Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2004. Mattie was two years old and we took him to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. This was his second trip to the beach. That day, we walked up Jockey's Ridge, the tallest active sand dune system in the eastern United States. It was quite an experience in the heat, but Mattie did it and enjoyed the process.
Quote of the day: Today's coronavirus update from Johns Hopkins.
- Number of people diagnosed with the virus: 34,659,532
- Number of people who died from the virus: 611,728
It was another busy day of running back and forth between DC and Oakton. I met with the painting company manager and things are moving along. They have agreed to come back in Mid-August to do touch ups, as the sanding of floors is chipping away some of the paint. But we are still in agreement that painting had to happen first before floors. Because once the floors are done, it would be very difficult for the painters to use ladders and scaffolding without damaging the sanded and stained floors.
As I mentioned in a previous blog, I spent last weekend, cleaning out the walk-in closet in Mattie's bedroom. In the process of doing that, I came across several beautiful notes and letters that were written to me after Mattie died. To me, they are incredibly touching and meaningful reflections that I will be holding onto indefinitely.
Since this is Mattie's blog, I feel it is only fitting to capture these letters here. So I will be sharing them this month. The first letter which I typed below came from Mattie's speech therapist. I brought Mattie to Donna early in his life, around 18 months old.
I was encouraged to see Donna by Mattie's pediatrician, who was concerned about Mattie's LACK of verbalization and small vocabulary. We ruled out a hearing problem, and I personally felt that this was just Mattie. That he was going to talk when he was ready, and in my heart of heart's felt he did not have autism. Yet I took his pediatrician's concerns seriously and took Mattie to see Donna.
What some people may not know is that Mattie was a bundle as a toddler. He had multiple tantrums daily. Not small ones, but full blown explosions, which I found scary and exhausting. In addition, Mattie could be physical and would kick, scratch and bite. NOT me, but he lashed out at other kids and adults. Making it impossible to go to any mommy and me classes or have playdates. In fact, this behavior is what caused him to be asked to leave his first preschool.
By the time we got connected with Donna, I was exasperated. Some days I would come into their therapy session crying, as I would report the tantrums to Donna. For the most part she never saw Mattie acting out, until one day in the waiting room, Mattie exploded. It was so awful that multiple therapists came out and separated Mattie from me. They brought him in the back to calm down, and gave me time to recompose myself. After which, Donna came back out and basically said..... 'is this what you are dealing with daily!?' I of course said 'yes!' It was Donna who understood what the issue was.... Mattie had sensory integration disorder and needed the help of an occupational therapist. Frankly I thought that sounded bizarre, but I did comply and got connected with Kathie, Mattie's long-time occupational therapist. Both Donna and Kathie were in Mattie's life for two years straight! Each week I brought him to therapy. In fact his occupational therapy sessions were twice a week, and speech once a week. In between sessions, I did therapy homework with him. Guess what? It worked! By the time Mattie got to kindergarten NONE of his teachers knew that he worked through any issues! I am a firm believer in early intervention! Any case, I think it is important for you to know all of this, as it helps to put Donna's letter below into context!
September 20, 2009: From Donna (Mattie's speech therapist, pre-cancer)
Dear Vicki and Peter,
I sit here at the computer this morning, as I have for the past week since learning of Mattie's death, and I don't know what to say. I don't know how to offer words of comfort to you after losing your wonderful son. I feel out of my league here. And it is a strange feeling for me. I always feel like I should be able to say something wise to help parents. Instead, I will just share some thoughts.
I was able to come and help out at the fundraiser at SSSAS this summer. I was literally amazed at the circle of support for you and your family. You were surrounded by so much love and overwhelming support, like one huge family and I almost felt like an intruder into your world. Being there reminded me of the endless goodness and kindness of people.
I read your blog each day and tears stream down my face. You are right, no parent should ever lose a child. My heart aches for you as I can imagine no greater pain than what you are experiencing. And yet you go on in such a courageous way, openly sharing your life experiences with Mattie. The photos bring a smile to my face through my tears, especially the young ones of him around two years of age, as it reminds me of when I met him. I re-read my early notes of him yesterday, of when you brought that feisty little cherub to my office. I described the wild temper tantrums, and the almost love-hate relationship he had with me, moving from screaming and pulling my hair to smiling and hugging me. And I remember it like it was yesterday. Despite having seen hundreds of kids since that time, my interaction with Mattie has always stayed clear in my head. There was just something about you and Mattie together that pulled at my heart. There was so much love between the two of you, and you so wanted it to be easier for him. When I was lucky enough to have you return with him in the summer of 2008 (for a reading camp---weeks before being diagnosed with cancer), it gave me two snapshots to lock forever into my heart.
So thank you for coming into my life, and for letting me get to know you and your deep love for your beautiful Mattie, who will never be forgotten.
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