Wednesday, September 12, 2012Tonight's picture was taken in August of 2009 (the month before Mattie died!). Mattie requested that Peter set up his HUGE camping tent in our living room. The tent was so large it seemed to take over our living and dining rooms! However, this was something Mattie wanted and at night, while home from the hospital, this is where Mattie wanted to sleep. Typically because Peter had to work, I usually took on night duty so Peter could get some sort of rest to partially function the next day. Clearly one morning, Peter snapped a picture of Mattie and I together. Though I had my own mattress within the tent, I usually landed up in Mattie's bed. Cancer left Mattie quite traumatized. He had a great deal of anxiety, depression, and post traumatic stress. To me, there was nothing more overwhelming and disheartening than seeing Mattie battle a host of mental health issues. In addition to the cancer, it made us feel helpless and powerless. I went from a person totally opposed to psychotropic medication for children, to one who learned to embrace it out of necessity! Mattie needed a great deal of reassurance at night. Beside the psychological ramifications of his disease, Mattie was also hooked up to all sorts of IVs while at home. So from my perspective, it wasn't safe to leave him unattended at night, even if he was okay with it (which he wasn't). As I look at tonight's picture, I can safely say that I miss these tender moments.
Quote of the day: We see things not as they are, but as we are. ~ H. M. Tomlinson
Today I was talking to a woman who has two children. In our conversation she mentioned some of the lovely things her teenage son was doing at school and she even shared with me some of his lovely messages he sends her. For example, it is not unusual for this young fellow to send spontaneous text messages to his mom that say, "I love you Mom!" Naturally having been a mom, I know how special such sentiments are, especially when they are not prompted. Even in my zumba class this week, a new mom returned to class. She just had a baby this summer and was talking about some of the feeding issues she was contending with. I happened to chime in, only because I remember colic all too well. It is impossible for me not to respond to these comments that pertain to motherhood, but of course once you start participating, people want to know about my child. It is hard to answer such an innocent question, and my goal is not to make someone feel bad or guilty for asking. I am still trying to find my way around this honestly and some days I respond better than others. But today's commentary had me reflect on how lucky this woman was to have a healthy child and one who loves her. Naturally she has worked hard to contribute to his development, and I am glad she has this beautiful bond. Nonetheless, I am human, and can't help but reflect what she is expressing back upon myself. It makes me feel sad and hollow, that I won't know what it feels like to have a 15 year old, or receive text messages from Mattie. This issue plagues me..... I am a mom, and I am NOT a mom all at the same time. I want others to be happy and enjoy their children, and yet feel anger or bitterness at times that they can and I can't. Not a wonderful thing to admit to, but indeed a mixed emotion I battle with daily.
When I was living in Boston, years ago, I developed three wonderful friendships. It was at Boston College that I met Jen, Colleen, and Angie. It is hard to believe I have known these women for 20 years. What you should know is they are ALL blog readers. We live geographically apart, but our academic experiences bonded us together through many of life's ups and downs. This week, I have been exchanging emails with Jen. Jen was one of the first people I met at Boston College. Literally we sat next to each other at a program orientation meeting and we became instantaneous friends from that point on. Our moms became friends, and her youngest daughter, Caroline (who is around Mattie's age) gravitated to Mattie. I recall their first encounter with each other, though they lived in different states, they seemed to have an immediate understanding for each other.
Jen is the mom of four beautiful children. Two of whom are no longer living at home. Jen commented on the feelings associated with having an emptier nest. As she was talking about this huge adjustment and how this impacts her identity, I realized that what she is feeling is similar to me, a parent who has lost a child. Naturally we both know there are major differences here.... being that Mattie is not coming back and I won't be a part of his future development, and also unlike the independence we expect children to develop as they age which is natural, the separation I have from Mattie was not by choice and is not natural. With that said, putting aside these differences, it was very easy for me to imagine how Jen is feeling now, and also she at the same time can imagine how I am feeling. This developmental journey has caused us to see once again our similarities.
One of the many challenging aspects of grieving for an only child is feeling DIFFERENT from others. So when a friend shares commonalities, I really appreciate it because it helps me feel connected and part of the world around me. It is very easy to become disconnected, in fact, some days it is easier to do just that than become invested in living. It is a constant fight and struggle to live with grief, in a world that seems so different to me now than it did before cancer, and to try to feel all sorts of emotions (even happier ones!) without feeling absolute guilt and betrayal of Mattie.
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