Tonight's picture was taken on May 11 of 2009, right after the Mattie March. We took Mattie home after the festivities and he was joined by his cousins. Who he enjoyed spending time with both when he was healthy and when he was battling cancer. This photo captured a happy time, which for Mattie was few and far between. Notice the black cat face painting that Mattie requested at the March. Mattie loved cats and I suppose he was partial to them because we were a cat owner. Yet anytime he could get his face painted, his number one choice was always a CAT! You may have noticed the logo of the first Mattie March t-shirt here and in the last several photos I have been posting this week. In a way the logo was designed by Mattie's care community and Mattie. The orange background of the shirt is an image of Mattie's Mr. Sun painting, which hangs in our dining room. In addition, if you look carefully there is also a photo of Mattie embedded into the sun! We wanted to make it whimsical.
Quote of the day: We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone. ~ Orson Welles
It was another busy day for the Foundation. However, in the midst of the busyness, I got an innocent and yet profound text message from my friend in cancer. Remember this is her first year grieving the loss of her son. We are at totally different points on the continuum of grief and yet we understand each other. She pointed out a feeling, I noticed within my first year as well. The phenomenon is a sort of post-holiday blues. In a way dealing with the aftermath of any holiday once your child dies is almost worse than bracing for the actual holiday itself. As strange as that sounds! I don't know if it is psychological. Maybe people offer us more support on the actual holiday, or we are just more cognizant of the holiday and therefore prepare ourselves for that day. Either case, once the day is done, to some extent so are we. Set backs can easily occur and it doesn't take much to cause us to spiral further down hill. As if going down further were even possible. But the depths of grief for a parent are deep and they also can be frightening. I truly believe we could try to describe this feeling to you, as I attempt to do at times on this blog, but I am not sure I still do an adequate enough job at depicting the devastation.
However, because my friend and I are on different ends of the continuum, I sometimes suspect, or can imagine what she may be headed to feeling or experiencing in the near future. Of course telling her my feelings or observations wouldn't be helpful because again they were my experiences and they may not play out this way for her. I also think too much information about the grief process really isn't helpful. It has to be managed in small dosages, otherwise, it is really like getting hit by a tidal wave and carried out to sea without a life vest. The first year of grieving is definitely like living on a perpetual emotional roller coaster. With panic ensuing, anxiety, and living on the edge between break downs, numbness, sheer shock and confusion. But this rawness does dissipate, and naturally the question is to what? After my numbness wore off, my reality sunk in and that is when my true grieving began. For me, this started happening around year one and it wasn't a pretty picture. So when people tell me the first year is the worst, I laugh, because yes year one was hard, but year two was no picnic. Frankly any year without your child is a struggle. It may not be as raw and desperate as the first year, but with time comes deeper and actually more heart breaking pain and reality. I am continually perplexed by this one year time frame within our society and I truly wonder who established this myth and keeps perpetuating it! It simply needs to stop because it does more harm than good.
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