Tonight's picture was taken in September of 2008. Mattie was a month into treatment and as you can see was getting stir crazy in the two by four of a hospital room. That evening, Peter blew up latex gloves and Mattie was doing a puppet show for anyone who was passing by his window. Nurses knew, especially at night, that if Mattie had any energy, he was going to be up to something. Literally one night, around midnight, he sent his remote controlled tarantula down the PICU hallway. On a different night, he even sent his remote controlled car down the hallway with a note taped on it for his nurses. This was the beauty of Mattie!
Quote of the day: But nothing makes a room feel emptier than wanting someone in it. ~ Calla Quinn
I would have to say that September can put Peter and me into a funk. As September 8th quickly approaches, it makes us pause. We pause, because it is hard to believe that 10 years ago we were actively fighting cancer with Mattie. Now 9 years later, we have had to learn how to live life without Mattie. This maybe the hardest lesson and challenge yet. Because it is not something you master. Or you may feel confident that you have found a way through issues, but then someone says something or you are faced with a certain situation, and boom. You are forced yet again to navigate in a world that truly doesn't understand childhood cancer.
I have many friends all around me whose children have returned to school. My feelings about school are not isolated to just me! On the contrary, many parents who lost a child to cancer also dread hearing about the school year. Most of us don't like hearing about it, seeing back to school photos all over social media, and don't get me started about hearing the pain parents face when children go off to college.
Now with that said, at heart I am an empathetic person. So I can imagine the sadness of a child leaving home and going to college. I truly can appreciate that and understand how it impacts the whole family's dynamics. But I have to say I am intrigued when people talk to me and describe to me the loneliness, how their child's room is now empty, and well you insert the descriptor! I listen and appreciate the sentiments expressed but I wouldn't be human if in the back of my head I am saying...... but your child is coming back. Mine isn't, and mine will never go to college, or even attend high school.
I would have to say childhood cancer has a way of dividing a bereaved parent from the rest of the world. Not just on the day your child dies, but continuously and constantly. Every developmental milestone that should be happening for Mattie evokes the feelings of grief again for me. People try to get it, but they can't possibly. Especially as more and more time passes. What I have learned however over these last 9 years, is how to manage my expectations of others and my reactions to their insensitivity. Of course when I don't think either of these things is going to be possible, then I isolate myself from the situation. At times that is the best solution in order to protect my feelings and to avoid lashing out at others.
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