Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2007. It is ironic, Peter and I just passed this rock yesterday when we walked on Roosevelt Island. As we passed it, we both reflected on how much Mattie loved to climb up on it! At the time this rock seemed so big to me, now when I see it, it just doesn't have the same grandeur.
Quote of the day: Just imagine becoming the way you used to be as a very young child, before you understood the meaning of any word, before opinions took over your mind. The real you is loving, joyful, and free. The real you is just like a flower, just like the wind, just like the ocean, just like the sun. ~ Miguel Angel Ruiz
This morning I received an unexpected text message from my friend Alison. Alison moved to Utah last year and as my faithful readers know, she was one of the crucial coordinators of Team Mattie when Mattie was battling cancer. Alison helped us in so many different ways and she really did not have to, we did not know each other very well. Alison's son and Mattie were in the same kindergarten class together and they were friends with each other, but that was the extent of our connection. However, through Mattie's battle, our connection greatly evolved.
Alison suggested we meet for coffee and given my feelings for her and the respect for what she did for me and my family, I rearranged my schedule today. Alison was always my team coordinator who I could talk about my feelings with, and regardless of the circumstances she always asked how I was doing. Today was no different, and as always, I had no problem telling her. Of course, I am not sure how my diatribe was received. Hearing my raw emotions at times can be hard to take. For the most part I keep them to myself, because the majority of the world doesn't want to hear it, can't hear, and also thinks something is wrong to have such grief emotions almost five years into Mattie's death.
Of course those of us in the grief community know, there is NOTHING odd about this at ALL! In fact, the more reading I do, especially for those who lost children, this grief can be quite raw for ten years or more. Something to look forward to! But the grief of losing a child lasts a lifetime and the simple fact is others in "Disneyland" (which is the terminology Peter gives to parents who have not lost a child to cancer) just can't handle our reality. They want to "fix" us, make us "better," change our reality, come up with a solution, see us happy, and the list goes on. Of course we wish all of these things for ourselves too. But it isn't so simple. It isn't like you can get a job, volunteer, move locations, or fill in the blank and you feel better!
This afternoon, I had lunch with my friend in cancer. She is into her second year of dealing with the loss of her son. As I say all the time, the second year in a way has its own challenges. Certainly the first year is horrific, because you feel like you are walking around without skin. That is the depths of how raw grief feels. But year two has a different level of pain. The pain is more internal, and frankly with internal pain, in a way it is more subtle. People do not necessarily offer as much support with this kind of pain. Typically help is offered the first year when you are figuratively bleeding all over the place and people are wondering are you going to survive and make it to year two? Yet as one's support network declines in year two, that is a loss of grand proportion. It may not seem like it to others, but to parents who lost an only child, losing a support community is enormous. We already lost our identity, and now losing friends and our network, well that can send us into a second crisis!
Though I never knew my friend in cancer prior to last June of 2013, we understand aspects about each other that others who have known us for much longer can't wrap their hands and hearts around. This of course is hard and frustrating for me to accept. I always get disillusioned when I can't convey my feelings to those I know, or worse when I feel that I am neither entitled to them or allowed to express them. It is ironic that last year, one of Mattie's doctors contacted me because she said that this particular family wanted to reach out to us for support, but in the process what I have learned is that the support has gone both ways!
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