Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Tuesday, December 29, 2009 -- Mattie died 16 weeks ago today!

Tonight's picture was taken in December of 2007. I love Mattie's eclectic Christmas look. With a Boston Red Sox hat and Duck boat tour whistle in his mouth! What a look, but a priceless one that I am happy I captured.

Poem of the day: "My Sunshine" - Gayla Hansen

With you I bury my hopes and

dreams for all the days we'll never see

But I also bury the love in my heart

and the sadness of knowing

that we must part.

And I pray to God to do for you

all the things I would like to do.

And to keep my baby safe from harm,

to laugh and frolic in springtime's arms.

For now, everytime I see the sun,

I watch you smile as you run.

Laughing, smiling, running, playing

.... missing you.

Momma loves you baby

A part of me can not believe that Mattie died 16 weeks ago today. In fact, as January approaches, Mattie will be gone from our lives for four months, and I can tell you I feel no better now than I did on September 8, the day Mattie died. As time drifts by us, the reality of Mattie's death only sets deeper within our minds, hearts, and spirit. Time does NOT heal all wounds, and I am only further convinced that this saying was created and promoted by others who clearly have never experienced a traumatic loss. I have a hard enough time functioning on any given day, and yet tonight, as I spoke with Peter over dinner, I find I am in awe of how he has to keep it together in order to function at work. As I said to him, in many ways he has NO CHOICE. None the less, while he has no choice, he has given me the opportunity to have a choice. To feel however I want or need to feel on any given day. This doesn't mean that Peter isn't grieving, it doesn't mean that he isn't feeling the same way I do on any given day, but it means that out of commitment to his company and his love for our relationship, he gets up each day and really does the impossible. The impossible is to go to work, earn a living, and be a valuable part of his team, while in all reality his heart is breaking. I don't mention Peter often on the blog, but despite the tragedy we are living through and the hardship it has placed on our marriage, I am very aware of his continued love, and if I have any doubts, I just look at what he attempts to accomplish on any given day.

I woke up this morning feeling just as bad as when I went to sleep. I have a bad cold, and just did not feel like moving out of bed. However, I had made lunch plans to see Charlie, so that got me up and moving. As many of you know Charlie e-mails me daily, but today we broke free from our electronic dialog and actually met face to face. We talked about a whole bunch of topics at lunch, and the one thing that seems crystal clear to me, as I say on a daily basis, is no amount of talking about Mattie's loss makes me feel any better. That is because for the first time in my life, I have come face to face with a problem that can't be fixed. Mattie can't come back to life, which at this point is the only thing that would make me feel better and take away the pain. It is a sobering reality to accept the fact that things are out of my control, that some pain isn't fixable, and that I have no idea what goals I want to achieve or will make me happy. All the things I thought I wanted to achieve before to Mattie's illness NO longer matter to me, almost as if I am a completely different person now.

Later this afternoon, I went to visit Mary, Ann's mom. Mary is fighting off a cold too, so the both of us are a sight. Mary's dinner table mates are getting used to me sitting with them, and I have enjoyed hearing their stories, and of course helping them as well. It saddens me though to see many of these older adults sitting together at tables and not saying a word to each other. Somehow my presence inspires them. Not because it is me, but because I am perceived as young, an outsider, and bringing in a fresh perspective. As I land up talking to one of Mary's table mates, I pull in the other two into the conversation. Mental stimulation is vital for these older adults, and sometimes just showing you care about them, inspires them to talk and to re-engage. So in essence spending these last four evenings with Mary has been very enlightening to me about the human spirit, and the huge impact a smile or human touch can do for older adults.

I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message if from Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Dr. Kristen Snyder. Kristen wrote, "Another Tuesday has arrived. They seem to come faster and faster. Part of me wonders if you feel the same. But I think of Mattie as if it were yesterday. Vividly remembering his spunk, his character, his charisma. I will take those thoughts of your Mattie into the New Year. Thinking of you, on Tuesday and always."

The second message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "How difficult it must be to get up and do what you need to do when you don't feel well at all. I hope that you get over the cold or whatever you seem to have caught as it will take even more of your needed energy away. I know that Ann appreciates that you are seeing Mary each day while she is gone; what a lovely gift you are giving her in return for all that she has done for you over this year and a half. I know that Mary appreciates it as well; I am sure she is lonely without her husband and now with her daughter and her family away for a break. I just want you to know I think about you daily and I continue to pray for you and Peter."