Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Tuesday, July 24, 2012 -- Mattie died 150 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in July of 2008. The boat you see floating in our tub, was one of the first boats Mattie created in clinic with Jenny and Jessie (Mattie's art therapists). This photo was taken during the week Mattie was diagnosed with cancer. We weren't sure if we were coming or going that week, and yet in the midst of chaos, we had these funny moments. In fact, despite  living with a great deal of horror in the hospital, the beauty of Mattie's spirit produced a lot of special and memorable moments for us to reflect upon.


Quote of the day: When you do the best you can, you never know what miracle is wrought in your life, or the life of another. ~ Helen Keller

Peter and I both record and keep track of Mattie's loss from our lives in different ways. For example, I count Mattie's loss in weeks, with each week beginning on a Tuesday. The day of the week Mattie died. So for me today marks 150 weeks since Mattie's death. Whereas Peter counts in days, and as such today Mattie has been gone from our lives 1050 days. Whether it is in weeks or days, the point is we know time is passing.

This morning, I received an email from my friend Patty. Patty's son also battled osteosarcoma, and in so many ways he continues to battle the ramifications of being treated for this disease. Though our paths have been different, Patty and I both know the horror this particular cancer can wreak on a developing body and mind. What I did not realize was Patty's son was diagnosed with cancer in the month of July too and therefore this is a month we both shall never forget. What are the chances of such commonalities? A diagnosis of osteosarcoma and for the diagnosis to happen in the later part of July?!!! Patty's email got me thinking because we adamantly feel that no matter the cancer or the outcome, we appreciate the presence of our children in our lives. ABSOLUTELY! Naturally Patty was asking for my input on this, since I would be sharing my feelings from the perspective of a mother grieving the loss of a child to cancer, not as a mother of a cancer survivor.

The question in essence becomes................ if I could live my life all over again, knowing that Mattie would get sick and die, would I still want to have Mattie? The simple answer is YES, but it is a complicated yes. Because despite my best attempts on this blog to explain what Mattie had to endure and how he suffered even in his death, I am not sure the magnitude of this could ever truly be conveyed to you exactly unless you lived and breathed what we witnessed. Seeing such pain and agony, leaves one to question if this is really the kind of life one would want to wish on a child? From my standpoint as Mattie's mom, I gained a great deal in seven short years. Mattie taught me a lot, we shared a lot, we had similar personalities and feelings, and so not having Mattie would mean denying the life within myself. Which I suspect is what makes the loss unbearable at times. In so many ways, Mattie and I were each other's fiercest advocates, and we appreciated each other in ways that went beyond words. We simply got each other, and this type of connection comes along rarely if ever. So I can't imagine my life without Mattie being in it at all. 

I have had several email exchanges with a mom who lives in Singapore. She lost her child ten years old. However, she let me know that in so many ways it has taken her ten years to come to a place in which such a loss doesn't seem to consume and eat her up inside. However, what she wrote intrigued me, because she feels there is a lesson to be learned in her son's death. I do think that in losing a child we look for the lesson, the meaning, the reason. There has to be a greater purpose for this suffering! We need to put such a profound loss into context, and as we do this and work through this it helps us remember our children and hopefully in the process support others as they live through the same unspeakable nightmare.