Tonight's picture was taken two weeks before Mattie was diagnosed with cancer. It seems hard to believe. As you can see, we brought a bag of bread with us to feed the ducks on Roosevelt Island. This was one of Mattie's favorite things to do when visiting the Island. As July fast approaches it is hard not to feel a sense of sadness. Mattie was diagnosed with cancer on July 23 (2008), two days before my birthday. While other people are sharing with me their happy plans or positive things that are happening for them this coming month, we on the other hand will always have the remembrance of a cancer diagnosis.
Quote of the day: Grief does not change you. It reveals you. ~ John Green
It seems in just one short day since I last posted the blog, so much has happened. Peter and I went to see Anything Goes at the Kennedy Center last night. I know the musical won a 2011 Tony Award and The Washington Post wrote a rave review about the revival featuring Cole Porter music. However, sometimes you just need to see things for yourself to truly get what the hype is all about. Anything Goes is most definitely worth the price of admission, from hearing the orchestra play Cole Porter's music, the wonderful humor which is light, airy, timely, and fun, to the INCREDIBLE dancing. The Post said there were many Busby Berkeley (famous Hollywood movie director and choreographer) type dance scenes in the musical and the newspaper was correct! Just splendid! You leave the Kennedy Center, humming, happier, and feeling 'de-lovely' (sorry I couldn't help the Cole Porter play on words).
Peter and I have also gotten it in our heads that we want to paint our entire living space. That is definitely a large undertaking and I am not sure we will get it done. But this is our latest thought. We even went to pick out colors today, and we have samples taped all over the place. We are both tired of our antique white walls. Peter has encouraged me to think about actual colors, something I have never really done before. We did paint before Mattie was born, but that was 11 years ago. Our walls have seen a lot in a decade. I think this desire for a transformation started after last weekend's conversation about trying to address Mattie's room. Somehow seeing bolder and happier colors does affect my mood, so I am hoping we find the energy for this endeavor. Both Peter and I know how to paint rooms, and once I get it into my mind to do something, it usually does happen.
Later this afternoon, Peter and I met the couple I wrote about earlier this week on the blog. This couple lost their only child to cancer about two weeks ago. We were invited to their house and I never like going empty handed. So with us we brought a cake and a butterfly wind chime. As so many of faithful readers know, butterflies are very meaningful to me. They help me feel connected to Mattie and whenever I see one, I view it as a symbolic greeting from Mattie. It is my hope that when these parents hear the twinkling of this wind chime and see its butterfly twirling in the wind that it reminds them of their beautiful son. There is no gift that we could possibly bring to take their pain away, but to me gifts that help one remember, appreciate, and reflect upon the child lost are key.
Certainly Peter and I have interacted with many parents who are either helping their child battle cancer or whose child is a cancer survivor. We only have connected with a handful of parents who have lost a child to cancer. Each and every one of these individuals, of whom I can count on ONE hand, are special to me. They are special to me because we are all part of the same club, and I assure you this is not only a club NO ONE wants to join but the price of admission to this club is way too high! When you lose a child to cancer, this loss represent a parent's greatest fear and typically when we fear something, the natural human protective reaction is to walk/run away. I have seen many parents both with healthy children and those with children who have cancer, skirt around me. I can make them uncomfortable and uneasy. This is a reality, not just a Vicki reality, and today Peter and I talked openly with this wonderful couple about all of this.
Honestly I am thoroughly impressed with this couple. They had the wherewithal to ask one of the physicians for an introduction to parents who lost a child to cancer. NOT just lost a child, but lost an only child. I know I didn't think this through when Mattie died. Not only could I not reach out to other people initially, but I shut down and I wasn't allowing anyone in at all. No two cancer battles look or sound the same and therefore no two grief battles look or act the same either. Heck, Peter and I have been married for ages and we helped Mattie with cancer, and even how we manage and handle grief looks very different. So therefore it would be impossible to expect another couple who lost a child to cancer to have the same thoughts and feelings as us!!! Naturally we all deal with grief differently and need different things to cope with this horrible reality, but a couple of observations came shinning through to me today.
The first observation I would like to mention is I would guess you would expect when talking with parents who recently lost a child to cancer, that there would be a lot of crying, perhaps hysterics, and great sadness. In fact, I most likely would have thought this too, if I hadn't lost Mattie and had my own personal experiences. However, prior to today's meeting I suspected I wouldn't see crying and hysterics, and I was correct. Why? Because I remember these first few months after Mattie died and for the most part I was numb, going through the motions, and trying to survive. It takes great energy to try to get up in the morning, try to find a reason and purpose for living, and therefore expending energy on tears and hysterics just isn't possible. You have NOTHING else to give at that point. So from an OUTSIDER'S perspective the lack of tears may seem odd, but to me, it not only isn't but it is beyond understandable, natural, and is our body and mind's ultimate way of coping.
As grief unfolds, then the sadness, break downs, and crying occurs. Keep in mind that a parent who lost a child to cancer has most likely been performing under the most heroic of circumstances. Circumstances which lead to little to no sleep, living in a hospital 24 by 7, and assisting with pain management and the death process. Working under such toxic conditions, almost flips an adrenaline switch inside one's body. The body and mind under these circumstances are trained to constantly mobilize and be on hyper alert. Not unlike a soldier! This produces from my perspective a very cerebral kind of thinking and response to each issue and crisis. One learns to bottle up emotions and feelings because they serve NO practical function. However, once the crisis (or death) is over, slowly we begin to feel and process things. I assure you from my perspective this is the MOST horrific part of grief. It is like becoming flooded with the reality of the situation and there are no life preservers. As I joke privately all the time........................ I long for the numb days of grief!!!!!
The second observation is that no matter who you are, whenever you lose a loved one, rest assured you will be hearing platitudes!!! As my faithful readers know, I HATE PLATITUDES. Time doesn't heal all wounds and YES INDEED God can give you more than you can handle!!! So if compelled to comfort a bereaved parent please beware!!! Remove the platitudes and make a note..... never state that the child is in a better place. HONESTLY THINK TWICE! It is better you say NOTHING. Because there is no better place for a child to be than with his/her parents.
The third observation I have is when a parent loses a child to cancer, two things happen. One friends and family feel the need to give you books on grief and two they also tell you that you can always have more children or adopt children. I am not sure which issue I want to tackle first. Both are highly laden with judgment! I realize stepping back from these issues people recommend these two things because they are trying to give us hope and to connect us with the living world. But actually these two factors can accomplish quite the opposite. I have quite the library of grief books and I can say I related not even to one of them especially initially. In the beginning of grief it is hard enough to process your own loss much less read about someone else's or worse hear an academic or research timeline about what to expect. FORGET IT! There are no time lines, each person manages grief differently, and no academic exercise can live this pain for you. If you know this tip coming into grief, this will actually save you many steps of wondering what is wrong with you and questioning whether you are going crazy! As for the second issue, encouraging a bereaved parent to have another child or to adopt is a very personal matter. If a parent brings it up with you, then discuss it, but inserting one's own wishes and judgment into the situation can produce more harm than good. For the bereaved parent this almost seems sacrilegious that you are raising such a topic. It makes us feel guilty for having thoughts toward the future and it feels deeply disrespectful toward the memory of the child we lost.
I have many more observations from today's interaction, but the bottom line is that having this connection is mutually beneficial. We may not be dealing with grief exactly the same way, but we do have so many commonalities and having lost an only child enables us to acknowledge the profound loss of our parenting role and our hopes for the future.
This evening I headed to visit my friend Mary who lives in an assisted living facility. Mary's daughter is out of town this weekend and therefore when I am around, I make it a priority to visit Mary and assist her in the evening. Which are her more difficult hours. When I arrived, Mary was in a state, and clearly looking for me. As I was getting Mary situated and comfortable, I told her about the couple I had just met. After all, Mary also lost a son to cancer, and though she is mute and unable to respond, I know she was listening and knows all too well the pain of losing a child. This is a pain that you carry with you no matter your age or where you live.
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