Tonight's picture was taken in February of 2009. At first glance this photo may seem innocuous. But it really wasn't! It captured Mattie's antics in the hospital. He had a glue gun in his hands and of course that was what he wanted his nurses to focus on. But look closely at Mattie's foot! What was sitting on top of it??? A PLASTIC ROACH! Mattie was full of this kind of humor. He loved to see his nurses jump, scream, and laugh! I will never forget some nights in the PICU, Mattie would send a battery powered tarantula down to the nurses' station, or better yet, one night (and I am talking around midnight), Mattie had Peter blow up rubber glove balloons. He then attached every balloon to a remote controlled car and sent it zooming to the nurses station, with an "I LOVE you" sign! He was hysterical! Despite being six, Mattie was fully plugged into human dynamics and quickly in the treatment process Mattie assessed that he could trust his nurses and his behavior illustrated this feeling.
Quote of the day: What a different place this world would be if people remembered that grief is born of love and all acts of grief are normal, healthy, and expected. ~ Rae Anne Fredrickson
As my faithful readers know, I have a friend named Mary. Mary is 85 years old and for the passed five years has lived in an assisted living facility. As Mary's life is coming to a close, her daughter decided to bring Mary to her home so she could be around family as she dies. Where a person dies is a very personal decision. Does one die at home or in a hospital or other facility? In theory there is really no right or wrong answer to this dilemma, but there is always a right or wrong answer for the person in question and the family. Finding the best solution for all involved is key.
I must admit I am biased about where one dies. Fortunately for us, Mattie chose to die at Georgetown University Hospital. Mattie had the where with all to realize that he wanted to be surrounded by his hospital family. A family he deemed trustworthy and who could meet his medical needs. He was brilliant, because there was ABSOLUTELY NO way Peter and I could have managed Mattie's death. Mattie's death was horrific. He was drowning from within, he was gasping for air, his whole chest was vibrating with a "death rattle" and he was in agonizing pain. So much pain that IV pain killers and boluses of pain killers every two minutes weren't cutting it! We needed a PICU team helping us. So having experienced death in this fashion with my own child, it is therefore my hope that my reader could appreciate my bias on this subject matter.
I went to visit Mary last night for a few hours at her assisted living facility. I also got to see two of Mary's aides who I have come to know over the years. One of whom thinks I am Mary's other daughter. Of course I remind her that I am only a friend. Today, I got to sit with Mary at her daughter's house. Mary was more alert today and opened her eyes many times to stare at me and to listen to me as I was talking to her caregiver. Mary was always a social person and when she opens her eyes, I can see she is indeed with us. She is not glazed or dazed out. She tracked me and looked at photos I showed her. So I know she is in there! It may seem inappropriate to talk in the room of someone who is dying, but I truly don't believe that it is. While Mary is part of this world, I think it is important for her to live in it, in whatever capacity she is able to. So I opened the blinds, gave her a weather report and got her oriented to the fact that it was day time.
Naturally as I reflect on the fact that my friend is dying, this is a hard reality. Mary and I may not share a long history together, but the history we do share is intense. I spent a great deal of time with Mary once Mattie died. She was my first friend that I met who lost a child to cancer. This was a huge commonality for us. Others may try to understand us, but we got each other immediately, despite our large age difference. About a month after Mattie died, Mary's husband also died. So literally we were grieving huge losses at the same time, together. Both of us were stunned, dazed, and confused. Yet we had each other. When I was feeling down or without a purpose, I had Mary who needed my help, and through that help, it forced me to re-engage in the world. It gave me a purpose and a reason for living. With the pending death of Mary, a part of me pauses and wonders what will I do without this friendship? A friendship that has helped to ground me, made me feel needed, and understood. Mary used to call me, "her angel," when she could talk, and though I am no angel, some people have the way of bringing out the best in you. Mary was that kind of person for me. Yet who really knows this? After all, I am not Mary's family member, and Mary can't talk and express herself now. I suppose some gifts in life are best known for one's self and having the confidence in knowing what was between us, will always be between us.
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