Tonight's picture was taken in 2006, at Mattie preschool playground. Mattie was sitting next to Nancy (a preschool friend) and Margaret (Mattie's first preschool teacher, and my friend). It is hard to believe that Mattie and Margaret are now both gone. It just doesn't seem possible. Nancy's mom, Jane, who I met in 2005, plays an integral role in supporting Mattie Miracle, as she helps me with corporate and community sponsorships. When I took this photo over ten years ago, I honestly never knew what significance this photo would mean to me today.
Quote of the day: The only good thing about times of adversity is that you realize who your real friends and fans are – and the rest go away – which in my mind is an OK thing. ~ Pete Wentz
Eight years ago today, my friend Ann's dad died. Why is this so meaningful to me? Because two weeks after Mattie died, Peter and I moved into Ann's house to help her with her kids and her parents. Ann's husband was going to be away on business for two weeks and she needed support. Given all she did for us, it made sense for us to be there for Ann. In addition, having just helped Mattie die, we were very skilled in this very hard life task. While Peter was helping Ann at her home, I was at the care facility with her dad and mom. In fact, I was present the moment Ann's dad died. Her dad died five days before Mattie's funeral. It is a period of time I will never forget, as it was very wrapped up in the emotions and horrors of Mattie's death. Caring for Mattie for over a year was so life altering and intense, that after he died, I had super human energy that needed to be directed somewhere. I couldn't go from caring for Mattie so intensely to nothing. I also think that nothing and no activity after Mattie's death would have sent me crashing in a downward spiral quickly. So a part of me always credits Ann's parents for my immediate survival after Mattie's death. They gave me a purpose, wanted to get to know me, and were eager to share with me their feelings about their own son's death to cancer.
As I occasionally do, I reach back in time to previous posts from the blog. The passage below was from October 5, 2009. In addition to my reflections, I also posted two messages that were sent to me that day..... one from a friend and another from my mom. Where did the messages come from? Well soon after Mattie died, our care community would send me emails practically daily. I tried to include many of these messages on the blog. Now I am happy I did this for historical purposes.
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Blog Posting from October 5, 2009 (five days before Mattie's funeral):
Last night at 9pm, Ann's father died. Unlike Mattie, Sully died a peaceful death. It fact his heart rate just continued to become slower and slower, until it eventually just stopped beating. I still can't get over the huge difference between Sully 's death and Mattie's. However, both were similar to the extent that there was no dialogue or two way good-byes. Not being able to have a two way conversation toward the end, I find unsettling, but I guess you just have to have faith that your loved one is hearing you as you express your final thoughts and feelings.
As I told Ann last night, being able to help her the past two weeks was a privilege. I feel very honored to be able to be with her through this intense process, and to be able to sit with her while her dad was dying. In a way, watching a loved one die is a private and intimate experience, and yet Ann allowed me to participate in it, and to support her. Not unlike how she supported me for over a year. It really intrigues me to find out just how many people have had the experience of watching the death process unfold with a loved one. My guess is not many people experience death in such an intense manner, but maybe I am wrong. Needless to say, I have seen two people die before my eyes in just less than a month. Certainly that is not easy for me, and yet, after helping Mattie, not much frazzles me. Not much scares me, and most certainly no medical personnel is going to intimidate me. Georgetown Hospital taught me well. I learned to question and advocate everything, and in the end I found Mattie's doctors respected me and I felt as if I was included as a valuable part of his team. However, sitting with Ann over the past two weeks has enabled us to learn more about each other, and as I always say, under times of crisis, you really learn what a person is made of. Experiencing such life and death situations, bonds you to a person instantly, like nothing else I have ever experienced. I am not saying I am looking for these near death experiences in my life, but Mattie and Sully's death are now a part of my life, and as such I have the need to make sense out of them. There has to be a reason I am going through this, I can't imagine why, but I am hoping that the reasoning presents itself. In the mean time, I just keep doing what I can to feel safe and somewhat able to cope.
As Ann heads to Boston tomorrow to plan her father's funeral, a part of me feels almost guilty or incomplete, because I will not be able to participate on this final journey with her. Naturally it makes perfect sense that I can not go to Boston right now, since Mattie's funeral is this Saturday, but I have become invested in the caring of Sully, and it seems like not attending the funeral doesn't put closure to our time together.
I had the opportunity to spend some time with Mary (Ann's mom) today. Mary, as is to be expected, is out of sorts today. As she let me know, she feels "empty." She looked at me as she was telling me this, and I told her I could completely understand how she feels. Mary is not crying, like myself, but you can tell she is profoundly sad. Sad for the loss of her husband and the loss of her son. Mary asked me today how I felt after Mattie died when I had to come back to our home. I thought that was an insightful question, especially as she sits in the room that her husband died in. This afternoon, Margaret also came by to visit with us, and Mary enjoyed her company and we appreciated the wonderful homemade goodies Margaret baked and shared with us.
This message is from one of our Team Mattie supporters, who is helping us tremendously as we plan Mattie's funeral. Olivia wrote, "I continue to feel pause at the experience of planning this ceremony. Somewhere, inside, I have ‘shut off’ some feelings as I walk through these organizational steps now and am busy in the ‘technical, detail, task-oriented manager’ role . . . not accessing my ‘emotive, fellow mother, want to hold you, friend’ role since I now have a ‘project’ with which to busy myself. But, I have to listen to this disconnect in my heart in how I write to you these past few weeks since Mattie died. I apologize if my words are now so task-oriented and not offering a compassionate ear. I have not meant to interact with you on such a pedestrian level as if this effort were simply a ‘volunteer project.’ I am just trying to stay focused and hear what you need and respond to those needs . . .or else I kind of fall apart. I don’t know how you and Peter are shutting on and off all day – the thought of it exhausts me and I continue to pray each morning that you may be free to be authentic – laugh, cry, curl up in a ball or fling yourself wide open and scream – and that others let you be you. I may not understand you, for I can’t know your pain, but I can accept your authenticity and the gift of your son, your beautiful life’s work, that you are working so hard and nobly to bring to others this Saturday."
The final message is from my mom. My mom wrote, "Has it been a month already? I agonized about leaving September behind because Mattie had been with us then and selfishly I thought of how much I missed his physical presence though my rational mind told me it was a blessing that he was no longer suffering and in pain. It just felt like time was marching on oblivious to my need for it to slow down because I was not ready to let go of the past. If there were a time machine, I would jump right in it and have it transport me back to the good years and relive all the wonderful moments I had with Mattie. It is a fantasy based upon my unwillingness to accept the finality of death. It is a heart breaking experience to long so much for a lost loved one. But the rational component of my personality brought me back to reality and I stopped to consider whether or not I would be better off if there had never been a Mattie. It was only then that I realized how lucky I was to have been enriched by having Mattie in my life at all and to be able to love and interact with him for seven precious years. In an effort to confront the loss of Mattie in a positive light, I vowed to preserve his memory by writing an account of his life through my eyes and tell the world about our experiences together. Not just for myself but for posterity, so that the light, buoyant, funny, insightful and happy child that Mattie was will never be forgotten by future generations. Let others know about the real Mattie, before the cancer, who loved to sing, dance, frolic, create, tell a joke, giggle and play a prank or two just like any other ordinary kid even though he was precocious, extraordinarily gifted with perception and artistic talent that was remarkable in its scope and its imaginative release. That is how I will try to come to terms with my loss. It will be my own personal contribution to Mattie’s legacy and it is my hope, there is that word again, that it will bring happiness to me and others because his innate joy of life had a magnetic effect on all who fell under his spell and were transported back to childhood by his good natured antics and escapades that in the end leaves us with a story about a short life, but luminous like a shooting star, that begs to be told and remembered."
1 comment:
Vicki, did your Mom write about her times with Mattie? Her letter to you was beautiful & sad all at once. Not wanting to let go of September because Mattie was alive in this month was beyond touching as is her entire letter.
Your friend's words reminded me somewhat of how I was in the days before Kimber died. I was tireless, full of shock and afraid to stop. After, her death, I felt alone for many reasons.
My first death was my Dad's. We were all with him in a bedroom at their home. It was peaceful then but the hours leading up to it were not.
I numbly walk through the rest of the week and could not concentrate on anything well for months. It was a few years only before I worked with Children in treatment for Cancer. Families often asked me to stay with them and I did. It is surreal to watch a young child, despite the ravages of illness, succumb to death. It was never like being with my Dad or years later with my Mom. Children shouldn't die nor should parents with children to raise. But I don't make those decisions or Mattie would be continuing to make memories with your Mom, Karen would be 29 and Kimber would be approaching 47, texting me to keep in touch.
I know you feel privileged to be with Ann & her Dad but they were lucky to have you. Most people don't want to be a part of the dying process. Yet, I too, feel honored for the times people let me share a very private time with them..
Thank you for sharing the picture, your quote and the letters, you did!
I will continue to think of a Sunny. He is a strong dog and I do share him with you in though !
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