Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Tuesday, July 19, 2011 -- Mattie died 97 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2007 at Dutchwonderland in Lancaster, PA. This was Mattie's first theme park visit where he rode on a roller coaster. The whole notion scared me, especially since I can say as an adult that I have NEVER been on a roller coaster. Don't feel bad for me, I am VERY happy with that decision. Fortunately Mattie had a great time with Peter that day, and I literally lost track at how many times they rode on the roller coaster together!

Quote of the day: There are places in the heart that do not yet exist; suffering has to enter in for them to come to be. ~ Leon Bloy

Peter had another productive day in Seattle and will return home tomorrow at 10pm! He is exhausted and I think still on Nigeria time!

It is hard to believe that it is yet another Tuesday. The day that marks Mattie's 97th week gone from our lives. This is also a particularly hard week because July 23rd is fast approaching. Before 2008, July 23 simply meant that it was two days before my birthday. Now instead, this date signifies the 3rd anniversary in which Mattie was diagnosed with cancer. This is a day I will NEVER forget. I remember where I was and how I heard the news. In fact, when I flashback to that time, I can still recall the physical feelings I had when the radiologist told me the results of Mattie's xray and naturally the utter shock for the entire month after diagnosis. I am not sure this type of shock and feeling ever goes away. In so many ways, cancer consumed and devoured Mattie's life, and despite Mattie being gone, the ramifications and after effects of pediatric cancer are alive and well within Peter and I. They did not die with Mattie. The current trauma research suggests that our emotional response to trauma is experienced at the cellular level. Almost as if our cells have a memory for the trauma and that the trauma leaves our cells altered. I am not sure I would have believed any of this if I hadn't experienced it for myself. However, my fuse and tolerance for things now is short, and there are certain cirumstances now which automatically send me into a hyper alert and anxious state. A state that would never have arisen pre-cancer.

It was another incredibly hot day in Washington, DC, and despite the heat I walked about an hour round trip on the city pavement to go get my hair cut. Most people despise this heat and humidity, whereas I love it. For the most part it makes me feel good and if it could be like this year round I would be much happier at least physically. Mattie's battle with cancer and living in the hospital has even affected my hair. I did not pay much attention to these changes but my stylist, who I have worked with for years, noticed. Not unlike other aspects in my life, I am loyal to the same stylist because we connect on a personal level. She knew Mattie, was aware of my cancer battle, and also volunteered at this year's Foundation walk. These things mean a lot to me.

The first person to notice that my hair was 3 inches shorter was my new pal, Catherine. When I went to visit Mary, Ann's mom, today, I noticed that Catherine did not come to visit with us. So after I helped Mary with her dinner, I went to go find Catherine. Catherine decided to eat her dinner in her room this evening and when I came in to greet her and to tell her I was thinking about her, her eyes lit up and was beaming. She said I made her day, and frankly I believe there was some truth to what she was saying. I came bearing cookies as well, and even during the hardest of days it is hard not to smile over a cookie.

When I left the assisted living facility this evening, Mary looked at me and I could tell she had something to say. In these moments, I realize that being patient, and giving her the time to verbalize what she wants to say is crucial. Mary did not want me to leave without telling me how much she appreciates me, how much she values our visits, and that she thinks I am a caring person. She wanted to know how she could repay me. It was very cute, but clearly in my mind not necessary. Would I feel as compelled to help Mary if she hadn't lost her son to cancer? I don't know the answer to that question, but I do think the death of our sons is a powerful unifying factor.