Tonight's picture was taken in October of 2007. To me this is the quintessential Mattie photo! I remember snapping it at Butler's Orchard in Maryland. Mattie loved going to this farm in the fall, because they had hayrides out to the pumpkin patch, where Mattie checked out the vines and pick out one of those wonderful orange orbs! I thought we would have many more Falls like this, but unfortunately the following October, Mattie was enduring chemotherapy.
Quote of the day: In the garden of memory, in the palace of dreams…that is where you and I shall meet. ~ Alice Through the Looking Glass
I think this full moon was not a coincidence! It was a message to me from Mattie. What better way for him to tell me that he is with me, than shining brightly down on me on the eve of the anniversary of his death!
Perhaps it was the fact that today Mattie is gone 16 years from my life, or all the many things I am facing and juggling..... but all I know is I did not sleep well last night. When I woke up this morning, I was deeply grateful to receive text messages and emails from friends. There is a very comforting feeling to know that Mattie isn't forgotten and that my forever loss was acknowledged!
In a way, receiving these flowers today, helped me see that I have a doorbell issue. A big one. I called up the company, who had me on the phone for 90 minutes, and then another hour this evening. Turns out they now see I am right.... there is NO fixing this thing, it has to be replaced. The list of issues for me just continue to grow.
Tomorrow, I am hoping that Mattie is looking out for me, because I will find out where the leak in the pool is coming from. Here's the kicker, the company called me today and asked me to fill the pool back up! That if it isn't filled, the dye and other devices they put in the pool won't work! So for six hours, I have been refilling the pool. This brings me NO HAPPINESS!
I did take my mom out for tea today, and while out, I looked around me and all I could see or perceive to see, were normal and happier people than me. People who do not seem to be carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. OF COURSE I am generalizing, because everyone faces something. But I guess in my context of it being the anniversary of Mattie's death.... my world seems to have stopped spinning, but the rest of the world keeps functioning. People are not as devastated by this as I am, and I would say this is the one thing about grief. It plays mind games with you, because it is very disorienting to see how your world has changed forever and yet what is crushing to you, doesn't appear to have the same affect on others. It is humbling!
During difficult times, Mattie always asked me to recount the story about the day he was born! The last time I told him the story below was on August 5, 2009, the day I found out that his cancer had metastasized. He and I were waiting for results in the hospital rose garden and somehow Mattie knew something was very wrong. So he literally crawled out of his wheelchair and sat on my lap. It was at that point, he asked for the story! I knew the story he was referring to, the story I never got tired of telling. In honor of Mattie, his amazing life, and for all that he brought to my life, I share this Dearest Mattie story with you (a story that was on display at his celebration of life event in October of 2009).
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My Dearest Mattie,
It is said that parents love their children right from the moment they are born. However, in your case, my love for you began as soon as I learned I was going to have a baby. In fact, right after seeing your sonogram picture, I felt like a proud parent. I posted those pictures everywhere. I shared these pictures with practically anyone who would listen or showed interest, and each September when I taught prenatal development in my undergraduate human development class, out would come your sonogram pictures to illustrate my points. Even my students got a sneak peek at our baby, a baby who would have a profound and meaningful impact on not just his parents but also every community he touched. I did not only love you, I FELL IN LOVE with you, and that love grew stronger with each day. Your energy, spirit, love for life, intellectual challenges, sense of humor, and loyalty to your friends and family were only some of the wonderful traits I always admired in you.
This video is a tribute to you and your wonderful, yet short life (it is the video at the top of the blog). It seems fitting as we celebrate you, and say good-bye to your physical presence that I share the story about how you entered the world. The story of your birth had to be one of your most favorite stories to hear, and I found during times when you were reflective, overly tired, or in need of hugs and tenderness, the request for this story arose. In fact, I remember on August 5th, the day I found out that your cancer metastasized everywhere, you and I were sitting in the hospital’s rose garden, and you requested the story. It was almost as if you knew this was going to be a bad day, so in essence we might as well brace ourselves, cuddle, and prepare for this together.
Here is the story I always shared with you. A story I will never forget. On April 2, 2002, at 11pm, I decided to head to bed. I was anxiously awaiting your birth, and as your due date approached, I couldn’t help but wonder, when will “the baby” be coming? I was restless and uncomfortable, so while in bed, I began to watch television. I was having trouble concentrating on what I was hearing, mainly because you were kicking up a storm inside of me. At which point, the kicking became so intense, that I literally felt something pop. You clearly wanted OUT, and you were going to kick your way into the world on your terms. Naturally after feeling this pop, I looked down at my tummy, and when I jumped out of bed, I realized my water had broken. This only happens to 25% of moms, and in retrospect, I should have guessed that this was just the beginning of how different our lives were going to be together. I immediately called the doctor and told her what happened. She asked if I was in pain, which I wasn’t, and she instead told me to get a good night’s rest, because my baby was going to be born the following day. Well I can assure you after hearing this news, sleeping was the farthest thing from our minds.
So on April 3, 2002, I headed to the hospital and was admitted to the maternity unit at 8am. The labor process began, but it was a VERY slow process for me, and at times as you moved inside my tummy, your dad could see your head pushing against my backbone. Needless to say Dr. Mike, the anesthesiologist, became my favorite doctor that day. The hours kept rolling by, and still there was NO sign of our baby! I was getting weaker, I developed an 102 fever, and by 11pm I really had no energy to give birth to you. In addition, to how I was feeling, your oxygen supply was getting cut off, and your chin was positioned in such a way that would make the birthing process almost impossible. So it was at that point that the doctor recommended an emergency c-section. Things began to happen very quickly around me. I was signing paperwork for surgery and your dad was being transformed by putting on a bunny suit so he could enter the operating room.
I had never been in an operating room before in my life, but I really wasn’t concerned at that point about myself. I was solely focused upon you. I was wide-awake for the c-section, but unable to see the process, which as you know, was probably a good thing. Your dad on the other hand found the whole thing very exciting, and began to videotape and take pictures of the surgery. Literally a team of people surrounded me and I will never forget Dr. Mike, the anesthesiologist who sat by my side, and talked with me and did whatever he could to keep me pain free.
When you have a c-section, your arms are strapped to the operating table, so I couldn’t move, and directly over my head was what appeared to be a rope with a clamp that was holding open my abdominal cavity. Normally by this point I would have passed out, but when it came to you, I developed strength I never knew I had. As the doctor began cutting, and finally got to you, the first thing she said was, “what is this?” That is NOT what you typically hope to hear when having a c-section. The doctor let me know that I had a grapefruit sized tumor on my bladder, and my immediate thought was, did this affect the baby? The next thing I knew, I felt her tugging, and I heard the loudest cry ever. Now here is the part of the story that I know was always your FAVORITE! I would always try to replicate the sound I heard coming from you that day, a sound that will always remain in a parent’s ear. It was a very large WAAHHH! WAAHHH! At which point the doctor told us two things: first, that you were one of the most beautiful babies she had ever seen, and second, that you had quite a set of lungs on you! I concurred with both statements.
The doctor then brought you over to me, and she felt that I needed to be the first person to touch you. So despite my arms strapped to the table, my right hand miraculously reached out and grabbed your tiny, soft, and cute foot. It was a moment I will always cherish, a moment in which I will never forget, and a moment I am so happy you too enjoyed hearing about. Each time I retold the story I felt as if it further bonded us together, and I always enjoyed hearing your comments, thoughts, and reactions to your story.
Seeing you made your dad very happy! After the c-section, I had to have bladder surgery to remove the tumor, so your dad stayed with you and accompanied you to the nursery. I learned that you weighed 6 pounds and 13 ounces, and that you had high Apgar scores of 8 and 9.
Your presence is so greatly missed. Nothing seems the same, is the same, looks, feels, or tastes the same without you in our lives. May you always know that your mom loves you, cherishes you, and that feeling will remain with me forever and always. Good-bye my Mooshi Moo angel. With love from Una Moon!
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