Monday, November 23, 2009

Monday, November 23, 2009

Tonight's picture was taken in August 2008 in the Lombardi Clinic. Mattie and I took on the project of painting a ceiling tile in the Clinic. Jenny and Jessie (Mattie's art therapists) helped trace the Scooby Doo characters on this tile for us, and Mattie and I joined forces to paint it. Once it was completed, it was put back in the ceiling of one of the patient rooms. Mattie always liked that room in Clinic, because it had "our" painting in it. Mattie and I spent many days in clinic creating, and it is hard to believe I don't have him with me anymore to do these things with. It isn't only the activities I miss, but I miss his presence, his energy, his love, and simply being with him.

Poem of the day: Sorrow by Abraham Lincoln


In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all, and it often comes with bitter agony.
Perfect relief is not possible,
except with time.
You cannot now believe that you will ever feel better.
But this is not true.
You are sure to be happy again.
Knowing this,
truly believing it,
will make you less miserable now.
I have had enough experience to make this statement.

You may remember that a few days ago, I received a picture of Mattie from his kindergarten friend, which I posted on the blog. This picture remains in my mind, because to me it reminded me of what Mattie's eyes looked like. This morning before I awoke and opened my eyes, as I was coming to consciousness, in my head I saw Mattie's eyes. They were as large as life, so much so, that this mental picture jolted me awake. I turned to my edge of the bed, where Mattie would come and greet me some mornings, but unlike those mornings, there was no Mattie looking back at me. So my day began with the beauty of Mattie eyes which was an unusual occurrence for me. But then just like every morning since Mattie's death, I am greeted with the same bleak reality of my situation.

I went to Georgetown University Hospital today to have lunch with Brandon (Mattie's big buddy) and Brandon's mom, Toni. Brandon had an appointment at Georgetown, and it was nice of Toni to invite me to lunch and reconnect. I did not have to go in the hospital or the Clinic today, but somehow when I drove onto the campus, and passed the parking lot for people with disabilities, I was flooded with memories of Mattie. I remember parking there many times with Mattie and pushing his wheelchair around the campus. In a way I could almost picture us doing our usual routine, and even glanced over to the windows of the physical therapy clinic. Not sure what I was expecting to see through those windows. But it is a very difficult and heartbreaking feeling to walk the path that Mattie was on only months ago. There are times when I reflect on how I would try to encourage him to participate in physical therapy, and yet now knowing how sick Mattie really was, I am in amazement that he put up with Anna and myself. He always gave it his best, even up until the week I learned that the cancer spread throughout his body. How does someone who is such a fighter, who is so young and vibrant, die? I ask myself this question everyday, and still have no answers.

I had a very nice lunch with Brandon and Toni. We chatted about how Brandon is doing and about the fact that he is taking college classes now. Of course we reflected on Mattie, and what a loss we all feel. Remember that Mattie considered Brandon one of his "best friends." Though Brandon is 18 and Mattie was only 7, they had a way of providing a special need and gift to one another. Toni and Brandon gave me a special gift today. They gave me a beautiful garden angel, because they know how much Mattie loved being outside and in the garden. Since Mattie's death I wanted to actually get an angel as a remembrance of him, and therefore receiving this gift was very meaningful to me and symbolic of my little angel that I lost. I am sure it is hard for Brandon on some level to see me, and for us to talk about Mattie, but through all of this, we are trying to heal together.

When I arrived home this afternoon, I had a flower delivery. I opened the box, and inside was a beautiful orchid plant. Miki, one of Mattie's wonderful HEM/ONC nurses, sent me an orchid to let me know she was thinking of me and she knew that the holidays were going to be very difficult for Peter and I without Mattie. Miki wrote a beautiful note with the orchid, and the sentiments I will always cherish. She wrote, " Vicki, I would like to let you know that I am still reading your blog everyday and wishing you and Peter a nice day everyday. I know that this holiday season may be very difficult one for you. But I'm hoping that this little orchid flower will light up your table in some way through this season.... even in a very small way. Thinking of you." This orchid made me smile, because it captures the delicate and fragile time we had at the Hospital through Mattie's illness and the beautiful people we met through this journey. Our HEM/ONC nurses remain forever within my heart and mind, and I guess I am deeply touched that they feel the same way about us. That is a gift of grand proportion.

As the day continued on, however, I spent it dealing with a host of emotions, and with bouts of tears. I have been very good at suppressing these tears for quite some time now, that I find when they do occur, I just now let them happen.

I end tonight's posting with three messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I was really excited to hear about the progress you are making on the foundation and like many others I am looking forward to the launch. The logo sounds just perfect; it will appeal to lots of people while having special meaning for those who have been involved with Mattie/the blog/you and Peter personally. I’m excited about helping/participating in fund raising for this worthwhile cause as I am sure many others are as well. I’ve seen the video for “I’ve had my moments” and it gave me chills the first time I watched it. So many people walk so close to the edge; I am glad your angels are here to help you keep your distance. I know this is a very difficult time of year to be grieving (not that anytime is easy) but I think this is especially hard given how many “children/family’ centered holidays there are. I hope you can steer your way through them; know that you are in the thoughts and prayers of your friends/family and blog readers as we go forward from here."

In the second message, I am sharing a portion of an e-mail from my former student, Theresa. Theresa wrote, "Do you have any thoughts on going back to teaching? I know it might not be something you are thinking about right now but you really should think about it. You truly impacted my life and I know you have impacted everyone you have come in contact with. You are truly Mattie's mother."

The third message is from Lesley, a friend of my sister-in-law's. I have gotten to know Lesley throughout this year, and then had the opportunity to meet her in person when she came down from Boston to attend Mattie's funeral. Lesley wrote, "As we enter the holidays, you are never far from my mind. To wish you peace is too simplistic and condescending, but I do wish you the warmth of the friendship that surrounds you. A few days ago someone shared with you that they felt that you are a talented writer..... I would agree. You have given us raw insight into love and loss. Grief is not always about resiliency but truly feeling the process. This Thanksgiving, I am grateful to you. I no longer mask emotions but let them sit, stir and process for a while, and I have learned that is okay. Your blog has taught so many to live in the moment, love deeply, honestly, and never have regrets. Mattie will never be forgotten even with strangers....I promise."