Monday, July 30, 2012

Monday, July 30, 2012

Tonight's picture was taken in August of 2008. That was the month Mattie began chemotherapy, and with the diagnosis of cancer Mattie's world was transformed. Suddenly whether he learned to read, understand math, or play sports all seemed irrelevant and TOTALLY unimportant. I have to say, at least for us, art became our saving grace. We united on it as a family, and it really engaged Mattie's mind, body, and heart. During Mattie's treatment, he created many boxed structures. So much so, that Mattie's hospital family saved all sorts of boxes for him so that he could build, design, and basically stay active. If it weren't for these projects, Mattie would have totally checked out of living emotionally. Ironically, I can no longer look at a box the same way anymore. To me a box is so much more than a receptacle for storage or shipping things. Because of Mattie, I now look at boxes as having all sorts of possibilities.


Quote of the day: You know a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating just the same. ~ Fannie Flagg

There is a great deal of truth in this quote. In fact, recently I was emailing with a mom who lost her child ten years ago, and in her email she stated that she thinks it is quite possible to die of a broken heart. That may sound physically impossible or even ridiculous. But I know better now. One's emotional state can wreck havoc on one's biological state, and the death of a child, can and does set off a chain of all sorts of negativity, which I believe does impact one's physical health.  

Despite the heat, I walked about four miles today. I walk for my mental health, not necessarily my physical health. I find getting outside, in fresh air, and being around people very important. While walking, I had the opportunity to watch two summer camps, a baseball and a soccer camp practicing outside. The boys were all around Mattie's age or perhaps a year or two older. Needless to say, it is hard to accept that all these children are outside playing and developing, and Mattie is no longer. Observing this made me reflect on a passage from The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, when Amelia reflected upon the loss of her son in war: "Life goes on. What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and forever. There's no end to that." While most parents are working with their children in the present, in the here and now, Peter and I are working in the past. It isn't good to live in the past, but what happens if we do not live in the past? Then it means we to some extent do not carry Mattie's memory into our present and future.

As my readers know, on Saturday we went to an exhibit of the Titanic. Since posting about this museum exhibit on the blog, I have learned that my friend Helen's high school teacher was a survivor of the Titanic, and my friend Carolyn met and got to know Dr. Ballard, the oceanographer who discovered the Titanic's remains in 1985. Talk about a small world! I told Helen I want to hear more about her teacher, and Carolyn told me today that Dr. Ballard and I share something in common..... the death of our sons. Dr. Ballard apparently lost his son 20 years ago, yet Carolyn mentioned that this loss is still a very significant part of his life. Which of course validates my feelings and thinking! What this also tells me is we truly have no idea what others are living with unless we truly scratch the surface and spend time understanding and hearing about their experiences.