Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Tuesday, February 15, 2011 -- Mattie died 75 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in October of 2003. As you can see Mattie was watching a Baby Einstein video. I am not sure who loved these videos more, Mattie, Peter, or I. The ironic part about these videos were they were simple, visually pleasing, and always contained wonderful music to accentuate the theme and content. I will never forget the first time Mattie saw a Baby Einstein video (since this is a series, we practically owned each and every one of them!) he was transfixed on the TV screen. Which amazed us, because for the most part Mattie wasn't a TV, video, or electronic kid. My joke was that there was some sort of subliminal messages on the screen that Mattie was focusing on. Naturally there weren't, but if you could see his level of absorption, even you would wonder. What I particularly love about this picture is that it showed Mattie being Mattie. Mattie was a multitasker. He never sat still and was always engaged. Even while watching the video, he was going through a cabinet, pulling out things, and sorting through them.

Quote of the day: No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by. ~ Franz Schubert


Shubert's quote intrigues me, mainly because I am in that kind of mood tonight. A mood in which I feel as if it is me versus the rest of the world. This feeling of isolation or being different from everyone else unfortunately happens when grieving. How could it not? Because in all reality, though others try to understand and be supportive, at the end of the day it is only ME who is living with my thoughts and feelings. It is only me, and Peter of course, who have to live with the fact that we are childless, that our future is different than we expected, that the memories of pediatric cancer will remain with us forever, and that others around us can't possibly understand this true level of devastation. Which is certainly a good thing, because otherwise the world would be a very depressed place.

I have discovered that the whole topic of conversation regarding summer, summer plans and vacations, and camps can send me reeling. I am pretty sure I felt this way last year around this time too, but this year it seems even more pronounced. The interesting part about this is while I am listening to this dialogue, I can sense I am uneasy. But honestly it isn't until I remove myself from the conversation, do I understand my feelings behind this uneasiness. There are many feelings I associate with summer. Summer reminds me of the time Mattie was diagnosed with cancer (July of 2008), summer also reminds me of Mattie dying (since I basically learned Mattie's situation was terminal in August of 2009). So these two things alone make summer a down right horrific time of year. Then factor into this that summer is about family time, and as Peter eloquently said to me tonight, summer is a "painful reminder of what we no longer have." All of this is particularly horrible, but there is a third feeling associated with this topic. This topic of summer is a constant reminder that I AM DIFFERENT. I no longer relate to mom-type conversations and I no longer look forward to summer trips. In fact every trip just seems like something is missing.
 
Today is a Tuesday, and as such it marks the 75th week Mattie has been gone from our lives. As always, Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Kristen, writes to us every Tuesday. There was more to her message this week, but this is the only portion that is appropriate to share on the blog. Kristen wrote, "I am thinking of you both this Tuesday and everyday!"