Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2008. Only TWO months before Mattie was diagnosed with cancer. When I look at this picture it almost seems impossible to believe that inside that cute body was a disease that had already taken an aggressive hold over Mattie. I recall the day this picture was taken. It was a Friday afternoon. Peter got home early from work, and Mattie was very ready to do something. So we took him on a Potomac River cruise. Mattie enjoyed that day, and another family on the boat trip snapped our picture along our journey. I am so happy they did!
Quote of the day: Did I love you? Surely yes. Did you know? Absolutely. Was it enough? Never. Is it over? Yes, forever. Will it end? Not ever. I bid you goodbye and love you still, dancing in the joy of what we had. Crying in its loss, praying for your soul. Not knowing if you need it. But believing it is a link. ~ Clarice Hausch
I received an email this morning from my friend, Charlie. Charlie mentioned how our radio station has been having a St. Jude's radiothon for the past two days (from which the station raised over $300,000 for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital). Ironically, neither one of us could really listen to it this year. You would think since I lived this experience, that I would be thrilled that such publicity and fundraising was happening on the air for pediatric cancer. My answer to this is partly. I suppose in many ways the radio and the tv have become modes of escape for me. Therefore, when I am hearing cancer stories and crying parents on the radio, I find this disconcerting. For two days, I lost one area of my life which I usually turn to for a diversion, free from cancer.
This morning was one of those days where Mattie's death hit me. Bluntly stated, it is hard to see pictures of Mattie healthy and then reflect on the fact that his little body was cremated and all I have left of him is his ashes. It seems too surreal at times to believe that this happened to Mattie and to us. Yet the lack of his presence forces me to accept the impossible.
As I told my friend Alison today, I was happy we actually met for lunch. She forced me in a way to get up and out. At lunch Alison and I talked about many topics, and over lunch she gave me several meaningful gifts. One gift was a beautiful glass butterfly, which I plan on using as a suncatcher. Butterflies mean a lot to me, and therefore as I look at this butterfly this winter, I will be thinking of Mattie. The second gift was an origami Santa. Origami cranes became a symbol for Mattie in the hospital. His IV pole and room were filled with praying cranes, thanks to our friend, Junko and her mom. So today's origami Santa immediately reminded me of Mattie, and I placed this fellow right next to Mattie's ashes, because it just seemed like the right place to put Santa. The final gift was a beautifully scented candle, but it was the name of the candle that caught our attention. The candle's name was "comfort and joy." Alison felt like I needed both of those things. When you think about it, Alison has shared with me HOPE, comfort, and joy. Seems rather symbolic. Many of my readers may recall that the first time Alison met me in the Hospital, she took off the necklace she wore around her neck, and gave it to me. The message on the necklace was simply stated, with one word, HOPE. I wore that necklace each day that Mattie was alive, until the day he died. Alison's gifts were very meaningful to me, but the true gift is her friendship. We laughed and cried and basically covered many emotions together at lunch. But as Alison reminds me, I am still grieving, and grieving the loss of a child doesn't stop after one year. VERY TRUE, and I appreciate her openness to talk about things that aren't always easy to talk about.
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