Monday, July 9, 2012Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2009 at the Lombardi Pediatric Cancer Clinic. Next to Mattie is Maya. Maya was the only friend close to Mattie's age that he made in the Hospital. Maya is a bright and sensitive person, and she just clicked with Mattie. They would have conversations together, create, act, and paint. In fact, in the clinic even today, you can see the rainbow ceiling tile they painted together. In this picture, Mattie and Maya created this intricate box. This wasn't an ordinary box. With their imagination, the box represented another planet with alien creatures coming out of the box and exploring the clinic. Literally Mattie and Maya had a performance for all of us who were willing to listen and watch that day. It was certainly a day to remember! What this photo further indicates to me however, is that cancer can not be survived and battled without friends. For just that little bit of time, Maya helped take Mattie's mind off of his pains, illness, and treatment, and he got to play and most importantly feel like a child, not a child with cancer.
Quote of the day: My sister told me that I'm not doing well. I told her that every day I drive over the George Washington Bridge on the way to work and I don't jump off. That's doing well! ~ Cass
I found tonight's quote in the grief book I am reading. Naturally what Cass is saying may sound profound, stark, and raw, but frankly when I read it I LAUGHED. Not because what she is saying is funny by any means, but because what she is saying is a fact and so true for those of us who lost a child!
On September 8, 2009 (the day Mattie died), it was as if Peter and I stepped on a plane and were transported clear across the world. To a foreign land. The only difference however is everything and everyone in our new world remains and looks exactly the same. What changed was us, our lives, our family unit, and therefore the impact of Mattie's death is greatest on us. In fact, this may explain why others at times look upon us as having a problem or needing help. Because through their eyes, their lives have continued, moved on, and though Mattie touched their lives, Mattie wasn't their life! There is a difference. I suspect others would be just as lost, just as perplexed, and just as bothered if they were transported like Peter and I into our new foreign land. The land of bereaved parents! I feel bold enough to state these feelings now based on my readings and also talking to other parents who lost children. What I am expressing here is commonplace to those of us who lost a child, and yet absolutely foreign to some of my readers. Which brings me back to my point about a foreign land. I am still living in the United States of America, but at times I no longer understand those around me, their reactions and insensitivities, and I am quite sure they don't understand me either. Mainly because I have developed a new language, sure it may sound like English, but if you listen carefully, I am speaking with my own dialect. The dialect that was born only as a result of having lost AND survived my son.
Today I ventured to two different hospitals. The first doctor's visit was to contend with asthma, which is the newest physical issue I am dealing with. The second visit brought me back to Georgetown for a follow up visit for the masses that were found in my February ct scan. Visiting with doctors is not top on my fun list, but I know it is necessary. In both situations, a plan has been devised for my medical care, so that alone is a good feeling. Tomorrow, I am headed for my third doctor appointment for the week. I truly believe grief has a very physical component to it, and in my case, it has attacked various parts of me. However, I think the combination of grief and living under intense stress for over a year in the hospital fighting cancer, has caused absolute internal chaos.
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