Monday, January 18, 2010Tonight's picture was sent to me by Susan, a staff member at Mattie's school. This picture was taken on May 29, 2008, at the Kinder Garden ribbon cutting ceremony. I remember that day distinctly because Mattie came home very excited. He told me he helped to actually cut the ribbon at the ceremony. Naturally I don't know if that is true, but he was very proud of the garden his class planted and was happy that there was such an event to acknowledge its establishment. As you can see, Mattie is in the front row, all the way over on the right. Standing right next to him is Charlotte, and Abigail is the next girl over. Behind Abigail, you can see a lady with a light blue suit jacket and brown hair. This is Joan Holden, Mattie's head of school.
Poem of the day: 4 Blocks By Anthony Portillo
Some of the best memories in my life are of the time I spent with you
Just holding your hand 4 blocks while I walked you to school
Full of wonder you were, what’s that and why
And holding you tight when sometimes you would cry
I can’t make sense of this tragic twist of fate
To be with you again I’ll just have to wait
I want nothing more than to hold you and tell you its alright
To comfort you and keep you safe even for just one more night
The only image I have in my head, is of you safe and warm in your bed
If I had one wish it would be ….4 more blocks
For you and for me
It is interesting to me that when you lose someone in such a tragic way, that at times you become so desperate that you land up bargaining with the terrible situation. For example, asking or begging for "four more blocks," as is the title of tonight's poem. I do understand the sentiments of the poem, but I also understood the tremendous pain Mattie was in as he was dying. There is no way I would have wanted him to suffer four more minutes with this pain, yet as a parent I am very conflicted about what I am saying. Conflicted because in essence the only humane way we could put a stop to his pain, was to say good-bye and allow Mattie to die. The poem says, "The only image I have in my head, is of you safe and warm in your bed." Well naturally this is NOT my image of Mattie, or at least this is NOT the current image that gets replayed in my head. The images of Mattie are........ Mattie battling with cancer, Mattie in pain from cancer, and Mattie dying from cancer. It will take some time to come to peace with those images, and eventually be able to reflect on the healthy and happy Mattie that existed at one time.
It was a lovely weather day in Washington, DC (I qualify this for those of you who know me, it wasn't balmy, but it wasn't freezing either, so I was grateful for that). The sun was shining, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and it was around 50 degrees. Peter and I decided to take advantage of this, and we walked on Roosevelt Island today. Naturally it is impossible to walk on the Island without thinking of Mattie. It was a place we ventured as a family often, and even today, we commented on all the sticks Mattie collected on the Island over the years and brought home. We literally had quite a stick collection at one time. Peter relocated the collection to the gardens in our complex, but Mattie was indeed a collector and a sentimentalist, like his mother. As we were walking today, we saw many families with little boys who passed us. One little boy was sitting on his father's shoulders, carrying a stick. It did not take a rocket scientist to know what Peter was thinking at this point. Part of the issue with grieving, is we are grieving many things, not only the huge loss of Mattie, but the huge hole that this loss leaves us with. We are no longer parents, we have no one to nurture, help guide, and to emotionally provide for and connect to on that deep level. We are grieving our roles and what this role could provide into the future. So in essence we are grieving our present and our future on any given day. At some point today, Ann called me and expressed her concern for our walks on Roosevelt Island. I certainly understand her concern, and I am sure it must seem odd that we continue to venture back to the Island. But despite the pain that it sometimes brings, it also helps us reconnect with our thoughts and memories of Mattie. It gets back to a posting I wrote several weeks ago, in which I wrote my biggest fear is forgetting Mattie. Forgetting sometimes is even more painful than the grief itself, which is why I am always drawn to Roosevelt Island. I really did not reflect on that, until Ann asked me.
I received a wonderful and moving story from my mom today, which I wanted to share with you. Some of you may recall she mentioned receiving a White Orchid plant when Mattie died. This is a follow up story about the plant, and she included a picture for you as well! My mom's story forces you to have faith and to believe. These are things that have been squelched within me, but at the moment I still can't explain the disappearance of her White Orchid. Can you?
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The Mysterious Disappearance of the White Orchid By Virginia R. Sardi
As you may remember, Mauro and I received an orchid plant from a friend when Mattie died. We paid little to no attention to it and left home for weeks at a time and to our surprise the white orchids remained pristine and beautiful whenever we returned. We were quite stunned that the orchids could thrive despite their neglect over such a long period of time.Our friend who was very touched by the untimely death of our dear Mattie on September 8th, though he did not even know him, made sure the plant had seven white beautiful orchids in bloom when we received it in early September, one for each year of his precious life. In the early part of November, I began to watch the orchids as if I had been directed by a higher power to observe their beauty, and sensing their spiritual connection to Mattie’s new being, I felt compelled to find the key to understanding why Mattie’s life here on earth was so brief. In the evenings before I went upstairs to bed, I was in the habit of making sure everything in the kitchen was in order, usually around midnight as I am a habitual night owl, and before ascending the steps, it became a ritual for me to look at the orchids and think of Mattie.
On November 22nd, I remember quite distinctly looking at the white orchids and having a “Mattie Moment” reflecting on his last visit to us and how much fun he had just doing “Mattie Things” and being himself before turning in for the night. I did notice that one of the white orchids looked peaked and I felt that it would fall off the plant very shortly. I sadly but realistically expected to find it on the kitchen counter the next morning.
This intriguing part of the story is really about what transpired afterwards and I leave it to the readers to help me find an explanation for the curious and unexplained circumstances that happened when I returned to the kitchen to start my daily routine the next morning. I am always the first one up and about in the morning. While busying myself with morning chores, I glanced at the orchids. There were only six white orchids left on the plant! The sick orchid was no longer there. Here is the interesting part of the tale. I searched the bottom of the pot for it and then the counter, the sink and the floor. I could not find it anywhere. I asked my husband to join me in the search and, my analytical and skeptical husband could not find it anywhere either but did not give the matter a second thought. Looking for a practical explanation, he then remarked that I had probably vacuumed the kitchen last night and perhaps the flower was in the vacuum bag. I said I didn’t think so but made him open up the bag anyway and we both searched its contents. There was no trace of a flower or any part of a flower that we could find. By now, I feel certain that you already know how my mind operates so it will come as no surprise that I instinctively concluded that Mattie had taken it with him and that I could feel his presence in this action. Mattie loved nature and when he was alive, he was forever picking up flowers whose color, shape or uniqueness stirred his imagination. It was just like the Mattie I knew to do a thing like that! To this day, I have not found a trace of that flower and I did a thorough search. You can count on that.
You might be interested to know that the other six white orchids fell over the course of the next two weeks and I have collected every one of them and created a beautiful keepsake of pressed flowers as a memento of my experience but my mind always returns to the missing seventh one. Did Mattie take it away with him and, if so, what was his message to us? In my humble opinion, I think he was trying to tell us that he is finally at peace and is now free to be the Mattie he once was. Mattie loved us with all his heart and wanted us to know that. That is why Mattie chose to symbolize his bond with his earthly family by taking with him a single white orchid, fragile, like himself, but beautiful, pure and unique!
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I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "Life is fragile and precious. It is difficult to live constantly with that in the forefront of our minds and so we tend to ignore that until some event brings it home to us. Mattie's life was much too short and I will always wonder what he might have become had cancer not taken him away from us. There are some days that we all need a motivator to get out of bed; unfortunately, you have far more of those days right now than the rest of us do. Judaism's most famous rabbis have always said that we are to strive to live each day as though it were our last, however, unless you are one of the holy/blessed, this is very hard to do. Perhaps, a more reasonable position is to sit down monthly and ask yourself, what is it that is really important to you and are you doing that? If you were told you had a month to live, would you keep or upend your life as it is now? If you would change it all, perhaps what you are spending the majority of your time on is not what is meaningful to you. I hope that at some point you find something that is meaningful, that makes you want to get up each day and spend your precious time. Knowing some of your gifts, I hope that teaching and/or counseling is part of that because I think you have so much to share. I dedicate the energy and serenity of my practice to you today."
The second message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy wrote, "This week was our Ryan's 6th birthday and we were busy celebrating. I tell you this gently as I know that it was around this time that Mattie was diagnosed. It brings back such vivid memories of our time in San Diego and your wanting to get home because you were concerned about Mattie and you didn't even know what was in store for you when you returned. I, too, was saddened the day you told me of his diagnosis. The rest you relive each day. I was taken with yesterday's poem too. I found it very moving. Letting go is such a 'loaded' term. We often speak of it when discussing forgiveness. I always took exception to the term forgetting in association with forgiveness. Often they don't go together. One may forgive, as I hope you will one day with G-d, yet, forgetting is impossible especially with our children. Losing a child is something one never forgets. We have no choice but to let them go on the journey alone and that is heart breaking. It does bring us to our own mortality and the end of the poem tells us our loved one's wish, to visit and give to others when the moment is toughest as that will be a great tribute to our lost one."
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