Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2008. A month before Mattie was diagnosed with cancer. Life seemed easier then, or perhaps I was just naive. Peter and I took Mattie for a walk on Roosevelt Island that weekend. Peter snapped a picture of us at our favorite location on the island. Right by the boardwalk. Mattie did not come alone though. In his hand, he was carrying Lightning McQueen (the toy car). That was his favorite toy at the time, and it came everywhere with us! It is hard to believe that I still have Lightning McQueen with me, and I can even locate the clothes and sandals Mattie was wearing that day in our closets, yet we don't have the boy with us. I have a feeling most parents do not hold onto toys, clothes, and objects like we do. But then again, maybe you would if you knew this was all you had left of your child.
Quote of the day: There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I had the wonderful opportunity today to go out to lunch with Denise and her daughter, Marisa. Denise and I met in graduate school, and we are now friends and colleagues. Both Denise and Marisa became part of Team Mattie and I met Marisa in particular when she offered to help me care for Mattie when he was home from the hospital between cancer treatments. Keep in mind that Marisa was in high school at the time, and was being asked to care for a child with huge needs. I never went far from home, but it did give me moments to escape for brief respites.When I reflect on what Marisa did back then, am in awe. Mainly because when I think of myself at Marisa's age, I am not sure I could have taken on such a large challenge. But Marisa's involvement did not end there. She has been very involved in each of our Mattie Walks, and has run the bake sale at the Walk two years in a row.
Marisa is now in college, and today I got to hear about her educational experiences, living in NYC, and her plans for a term abroad. Yet despite her busy schedule and other commitments, she still wants to participate in this year's Foundation Walk. Amazing! We had lunch today at Mattie's favorite restaurant, and being there just reminded me yet again of the connections Mattie has helped me make in my life.
Peter and I chatted over dinner tonight about his experience attending a shiva. "Shiva" literally means seven. In Judaism, a person mourns for a relative in stages. The first, most intense stage of mourning lasts for seven days from the funeral.
Peter befriended a man this year who was slowly losing his daughter to brain cancer. Though connecting was challenging, Peter continued to be a wonderful support for this father. It was hard because Peter was helping a man whose child was still alive, and yet Mattie was dead. So in a way, Peter was ahead of the learning curve, yet never placed his own thinking, feelings, and two cents onto this other dad. This takes great restraint, because the natural thing to do when you just lost your child is to talk about your loss. It is hard to focus upon someone else's trauma and pending loss. But that is what Peter did. Peter shared insights with this other dad over the course of this year, which I think helped normalize how this man was feeling and thinking. While at the shiva, Peter's friend let him know that it is already "happening" to him. I was confused by this statement, until Peter explained it to me. Peter told this man that when Mattie died, people said things to us that were greatly hurtful. It certainly wasn't anyone's intention to hurt us, in actuality, I imagine people said these things to make us or themselves feel better. Such things as, "it is time to MOVE ON," or "DO YOU FEEL BETTER YET?" As my faithful readers know, these are MAJOR no no's to say to a parent who lost a child. Because the newsflash is WE WILL NEVER MOVE ON and it may take a lifetime to FEEL BETTER. If that is even possible. The irony is Peter was hearing his friend reflect back everything he said to him months before. Mainly because these things are NOW happening to him! Before Peter left the shiva, this man's wife, came up to talk to him. She wanted Peter to know that he has and continues to make a difference in her husband's life. I was truly proud of Peter, because it takes great guts and great sacrifice to try to reach out and help someone struggling with the same concerns and deep pain.
This couple is now struggling with many of the things Peter and I contend with. Their greatest fear is that their daughter will be forgotten. They also acknowledge that they have learned a lot about their support network through this process. The irony is when cancer strikes you learn a lot about people in your life. Those people in your life who you think care for you and will be there for you through the thick and thin, may not be. At the same time, those you may not have known as well, rise to the occasion, and from this heart wrenching journey together, you are bound together in a special way. There is clearly no guide book to grieving, but I do think, as tonight's example illustrates, parents who have lost a child do need to hear from other parents who share their experience. It doesn't ease the pain, but it helps normalize it. Otherwise, there are times when you can literally feel very unstable and misunderstood by the world around you.
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