Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Tuesday, November 1, 2011 -- Mattie died 112 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in November of 2006. Mattie loved to paint and spent a lot of time on the floor of our living room using paint brushes, sponges, and at times even used his hands and feet to create with paint. As you can see here, he assembled this dinosaur model and then wanted to paint it. Mattie assembled many wooden models in his short life, several of which I still have all around our home. Before Mattie was born, if someone told me I was going to allow paints and paint brushes in our livingroom, I wouldn't have believed it. But when Mattie was interested in activities, I tried to support and nurture that interest. Needless to say, I became an expert on how to remove paint and play-doh from all sorts of things.

Quote of the day: If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together…there is something you must remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart…I'll always be with you. ~
Winnie the Pooh

If I could give Mattie a voice now, I imagine he would be expressing exactly what Winnie the Pooh stated above. Well that is of course if Winnie the Pooh were an actual and real life character. To some extent, the joy, innocence, and love that embodies Winnie the Pooh lives within each of us. It is a challenging reality to know that like so many moms, I had a child, raised him, and then he got sick. Many children get sick with all sorts of things, but very few develop multifocal osteosarcoma (bone cancer in numerous bones at the time of diagnosis) and then died. Now that two years have passed since Mattie's death the only reminders I have that he existed are his things, pictures, and naturally his ashes which are in our dining room in an Italian made music box.

I think holidays and events evoke certain feelings and emotions in me. I am not a Halloween fan per se, but seeing this special or fun child holiday come and go yesterday was simply hard to accept. Imagine if you are a parent, that you are told your child has cancer, and worse after an ardous battle, that there is nothing left that can be done, and your child is going to die. It is an absolutely horrific and surreal experience, and yet this is our reality. My hunch is this reality is hard to fathom for my readers, and after all, why would you even want to imagine this even for a second. Losing your child redefines your life, what you talk about, the activities you do, and most of all it has a profound impact on your outlook about day to day living and the future. In so many ways it is very challenging for me to be friends with people who are moms. Moms talk about their children, a very natural and understandable thing. Yet how much of this can I absorb, when I know I am not living this life anymore? At some point, I find I just shut down, and this is where I am right now.

I am not in a writing mood tonight, so I am signing off for the evening, but want to leave you with two messages. The first message is from Mattie's oncologist and our friend Kristen. I am saddened to know that Kristen is relocating with her family from the Washington, DC area. We will greatly miss her presence. I condensed her message and the part which I did not include in the blog was the incredible juggling act she was performing last week as she continues to get ready to move out of town. Kristen wrote, "As I write this to you...I am surprised I made it through the week. But it makes me only appreciate more the skill, reserve, and perseverance which it took the two of you to manage a home, job, and family...all while Mattie was so sick. In times when I think things are difficult I only have to remember the two of you and I put life, with its little difficulties, in perspective. Thinking of you this Tuesday and everyday."


The second message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy wrote, "As I read your latest entries and viewed the Halloween pictures of Mattie, I felt a real tug on my heart. Your writing is always meaningful, however, for some reason, telling some stories of this child important day gave new meaning to your grief and loss. I consider you Mattie's parents always and in every way, even in death, and as I reflect on my own children and grandchildren I understood how difficult days and activities of this nature have to be for Peter and you. It saddens me each time to realize the depth of your sorrow. I wish that I had a magic wand to erase these last few years of loss. What I will focus on today as another Tuesday without Mattie is upon us is the way that you give to him each and every day, not just on a 'fun' day."