted living facility, and we sat and chatted, and read her home town newspaper together. In the process of doing that, I helped Mary hang up all the birthday cards she received and plugged in the Christmas tree fragrance diffuser I bought her. Mary is like me, in the sense that she likes fragrances, and I couldn't think of a cleaner and more holiday oriented fragrance than that of a pine tree.
Later this evening, Peter and I went out to dinner. I told him about Mary's birthday and I heard all about his day. While at our local restaurant, which some of you know I have nicknamed as our "Cheers," we bumped into JJ's (our resident Jack Russell Terrier) dad, JP. Many of my faithful readers know how close Mattie was to JJ, and for months JJ pined for Mattie on our front doorstep after he died. Peter and I sat for a while, and when I first sit down my mind is going in 12 different directions, but over the course of dinner, it was nice to be able to converse and connect. After the loss of a child, it certainly would be easier NOT to connect, and not to share thoughts and feelings with each other. However, Peter and I have never taken the easy way out of things, and this is no exception.
I received a beautiful email from Mattie's social worker, Denise. Her message was so touching, I asked her whether I could share it with you. Denise is a grief counselor by training, and I find she and I connect quite well on the loss of Mattie. She aptly hones in on why I am feeling particularly more vulnerable during the holidays, and yet despite my feelings, I appreciate her acknowledging the fact that I try to think of others in the process. Needless to say, her message came to me at the right time.
Denise wrote, "For the past few months I have been thinking about Mattie quite a bit. It all started with Halloween, because Mattie loved holidays so much and I reflected on all of the decorations he made for his room. The Halloween party here in the hospital and a cake in the shape of a haunted house reminded me of Mattie's precious haunted house. As I watched the leaves on the trees turned from green to gold, orange, and red that brought further remembrances because Mattie's favorite color was red and his second favorite color was orange. I look up from my desk and I see a picture of a smiling boy in a pumpkin patch and it doesn't seem quite real that he is no longer with us. I know that this must be an extremely difficult time of the year for you as we approach all of these big, family oriented holidays. In part because of the sharing, togetherness and emphasis on family and in part because they were such a treasured part of your life and Mattie's. I can't even begin to imagine the pain and sorrow that you might feel of not having Mattie here to share them with you. Today, I found myself walking the halls of the hospital and I saw Mattie's poster about what a hospital should be... and my mind kept thinking, he was just a boy, he was just a boy. It just does not seem natural for a child to die so young. I read your blog and found your sentiments to reflect much of what I have been thinking. I continue to marvel at the strength that you show even when you don't know that you are doing it. It takes great courage and strength to be as open and honest as you are about what you are going through and what you are feeling. At the same time you are constantly giving to others. Even though Peter defers the writing to you Vicki, the blogs that he wrote while you were in California brought tears to my eyes. Despite your sorrow, you both are filled with compassion for others. I just wanted you to know that I have not forgotten you. Mattie and the two of you are in my thoughts all of the time. Your pain, your suffering and most of all, you still matter to me. Just wanted you to know that."
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