Friday, January 15, 2010Tonight's picture is one of my favorites. Mattie was 10 months old, and in his "tot wheels." You may recall from previous blog postings that I mentioned how Mattie loved three things: 1) his jumper, which is a picture I featured recently, 2) his entertainment saucer, and 3) his walker (aka, Tot Wheels). Though Mattie did not crawl (EVER!), and wasn't walking at 10 months, he loved scooting around in his wheels. He could maneuver himself throughout our entire first floor, and even made tight turns into the kitchen. He had no problem helping himself in the refrigerator. I am so happy that one day when I saw him headed to the kitchen, I grabbed the camera and caught him in the middle of his refrigerator inspection!
oem of the day: Kool Aid Makes Us Cry by Alan and Debra Reagan
It may seem strange as time goes by
how such small things make us cry.
As we go through the aisles at the food mart,
little memories tug at the heart.
We see things that once brought him joy
during those years when he was a boy.
When we pass the place where drinks are displayed,
we see the many flavors of Kool-Aid™.
There is purple, red and blue
and several other food items, too.
We see Fruit Roll-Ups™ and pizzas galore,
Goldfish™, Froot Loops™ and many more.
It may seem strange throughout the years
these little innocent memories still bring us tears.
We hope you understand if you happen by
while we are shopping, if you see a tear in our eye.
As the poem indicates, grocery shopping for a parent who lost a child, is indeed challenging and at times painful. Fortunately in our case, Mattie was not a Kool-Aid, Fruit Roll-Up, or Froot Loop fan, so seeing these things for me in the grocery store produce no reaction. Mattie really did not like sweet things, nonetheless, there are plenty of things Mattie did like, and certainly going down the aisles of the store, can be like a trip down memory lane. When Mattie was a toddler, after Peter and I finally desensitized him to riding in a grocery cart (initially he hated that as much as his stroller!), he was my personal shopping assistant. He wasn't very demanding about the food I selected, but it seemed as if I couldn't get out of the store without him putting a quarter in the machines by the door, to get a small rubber ball. We have quite an extensive collection of balls, and slowly this was a habit I broke Mattie of. Thankfully! However, prior to Mattie's death, I would never have imagined how emotionally ladened a grocery store could actually be.
Two things happened today, that caused me to pause. First, each morning since Mattie's death, after I get dressed, I always put on a piece of jewelry that he made for me. Either a Mattie bracelet or a necklace creation. Today, while I was out running chores, I panicked. I panicked because I forgot to put a piece of his jewelry on. Periodically through the day, I usually land up touching his jewelry that I am wearing, almost as a subconscious gesture to symbolically try to connect with Mattie, or my memory of Mattie. Naturally forgetting to put his jewelry on was an honest oversight, but it weighed heavily on me all afternoon. It made me feel as if I forgot about Mattie in my morning routine. Sounds silly, because I will never forget about Mattie, yet, I felt guilty and remorseful. Second, when I returned home today after running chores and having lunch with Ann, I noticed that Mattie's wind chimes were not by our front door. They were missing! As many of you know, these chimes mean a great deal to me (Mattie gave them to me on my birthday, and when I hear them twinkling in the wind, I feel as if he is communicating to me somehow). When I did not see the chimes, panic set in again. I finally found the chimes, which had fallen from the wind. Nonetheless, I took these two things today as a sign that perhaps Mattie is further slipping away from me. Again, not rational, but there is a lot of irrational behavior and feelings associated with grief. It almost plays tricks on your mind, and in a way, as a survivor of the cancer experience, I feel guilty that I survived and not Mattie. A had an opportunity to tell Ann this story, and her response to me was that Mattie "is not slipping away, he is in our friendship." I couldn't have asked for a better or more meaningful response to my fears today.
I decided this afternoon to sit and read the new book I purchased. Mind you, I still haven't finished reading the other book I started, but I wanted to get a jump on reading the book that Ellen selected for our book club. The book captured my attention within the first chapter. The main character's name is Henry. Henry has lost his wife to BONE CANCER, after being her caregiver for seven years. His wife's name was Ethel, and in the first chapter discusses how the death of his wife has affected him. In particular, the following passage from the chapter resonated with me: "What his son, Marty, never fully understood was that deep down there was an Ethel-shaped hole in Henry's life, and without her, all he felt was the draft of loneliness, cold and sharp, the years slipping away like blood from a wound that never heals." I couldn't have said it better. I totally get this, and feel like I am walking around with a Mattie-shaped hole in my life, a hole that is invisible to others, but very real for Peter and I, and it can never be filled.
This evening, Peter and I went out to dinner. We sat and chatted about our day, and it seems like we really have over a year's worth of things to talk about, process, and try to heal from. Weekends for us are very difficult, and there are times when it really does feel like Peter and I, against the world. We are living in a world that understands our loss, but doesn't live our loss like we do. It could be very easy for such a profound loss to pull us apart as a couple, but we respect each other, and the fact that we are going through the grief process differently.
I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "Today is the first new moon of the New Year. That's what my instructor said this morning and instantly I thought of Mattie and you. If my thoughts turn so readily to him, how much you must be reminded as you go about your day. I know it is really tough, I read it each day in your blog but I believe with all my heart that you will find a way to make it through to a place of hope and healing. I know the loss will never leave, the scars will always remain but I believe you will find a way to make your life meaningful as a way to honor what Mattie was in this world. I also believe as Betsy said yesterday in her posting to you that Mattie is proud, even now, to call you, "mom" just as many of us are proud to call you friend and teacher. May your steps today lead you to a place of peace and serenity, even if only for a short time. I hold you gently in my thoughts."
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