Tonight's picture was taken in February of 2008. We took Mattie for a walk on Roosevelt Island, and regardless of the time of year, I always gave Mattie a bag filled with bread to feed the ducks. As you can see, there were many ducks that day coming by to greet him. Mattie and I loved birds and being by the water. Though you can't see Mattie's face in this picture, it does give you a "bird's eye" view of what weekends were like with Mattie. Regardless of weather, we went outside, walked, and experienced nature. Not sure how I managed those cold days, but the energy and curiosity within a young boy needed to be channeled and being couped up at home wasn't ever the right solution for Mattie.
Quote of the day: To look to the future when the past still haunts us is a daunting task, but what other choice do we have? We can’t change the past, we are stuck with it, all we can do is try to live the best we can and to make the best of it. ~ Jack Cassidy
"To look to the future when the past still haunts us is a daunting task," as tonight's quote so aptly points out. I couldn't have stated this better myself. After the death of Mattie, everything about life seems to be a daunting task. Getting up is daunting, progressing through the day is daunting, and then reflecting on a lifetime of days ahead like this is beyond daunting, it can be depressing and hopeless. Which is why I maintain my one day at a time philosophy. As a mental health professional, I was very familiar with this one day at a time philosophy that is so well detailed and espoused in many 12 step programs. However, I have to admit, I had NO idea the true impact of this philosophy until cancer came into my life. With Mattie's illness, I learned that I couldn't plan for a future, much less for the next day or hour. Mattie's treatment was filled with non-stop surprises and turns, and Peter and I had to rise to these challenges and think in a more level headed manner in order to manage Mattie's care. However, now that his care is over and he is no longer physically in our lives, LIFE HAS NOT returned to NORMAL! No.... for us life will never be normal, and having to accept that is a very bitter pill to swallow. Dealing with grief is in many ways equivalent to battling cancer. In July of 2008, when Mattie was diagnosed with cancer I moved from being a future oriented person to a present day oriented person. This aspect hasn't changed about myself, and in many ways, this has become my coping mechanism. Most likely I have had to adopt this philosophy for self preservation purposes, because if I have a down and sad day, it is very easy to translate this feeling into the future and the remainder of my life. By taking a one day at a time approach, I try to strategize and mobilize the efforts to get through that hard moment, in hopes that "tomorrow" may be different.
I fell asleep around 3am and so of course I felt physically tired all day today and my head cold is taking over. Apparently it snowed this morning, but I was in bed, and missed the whole thing. Peter told me about it. I despise the cold weather, and certainly seeing snow is NOT a motivator to get up or out of bed. However, Peter was persuasive today, and I got up and we went out together for a little bit. In the midst of bad days, my new friend, Karen, has a way of writing to me at just the right timeu, which perks me up. Karen and I are both moms who survived watching our sons die from osteosarcoma. However, until Karen, I really haven't been able to connect with another mom who lost a child to cancer. I will always remember the first and last support group meeting I went to at Georgetown University Hospital. After a two hour session, I left feeling agitated, angry, and totally annoyed that I had to listen to someone else's story. I do think that part of the problem with that group, for me, was that no one else in the group lost a child to osteosarcoma. Because these parents lost their children to other forms of cancer, it became a contest as to whose treatment was worse. That whole feeling made me absolutely incensed. In many ways, Karen and I are on even playing fields. Though our boys had osteosarcoma in different body parts, we both get how devastating a disease bone cancer is and how painful a disease it is from treatment through death. I sometimes wonder, if Karen were in the Georgetown support group, if I would have had a different perspective on the group experience and whether I would be advocating to have the group continue? All I know is I do consider myself fortunate to have found a mom I can relate to, who shares many of the same feelings and fears as I do, and who is able and willing to verbalize it with me. There are many unpleasant and not blog worthy feelings associated with dealing with the death of a child, and we voice some of these concerns together.
This evening Peter and I met Ann and Bob at Mattie's favorite restaurant. The restaurant was hopping tonight, but most of the managers at the restaurant know us, because of Mattie and the amount of time spent there. I can no longer really handle rooms with a lot of noise and commotion. So as the manager was seating us, I asked him to do us a favor and move us to a more quiet room. We literally went from room to room, until we found a table that seemed tucked away. In many ways, I appreciate this level of kindness, and I also appreciate not having to explain myself. At times it is surreal to sit across from Bob. After all Bob was the surgeon who operated on Mattie. He performed each limb salvaging surgery, when most orthopaedic oncologists wouldn't touch Mattie's case with a ten foot pole. Keep in mind that the first several months after Mattie was diagnosed with cancer, when I would see Bob, I would immediately break down into tears. I couldn't handle the thought of Mattie's body being cut into and such aggressive surgery being performed on a six year old! Clearly over time, I had to accept the surgery, because it was Mattie's only real chance at possibly surviving osteosarcoma.
How is it that Peter and I have become friends with Mattie's doctors? This is a most unusual situation, I have to imagine. I can't imagine that every parent who loses a child to cancer, connects socially with their oncologists after the battle! I am not sure I have an explanation for this, but what I do know is that Mattie's doctors were instrumental to our daily existence while Mattie had cancer, and because we are talking about life and death issues with regards to a child, this seems to bond people in indescribable ways.
When Mattie was sick, Peter and I experienced acts of kindness each and every day. However, despite his death, there are people who still reach out to us and try to tell us in their own way that we matter or that they are thinking of us. Our friend, Tamra, emailed us today to let us know that she made two kinds of homemade soups and was going to bring them over to us. I imagine Tamra did this because she knows I am not feeling well and because the weather depresses me. In addition to her wonderful soups, she brought me a touch of spring, and gave me a daffodil plant! It is a beauty, and I love seeing these happy yellow flowers, not to mention the wonderful chocolates that accompanied the plant! It is amazing what an email, a care package, and friend can do for your whole outlook!
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