Tonight's picture was taken on August 10, 2009. This was five days after we found out that Mattie's cancer spread throughout his body. I typically try to post happy photos of Mattie, and usually only snapped such photos along our journey. But occasionally we did take photos of our reality. A reality which wasn't pretty and I did try to spare our care community from seeing while writing the blog. I may have written about it at the time, but actually seeing a depressed child in a photograph is quite another story. Mattie was always wise beyond his years and he was very in tune to his whole cancer battle. In fact, he knew before anyone, INCLUDING his DOCTORS, that he was dying. Which is a painful reality to accept at any age, much less at 7.
Quote of the day: Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone, his own burden, his own way. ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh
This afternoon, Peter and I went to our second funeral in six days. Two weeks ago one of our neighbors died and one of her three sons who lived with her is friends with me. This friend needed support and therefore we rose to the occasion to attend the funeral and then sat with him for hours tonight talking about all sorts of things. The irony is he at first did not want to talk but given that we know the language of grief, I think it surprised him how he opened up. As the hours went on, you could see him being transformed from someone shell shocked to someone who felt comfortable because he knew he was with people who understood. I chalk it up to yet another skill my son taught me. I maybe a mental health professional, but learning about illness, grief and loss so personally was something I learned first hand through my son.
The funeral was held at the same church Mattie was baptized at in July of 2002. In fact, Peter and I haven't been back to that church since Mattie died. So that was another surreal experience. The funeral we went to on Saturday was at the church Mattie's funeral was held at, and today's church was where Mattie was baptized. In a way, I found today's mass very moving, and I can safely say I rarely feel that way about attending church anymore. The monsignor who led the mass was real and very in tune with the rawness of emotion before him. After all the sons of his woman were in deep pain. But it was how he phrased his homily that caught the attention of both Peter and I, because in the midst of great sadness he inspired hope. Which isn't an easy thing to do at a funeral.
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