Thursday, March 25, 2010

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2007, on Mother's day. I remember that day like it were yesterday and particularly recall Mattie's love and excitement. As I approach my first mother's day this year, I honestly can't think of a sadder day. Mother's day will always remind me of the role I only had for seven years. There are times I feel like my situation is so surreal that I am going to wake up from it. But unfortunately never do, instead it isn't a nightmare but my reality.

Poem of the day: Wednesday lost by Shaakiera Schroeder

As "The" day draws nearer
Spirits sink lower
Fears rise, higher.
Not completely sure why,
It's as if we expect something...or
"That" to happen again...
Anything worse...is impossible!
Still so unbelievable _ surreal almost.
Two months short of a year
And we continue to struggle to grasp the fact_
You're gone!
How do you go about planning an Angel Day...?
When you can't believe...
Yet register every Wednesday...
As we stare at the clock...silence engulfs...
We hold our breath...for that moment to pass...
I find myself praying that this Wednesday ...
Wednesday no: 45...I WAKE UP!
The nightmare is over!
When your mom calls ...I hear happiness _
Instead of the emptiness that fills her voice...
Her heart...her soul.
Sorrowfully...it's not a dream,
This is our heart aching reality...
Leaves an unnatural feeling in our souls...
"GOD give us strength to make it through TODAY"
I open my eyes and prepare to face,
The never shifting pain...
Aggravated and worsened...
By the FEAR of every Wednesday!

I woke up this morning greatly upset. I was upset because I had a very vivid dream that I was dying from pancreatic cancer. Naturally I do not have pancreatic cancer, but in my dream I certainly did. This whole vision was truly disturbing to me, and most likely reflects many of the fears and traumas I witnessed Mattie go through. Seeing Mattie suffer and eventually die has had and will continue to have a profound effect on Peter and I. This morning as I was in our kitchen, I saw Mattie's picture on the refrigerator. I see this picture each morning, but this morning it set me off. I imagine I reacted this way because I was so shaken by my dream, and that made me vulnerable to other feelings.

I spent a good portion of my day today visiting Honey at the George Washington University. As some of you may know, Honey is the director of the Human Services program at the University. I have worked for Honey as a part time faculty member for ten years, and it was very nice to be invited back today to spend the day with her. Honey has worked at the University for over 40 years, and announced this semester that she is retiring. This will be a major, major loss to the University and the program. However, the greatest honor those of us associated with the program can do is keep this program strong and vibrant, as a attribute to Honey's lasting legacy. I enjoyed my time with Honey and being back on campus. In a way it seems like I have been away from the University for decades, rather than two years. The University seems to signify life to me. Life because it is filled with energy and the wonderful ideals of undergraduates. It is hard to believe that at one time, I was that ideal, that hopeful, and that positive about the future. If someone would have told me when I was in college that I would eventually survive one of life's greatest tragedies, I most likely wouldn't have believed it.

As Friday approaches, I am looking forward to trying to make Mary's (Ann's mom) day engaging, happy, and stimulating. She knows I am bringing her lunch tomorrow, and in anticipation, she is really giving it great thought about what she would like to eat. So stay tuned. It is my hope that she enjoys her Friday, and that I also get to see her walking again. This time I will capture it on camera!

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend Charlie. Charlie wrote, "It is so hard when you have suffered a trauma and you are out of the flow of the world to realize that things have gone on without you. It is almost like being in a coma or a foreign country with no TV or newspapers when major events have taken place and you come back and realize that you have no idea how things got to where they are. Nor does anyone around you understand why you are still "elsewhere" in your mind. Sometimes I want to scream, "stop, something important has happened here" but I realize that it is only important to those of us who are directly involved in what has happened. What you are suffering is not just the loss of Mattie as he was, but Mattie as he would have been and all that went with that went with his life to be. I think those losses are just as hard as the current loss of his physical being in your life since you will have to live forever with those losses. I don't think people always get that and that's why they seem to think there will be a point at which you can "get over" the death of your son. I am someone who was resisting the pressure to practice on my own when I cannot get to class to practice with the group. When I told the instructor this, she said, do it anyway because practice on your own is good for other reasons which she would not name. I think I began to see her point today as I was on my own. I would get to a point where I was out of balance and needed more work and rather than having to move on with the group, I could try it again and get closer to where I need to be. I was able to take it at my own pace and explore the feeling in my head and in my body as I went through the practice changing things if I felt that would be more helpful. I see now what she means when she says you trade group energy for personal attention. So it is with most things. When you are with the group, the energy carries you through the rough spots but you can't stay and focus when that might be helpful. On the other hand you need much more self discipline to go it alone but the ability to test and explore is greater. So it is with grief as well. Friends can carry you over some of the rough spots but much of the work is done alone and with introspection. So I send you the energy I found today to help you through those times when only introspection will work. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in October of 2008, at Baltimore's Inner Harbor. My parents, Peter, and I took Mattie to the water right before his first limb salvaging surgery. I remember this trip all too well, and I remember the fear I felt as I knew Mattie was going to face major surgery. However, despite my worst fears at that particular moment in time, I had no idea that in less than a year Mattie would be dead. I guess as a parent fighting for your child's life, you remove that thought from your head in order to mobilize forces to fight cancer.

Poem of the day: Colors by Sally

The Earth lost all its color the day you went away
I look around and all I see are different shades of gray
If I traveled up to space
and looked in the rear view mirror
The Earth would be as pale as the moon
Without you living here.
The forests dull, fields turning brown
All I know each day is that you're not around.
Bright orange poppies?? Amazing color you might see...
But even they look faded...
insignificant to me.
Where did the beauty go? Why can't I see it?
Why did the world fade away.
It doesn't look the same, you know
Without you here.
Everywhere I look
I see only that you are not there.
Your sparkle and luster gone from my world.
So I wait....
I can't imagine how much brighter Heaven is today
Since you took all the colors from Earth with you...
The day you went away.
Green vibrant and alive
Red full of energy
Yellow bursting with warmth and fun
Blue beautiful and endless and the sea.
All faded without you.
Now...only gray

This poem, Colors, describes how Peter and I see the world now. While everyone around us sees the world most likely as they saw it last year, with trees and grass being green and the sky being blue, the world no longer looks recognizable to us. In fact I am in amazement that the world continued spinning and peoples' lives kept evolving, while we suffered a trauma beyond imagination. However, unlike national or international crises that are covered on CNN and Fox News 24 hours a day, our crisis was just that.... our crisis! The world wasn't mourning with us, the world did not stop and reflect that a seven year old boy battled the impossible and lost the cancer war. A war that too many children lose each and every day! Families are left traumatized from this loss, and yet it is a private loss. An indescribable loss, and a loss that most definitely affects the colors, people, and experiences you see and feel from that point forward.

I went to visit Mary, Ann's mom, this afternoon. Ann and Bob sent more than one picture today for us to look at, and it is wonderful for us to be able to see how they are doing on vacation. For Mary and myself, it pulls us out of our inner worlds and it gives us a lot to talk about. I missed Mary's physical therapy session today, but I hear she walked some more today. I look forward to seeing the session on Friday and actually taking pictures! Mary shared many stories with me today and at one point she stopped and asked me if hearing her stories made me sad. She wanted to know if they made me think of Mattie more. I told her that I always think of Mattie, but that her stories are a very good distraction for me. They also allow me the opportunity to understand her better. Mary reflected on her recent hospitalization in January. Though she may not recall why she was hospitalized or what procedures and tests she had, she is very cognizant of the fact that I spent many hours with her each day at the hospital. She said she is not sure how she got lucky enough to have a friend like me. It was a very loving and special comment for me to receive, and I told Mary that the feeling was mutual. At which point she grabbed my hand and held it.

Prior to coming to see Mary, I got myself quite upset with the notion that Mattie isn't coming back. Which of course I knew, but by not coming back, it means something quite significant for our lives. The family holidays I was hoping for are gone, the future of different Mattie milestones and vacations are gone, and the list of other 'not happenings' only seemed to grow longer. Losing Mattie is such a tremendous loss that most days I simply do not have the fortitude to focus upon it. But something was different about today. I text messaged Peter while in this state, and naturally I knew he would get it immediately, because he was most likely in the same place. Peter went to Georgetown University Hospital today. Each month he serves of the hospital's oncology institutional review board, as a community member. I always wonder how he manages to walk through the rose garden and to see all the areas we used to walk and explore with Mattie. I do not even have to ask, because I know the answer is.... it is just impossible.
 
I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend Charlie. Charlie wrote, "How wonderful that Mary is able to get up and begin to move around with a walker. Being able to move about by oneself with the aid of a walker has to be a tremendous boost to her self esteem and independence. One of the big issues that causes depression in the elderly is their growing dependence on others; any step in the opposite direction is to be celebrated. This will be a nice surprise for Ann when she gets back. How lovely that you saw the deer in the back of the living facility; access to nature and other living beings is so important for everyone's mental health and I would take it as a sign that Mattie is around since female deer tend to keep their babies hidden when in populated areas. Today's practice was all about personal challenges, to push oneself into the zone of mild discomfort in order to make progress. I can see how that applies to almost anything in life, if you stay forever in the comfort zone you never move forward. I sent my determination to continue to progress to you as my intention for today. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Tuesday, March 23, 2010 -- Mattie died 28 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was taken in March of 2005, when Mattie was about three years old. He and Peter were goofing around together playing with Mattie's plastic food shapes. They both decided they would use the plastic food in a funny way to scare me. Actually Mattie and Peter were trying to look like beetles. I thought they did a very convincing job!

Poem of the day: It's not spring in my heart by Charlie Brown

I see spring in the yard
Robins on the wing
Trees starting to bud
Songbirds start to sing
Daffodils in bloom
Tulips break the ground
Things are coming back to life
There is new growth all around
But in my heart it's winter
No new life grows here
The ground within lies fallow
I cannot feel you near
One day I may find
A new bud of hope
Watered by patience
And those that I love
And that's when I know
Even though you are gone
You are here in my heart
And my life will go on.

Today marks the 28th week of Mattie's death. I do not understand how these weeks go by so quickly. I think it is only natural that those around me may be expecting that life will be easier for Peter and I now that time has lapsed by. Goodness, I may have thought the same thing two years ago. But unfortunately now I know the reality of such a devastating loss. The reality isn't pretty.

Charlie's poem is very touching to me, because it captures how one's heart is completely devasted by the death of a loved one, and yet the poem ends with a glimmer of hope. Hope that this intense love will be incorporated, remembered, and etched in one's mind and heart, so that eventually one can continue to live and thrive, without needing the physical presence of this love. I think there are many ways one can react to the death of a loved one, and as portrayed in this poem, it would be a natural reaction to such a traumatic death to close one's self off and to not feel anything. I certainly did that for many months. However, over time, what I have discovered is quite the opposite. Mattie's death has left me overly sensitive, on hyper alert to feelings and emotions, and most importantly with the ability to appreciate those closest to me. So in essence I do not feel as if winter is in my heart, on the contrary now I feel as if my heart exists in a very hot, humid Florida day. It is dripping with emotion, swamped with pain, and thirsting for a way to bring it back to equilibrium.  

As I mentioned previously on the blog, Ann and her family are away this week on a spring break vacation. It probably comes to my readers as no surprise that when Ann goes away, this can be a very challenging time for me. Challenging because she has a way of keeping me balanced during the week. We usually spend our weekdays together and in essence she isn't only a true friend to me, but on many days she gives me great reason and purpose to get out of bed and re-engage with the world. Not having her around this week is like floating on the ocean without a compass. Despite being on vacation, Ann text messages and sends me one picture each day of her children on their Disneyworld adventure. Today she wrote to me that as they stood in line for a Buzz Lightyear ride, they all thought of Mattie. A very nice sentiment to receive on a Tuesday. Somehow though, Peter and Karen seem to understand the extra support I need this week, and I can say it is so appreciated it.

I spent part of the afternoon with Ann's mom, Mary. When I got to her assisted living facility, I was thoroughly amazed! Amazed because Mary was working with a physical therapist who actually got her up, and walking using a walker. I have known Mary for over a year, and until this very day I have never seen her walk. It was a sight to see. Both myself and Shayla (Mary's care companion) were cheering her on, and I promised the next time I was in a physical therapy session, I would take pictures of Mary walking. Why? Because Mary said she couldn't picture herself walking! She said she had no idea what she looked like, so that is when I thought about taking pictures. Seems like these special achievements must be captured!

After Mary had dinner tonight, I then sat with her in the living room of the assisted living facility. As we were chatting I noticed something out of the corner of my eye through the window. What was it? But deer! There were four deer grazing in the backyard of the facility, and I wheeled Mary closer to the window to watch these lovely creatures. Mary commented, "how many people are lucky enough to see deer in their backyard?" As we continued to watch, it was clear that one deer was a mother, and she had her baby trailing behind her. I couldn't help but pause and imagine Mattie's commentary of this sight. Mattie most likely would have said, "they look like us, a mommy with her baby."

I would like to end tonight's posting with three messages. The first message is from Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Kristen. Kristen wrote, "Thinking about you today. Perhaps it was about this time last year that I started taking care of Mattie? So much has happened in that year. Thinking of you...this Tuesday and every day. Much love."

The second message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "It is wonderful of you to step in and care for Mary while Ann is away. It speaks volumes about you and your wonderful counseling/caring style that Mary is happy to have you as her visitor this week when her daughter is gone. And you hit exactly the right tone, we all need something to look forward to, an event, a visit, a vacation, etc. That's what makes a life worth living rather than just day to day survival. I am glad you got to visit with Debbie last night; it was always very clear from the blog that without Debbie's continued support throughout the whole process of tests, treatment and finally Mattie's release from pain, that things would have been much worse without her efforts on his behalf. I too wonder what Mattie would have looked like, who he would have become had the treatments worked for him. All I can say is that I know he is beyond pain, but I don't believe he is beyond love and that goes on forever in both directions. As always I hold you gently in my thoughts."

The third message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy wrote, "The entries that you write often spark a remembrance of questioning my motives and actions following the death of my Mom. Even though it is another natural part of healing and grieving, it generally causes more questions rather than acceptance of the loss. I often think of something she has said or did and wish that we could talk like we once did. The last years of her life were like Mattie's; one of pain and illness. I was so pleased that Mattie was able to embrace so many positive responses to his year of discovery. I call it a 'Year of Discovery' because he always wanted to know what was going on and liked to question the people around him. A natural scientist! I know that he had hard days too, yet, your reports spoke of his trusting that Peter and you would alert him to this side of life too. I applaud the two of you in being able to respond to the questions and actions of the children. So often we process these kinds of behaviors as 'wrong' or 'not respectful' as we see them through our filters and not the uniqueness of children. I think the best days are when children are allowed to be children and you made that possible with Mattie each day. It doesn't surprise me that you see a child more clearly now that your lives have been turned upside down. I think your idea about donating the presents that Mattie never got to open, to the Hospital, is a beautiful way to celebrate his birthday. I knew that you would come up with a fitting celebration. Speedy Red will probably be the last of items put away, if ever. To me that car is an essential part of Mattie Brown! It gave him the ability to move around and feel 'normal' in an abnormal situation. Red is the color of passion and action, so, Speedy Red is perfect. I wouldn't be surprised if you try to take a spin every once in a while (I seem to remember a photo of the two of you in it.) You will know when you can make room for other emotions and experiences. The fact that you got active is such a healthy way to process your grief. I wish I did that more often."

Monday, March 22, 2010

Monday, March 22, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in June of 2002, when Mattie was two months old. Even at two months old, he was alert, always ON, and his eyes seemed to be absorbing everything around him. I particularly loved his facial expression in this photo. Based on his inquisitive smile, you have to wonder what he was focused on or thinking about at that moment in time. 

Poem of the day: I've Stopped Looking for Him by Kim Hodne

I've stopped looking for him everywhere
I'm not sure when that happened
I don't search for him in crowds
Or his car on the road
I've stopped looking for him
Biking on the paths
Swimming in the ocean
Skiing down the hills
I've stopped watching for him
To pull up the drive way
And run in with a hug
And raid the fridge
I'm not sure when this happened
A sudden turning point?
No, rather a very slow realization
That he is not coming back
I've stopped waiting for him
To pick up the phone
And hear his sweet voice
Recounting his week
A movie plays in my head
Of the baby, little boy
Teen and young man
And it's enough
That I don't need to search for him
Around every corner
He reaches me in other ways
Always a pleasant surprise

As Ann is out of town this week, I am overseeing Mary's (Ann's mom) care. I went to visit Mary today, and she asked a lot of good questions about Ann's trip. I explained to her where her family was going on vacation and what they would be doing during the next 6 days. Mary reflected on the first time she went to Disneyworld with Ann's children. She remembered a lot of the details quite well, and clearly this trip meant a great deal to her. I am so happy Mary has these meaningful memories to pull from. I spoke to Mary about the new assisted living facility she is in. I made the mistake of asking her whether she is "happier" in the new facility! I clearly wasn't thinking, because Mary let me know that it is impossible for her to be happy again. I paused because, having lost my son too, I understood exactly what she meant and realized this wasn't the best choice in words. So I apologized and reworded the question. Mary did tell me that losing a son is something you never get over, and keep in mind her son died over two years ago. Not that long ago really, but perhaps from an outsider's perspective this seems like a great deal of time in which healing should have occurred. I now know all too well that time is irrelevant! I do understand how such a death affects your outlook on life and one's will to live, and I appreciate Mary's candor and openness to talk about this.

When Ann goes out of town, Mary greatly misses her daughter. However, I assured Mary she wouldn't be alone this week. That myself and her care companion, Shayla, would be visiting every day. Mary smiled and asked me if I am "in charge" this week while Ann is away. I laughed, and I said "yes." Mary responded by telling me, that she was very happy that it was me stepping in this week in Ann's absence, and that she was hoping it would be me. I took this as a high compliment, because I know how much Ann does for Mary, and how much Mary looks forward to seeing Ann each day. I told Mary that I was bringing lunch for her, Shayla, and myself on Friday, so that we could have a girl's luncheon. She seemed very happy about that because I how important it is to have something to plan or look forward to each week.

Tonight, Peter and I went out to dinner with Debbi. Mattie's sedation nurse angel from Georgetown University Hospital. Seeing Debbi is always delightful, and we certainly have been through hell and beyond with her. Debbi has supported us through every part of the treatment and dying process, therefore, from my perspective it would be hard not to have a deep love and appreciation for her. Over dinner, we shared with Debbi our feelings and the challenges Peter and I have as a couple, who naturally, as individuals need different things in order to grieve. Hearing all of this isn't easy, but Debbi was right there with us and supporting the process. Debbi is one of the wonderful gifts that we received through this nightmare, and I don't say that lightly.     

As we were driving home tonight, we passed by The Georgetown Visitation School. I couldn't help but think about Mattie's Celebration of Life Reception which took place on that beautiful campus. In fact, I may never look at that campus the same way again. Just passing it made me reflect on Mattie's death. As I am sure parents at one point or another in time, wonder what their child will be like when he/she grows up. I distinctly remember myself imagining this when Mattie was healthy. Now of course I am left to dream about this, since I will never be able to know what he would have looked like or would have become.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I am glad yesterday was a better day for you. Sometimes there is no where to go but up. I think your idea to donate new toys that Mattie never had an opportunity to play with is a wonderful one. I know they will be appreciated and it is a terrific way to remember and honor Mattie's memory on his birthday. I have to say I really appreciate your and Peter's changed attitude about the flowers; so often we are more about appearance than substance, worrying about how something looks rather than how someone feels. You and Peter definitely have your hearts and priorities in the right place. In spite of the weather, I hope you find some emotional sunshine in your day today; I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in April of 2008, three months before he was diagnosed with cancer. I caught Mattie in action. He did not realize I was even taking the picture. Mattie loved spring, for many reasons. His birthday was in the spring, but he also loved planting a garden with Peter and I, and he especially loved the hose. He would water plants and water himself in the process. As you can see from this picture, he went outside prepared with his raincoat on, because he knew he was going to water himself in the process.

Poem of the day: A Poem for Trevor by Kim H


I never thought Texas bluebonnets would make me cry
They always were the signs of the beginnings of spring
Late March, early April and your birthday would be coming
April 5th, a time of anticipation and joy
But today, I spotted them along the roadside and they made me cry
I thought of all the photos you took of them
In masses of blue and the pinks and oranges of Indian Paintbrushes
So beautiful, you loved those photos you would sell
Texas Bluebonnets lifted everyone's spirits
Signaling the start of our Texas spring
Your photos capturing the essence of a new season
Lifting your spirits as well
I hope the Wildflowers are in Heaven for you
For then I will know you are at Peace
I hope they are as beautiful as in your photos
But I never thought Texas bluebonnets would make me cry

Today was a better day than yesterday. Though after yesterday, there was no other place, mood wise to go other than up. When I woke up this morning, I decided to do chores around our home. The simple action of moving around and focusing on a task was therapeutic in and of itself. The more physical activity I did, the better I felt. Over dinner tonight, I actually brought up the topic of Mattie's toys to Peter. Typically Peter doesn't even address these issues with me because he knows I am very sensitive about anything that belonged to Mattie. For example, today Peter innocently mentioned Speedy Red, which is sitting outside on our deck. Taking up a third of the deck space. Peter asked me who we should donate this battery operated car to. At which point I quickly responded, "to nobody." Speedy Red is important to me, and at the moment isn't leaving our home. However, over dinner, I told Peter that there are many things piled up that Mattie never got a chance to play with. These are the things I am willing to entertain donating to children who need these things. Many of these items I would like to donate to Georgetown University Hospital, because I know the excitement that new toys can bring to children who spend their days and nights in the hospital. Mattie looked forward to every new toy delivery that Linda (Mattie's childlife specialist) received. I would like to bring this happiness to other children who are sick. In fact, I am thinking of timing this donation around Mattie's birthday. Mattie was about happiness, and I think this seems like one meaningful way to celebrate and recognize Mattie's 8th birthday. 

Peter spent the day outside on our deck. Cleaning up our flower boxes and things, to prepare them to be planted in a few weeks. Several months ago, Peter planted crocus, daffodil, and tulip bulbs outside in our commons area. He got these bulbs a while ago so he and Mattie could plant them together, but naturally that did not happen. In Mattie's honor, Peter planted these flowers. With our recent warm days, these flowers are sprouting and blooming. They are a lovely sight to see, and Mattie would have been thrilled. These flowers are important to Peter, and he waters them often. He told me that yesterday he noticed a mother and her little girl walking over to the crocuses and admiring them. The little girl then decided to pick the crocus from the ground and take it with her. I asked Peter what his reaction to this was. At first, he said he was taken aback. But then smiled because if this flower made the little girl happy, then he was happy he planted it. It is funny after Mattie's death, Peter and I look at actions differently. In the past, we may have been upset with this child's actions, but now we appreciate it. This little girl was curious, found the flowers pretty, and wanted to capture that moment. I get that feeling now much better than I did prior to Mattie's cancer. The flower is not as important, as the feeling the flowers produce!

Later today, Peter was watering the flowers. I was inside, but I could see a little boy, maybe about 4, with his father outside on a balcony watching Peter water. The little boy started yelling down at Peter. He wanted to know what Peter was doing. The boy's father repremanded him for asking such a question. But Peter said the question was a good one, and explained to the little boy the importance of watering the flowers. I have missed the sound of children, and their questions, and hearing this little boy talking today took me back to my times with Mattie.

Peter told me that he has been hearing Mattie's wind chimes twinkling all day while he was outside. Peter said that when he walked back inside, right in the middle of the hallway floor was a plastic pop it. We have NO idea where this pop it came from. We opened no packages today. The only conclusion we came to was this was a sign from Mattie, the king of the pop its! I would like to think on some level Mattie was with us, as Peter started the spring cleaning out process.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I certainly hope you are feeling better today. As I was practicing this morning a thought came to me that learning to live with grief is like learning to drive. At first you are entirely focused on the immediate (like the front end of the car) but you find you need to start to lift your gaze further out and keep your focus further down the road. Eventually you begin to watch quite a distance out, but sometimes that means you hit a pothole (something unexpected that brings acute grief anew), but if you spend all your time watching for these you can't drive (or function at all in the world). Somehow, eventually you figure out how to drive with your attention on multiple things while accepting that you will occasionally not see some obstacle in time to completely avoid it. And so it is with learning to live with grief I think. Eventually you can find a direction to aim your life, you can even begin planning to get there, but you have to accept that sometimes you will stumble into things that will bring you back to your loss and the only way to avoid them is to do nothing at all. Unfortunately, even that will not insulate you from grief, so when you can, you should try to engage with others, remembering the need for balance and rest. As always, I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Tonight's picture, though blurry, is still worth showing. It was taken in May of 2005 at Brookside Gardens in Maryland. The garden had a special butterfly exhibit, and as Mattie was walking through the butterfly house, a butterfly landed on his hand. As you can see from his expression, he thought that was VERY neat. We joked with Mattie that the butterfly matched his shirt, and Mattie commented that maybe the butterfly thought he was a big orange flower! Mattie loved butterflies and appreciated how delicate they are and he knew never to touch their wings, despite how tempting it seemed.


Poem of the day: Searching by Charlie Brown

What happened to my life?
What happened to my dreams?
I thought I had them all
But I was wrong it seems.
I was a counselor and an educator
And the mother of a boy
And when he became ill
I knew which one brought me joy
My life turned upside down
I would have given my all
If I could have saved
My son from death's call
Now I am struggling to find
Who and what I am supposed to be
Now that my role as a Mom
Is forever lost to me
I am doing the best I can
So please be patient with me
And help me keep his memory
Alive in my heart where it must be.

Charlie's poem is very touching and very appropriate as I am desperately searching for meaning in my life. Her last line, "and help me keep his memory alive in my heart where it must be," is something that I reflect upon often. When I look at pictures of Mattie, it almost feels like his presence in my life was a lifetime ago. Or perhaps a different life altogether. There are times I feel as if I am part of a witness protection program. Where my identity has been erased and instead replaced with a whole new one. It feels wrong to move on, it feels uncomfortable to proceed on each day, because when I think beyond the pictures, I recall what life was like with Mattie around. Our home felt different then. There was constant activity, noise, and excitement. Naturally when you are a parent you long for a moment of peace and silence. However, this type of silence is way over rated. The sights, sounds, and laughter of children are what makes life beautiful. Without it, the world seems a little less clear, a little more bleak.

Though it was almost 70 degrees in Washington, DC, I never left our home. I was very tired, not feeling well, and simply in a bad mood. I spent part of the day in bed and the rest of the day, I decided to get fresh air, and I sat outside on our balcony. My feelings of sadness and depression come in waves, and for some reason I am being hit full force this weekend. During these times I am very thankful for the understanding of those closest to me, because I know this can't be easy to experience and witness.

I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I think you did really well yesterday. So many places to fall apart and yet you managed to make it through and honor Mattie as you went along. Thank you for that wonderful description of the shopping trip; I could close my eyes and see the scene so clearly in my mind. Your discussions with Abigail that naturally include Mattie just confirm what I hear constantly from those who are grieving; hearing the name of the one we miss is fine; including them in our lives through what we do and by sharing memories is positive and not something to be avoided. I think it is important to say this as much as possible as so many still feel the best coping mechanism is to pretend the person did not exist and that is the opposite of what we all need to do. While I started out frustrated with today's practice and thinking that it would be a time when I got nothing out of it, I decided to let go of my expectations and found my connection soon after. I send you the release of expectations and the patience to allow yourself to be where you need to be today. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

The second message is from my friend and colleague, Nancy. Nancy wrote, "I just finished my blog reading. I admire how Peter and you show your respect and appreciation to others even when it might bring up painful memories of Mattie. Your day with Abigail sounded like a hoot. I can just picture the two of you sitting on the floor and discussing shoes while others are shopping. Spending time with a girl is a very different shopping experience than a boy. I know that Abigail loves having you as a companion. Ann continues to be a beacon of light and tenderness. I'm not surprised that she came and got you when the video came on. Did you win the silent auction? I didn't read other entries, yet, based on Charlie's note, you've gone to the doctor again. I, too, hope that what you are experiencing is just a stress reaction. I am happy to read about your daily activities and think that you might reenter the classroom sometime next year, even on a limited basis. Your presence as a mentor and educator is needed as we look to the future of the counseling profession. Since many of your former students and colleagues write of their needs for your good counsel. Today was a glorious day in NY. The temperature was so pleasant that I didn't need a jacket. A rare occasion! I pray that you had a similar day and might have spend some time on your Roosevelt Island. I do hope that one day the two of you might come and visit us on our Roosevelt Island. Be well, my friend, and I'll keep in touch."

Friday, March 19, 2010

Friday, March 19, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in the spring of 2007, at Mattie's preschool end of the year party. You can see Mattie between his two block room teachers, Kathy and Marilyn. Mattie loved his time in the block room, and I think this photo is very fitting for today, since Peter and I attended the Resurrection Children's Center auction tonight. This is a preschool that will remain always in our hearts, because it nurtured Mattie in incredible ways thanks to the beauty of the teachers and administrators who work there. However, this community also supported us deeply throughout Mattie's illness, and this will never be forgotten.


Poem of the day: Angel Wings for Jenny (Jenny's Song) by Chrissy Breaux

The Angels whispered in the night,
As they quietly guided Jenny to the light.
So gently and caring, they came to bring her home,
As God opened his arms to welcome her there,
"In Heaven" he said, is where "She Belongs."
The angels laughed and sang, with such delight,
A young Angel, named Jenny flies tonight.
No more pain and suffering, she shall see,
For in Heaven only peace And happiness will be.
The people left behind will feel the pain
The absence of her love, the sweet sound of her name.
To us all, she left her love,
But now God needs her above.
She shall soar in Heaven now,
With wings of gold and Angel's love.
(As she whispers), "Thank you God, for freeing my soul
From a tired shell that I could not control
"Please tell all below, I'm happy and free
And I'm glad I knew their love"
"But in Heaven is where I wish to be!"

Ann's children began spring break today. Naturally there is a lot of excitement to being on vacation. I met up with them for lunch and shopping, as they are getting ready to go on vacation next week. There were moments during this shopping experience where I felt as if I needed a video camera. It was better than any reality TV series you have seen. Somehow Ann and I can produce enough chaos alone, but then add three children into the equation and it is down right comical. At one point as Abigail (Ann's youngest) is shopping for shoes, she pulled about seven or eight boxes of shoes off the shelf, and she and I were sitting on the floor of the store chatting about patterns, styles, and comfort. Meanwhile, during this conversation we are thoroughly surrounded by piles of shoes. It was a sight beyond sights! I almost forgot what shopping with children is like. Mattie hated shopping, so much so, that if I did shop, I would do "speed shopping." Today the old speed shopping feelings came back again, and it was funny, but it also reminded me of Mattie and our times together.

I took Abigail back to her home today in my car. I knew she just saw the Lion King in NYC, so I put that CD on in the car for us to listen to. She reflected on her recent trip to NYC and how much she liked the Lion King. In fact, she told me she liked the bird in the play, Zazu. She proceeded to tell me that she likes the name, Zazu, because it reminds her of Kazu (one of Mattie's buddies), and Kazu reminds her of Mattie. I love listening to Abigail's connections and insights, and naturally I told her that I was touched by her comment. When we got to Abigail's home, I helped her carry her new luggage into her house and up her stairs. We then began to pack for her vacation. Abigail and I both like clothes, the art of putting things together, and chatting about the process. What I quickly deduced today was my time with Abigail touches me deeply. One would think that perhaps this would bring me sadness connecting in this way. I suppose on some level it makes me sad because I realize Mattie is no longer by my side, but on the contrary, Abigail isn't afraid to talk about Mattie. She talks about him freely, and I find this refreshing and comforting. Also, Abigail has a presence and energy that is contagious, and I simply appreciate it and find it healing.

Tonight, Peter and I attended Resurrection Children's Center auction. This is the school's major fundraising event. Mattie attended this preschool for two years, and during this time developed tremendously. This was our first time back to the school since Mattie died. I adequately prepared myself before going, because I cried over this visit earlier in the week. There is great emotion over visiting a place Mattie has been in, and especially seeing his teachers, who I simply love. It was wonderful to see many of Mattie's teachers and so many families who supported us through Mattie's illness. Margaret, Mattie's first preschool teacher, understood how hard it was for me to be there today, and really worked hard to check on me, and support me through the auction. I also saw Kathy and Marilyn tonight (featured in tonight's picture). Kathy, a few weeks ago, sent me a wonderful picture of Lucy and Ethel (from the I Love Lucy Show). Kathy placed a post it note on the picture, and said this is Ann and Vicki. We are the modern day version of Lucy and Ethel. The picture meant a great deal to me, and I was happy to be able to thank Kathy in person tonight. My Lucy, Ann, wasn't far tonight at all times, and the beauty of Ann is that she seems to know when to swoop in and help, which she did when the children's video began playing at the auction. She walked me outside the room, because she could imagine seeing happy children and hearing music most likely would have been too much for me.

There were times being back at the preschool were challenging for Peter and I. I simply don't understand what happened to our lives. I always wonder what did I do to bring this about? As I looked around the room tonight, I told Ann, I feel like I am on another planet, looking in. I am no longer part of the parenting world, and in fact, I have been part of the cancer and dying world for so long, that it is sometimes hard for me to re-engage with the living. However, I was able to step outside those feelings during the silent auction. I was competing against another woman for an item, and it became down right hysterical the strategies and psychology used to win this item. Needless to say, it made me laugh, which isn't always easy to do these days.
 
I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "Abigail is a very special child with real "people skills." I hope she eventually finds a profession where she can make full use of them. It is wonderful of you to find the time to listen and to encourage her. So often we "multitask" when with children. We only half listen while we make a shopping list, check off our "to dos" or try to work on the computer. Really listening to someone is one of the best gifts we can give so your ability to give back to Abigail what her mother gives to you is a lovely way to close the circle. I hope the doctor's appointment shows nothing wrong aside from the stress, struggle and heartache of grief and that is not curable by a pill or any other medication we have on the shelf. Today I will send you healing energy from practice. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken in May of 2006. We took Mattie to Sesame Place in Pennsylvania for Memorial Day weekend. Mattie was very excited, and simply loved Elmo, the red Sesame Street character. You can see Mattie was holding two elmo balloons in the picture. We bought him one, and someone else in the park just walked up to him and gave him another one. Mattie was glowing! Mattie had a great time at the park, and he got to see his first memorial day parade, which was well done and very patriotic. The parade included active military personnel and this gave us an opportunity to talk with Mattie about the dedicated work of our service men and women who fight each day to protect our freedom. 

Poem of the day: Questions by Charlie Brown

How do I go on?
How can I not?
Who am I now?
Am I a mother?
Or is, that now “was?”
I am searching
For the me I need
To become
As I try to find my way
Through the labyrinth
Of grief
Finding some meaning
Some reason for being
Beyond just existing
Without you.

Charlie's poem tonight effectively captures the feelings I expressed in last night's blog. Mattie's death leaves Peter and I with many questions. Questions about life in general, questions about our lives, our purpose, and our roles. To learn to actually live again, and not live to just exist, is a challenging proposition. Seeing your child die of cancer, leaves us with a feeling of intense guilt and sadness, and in a way, we have to learn to give ourselves permission to continue living.

I met up with Ann today, and tried to finish packing up Mary's (Ann's mom) room at her previous assisted living facility. We have made great progress and even landed up donating a good portion of things that are no longer useful to Mary's care. Over lunch, Ann and I chatted about many things, and I realized today, or maybe verbalized it, that she shares the burdens that Peter and I face each day. She hears them, doesn't judge them, and freely accepts this is where we are at in any given day. Ann doesn't shy away from the painful feelings and things I tell her about, and instead only remains steadfast in her support. I am deeply grateful for her presence in our lives, for caring as she does, and for having faith that our lives will get better when we can't fathom that for ourselves right now.

This afternoon, when Abigail came home from school, she showed me her new wristbands (in the shape of animals) that she acquired. She told me all about them, and how girls like to trade wristband animals with each other. She then told me how much she enjoyed artstravaganza at her school today. I remember this special event when Mattie was in kindergarten. Basically local artists come to the school and share their skills with the kids and inspire them to also create. Abigail told me about a local author who came to her class and read a story that she wrote. The author then encouraged the children to develop a story while she was visiting. Abigail showed me the illustrated story she created. However, when I asked her to tell me about the story she wrote, she agreed to this on the condition that we go out together by the tree. The tree has become our space in a way. A space where she can freely move, think, and express herself. It is actually quite a remarkable feeling to witness and experience. Abigail's story was highly creative, magical, and meaningful. She told me about the first chapter she wrote, but she says she wants to continue the story, which I encouraged her to do. I told her I look forward to hearing about chapter 2 by the tree once she composes it. I feel as if I am living a "Tuesdays with Morrie" kind of experience with Abigail. Except Abigail is 8 years old, and not an older adult, in a nursing home, reflecting back about life. Nonetheless, there is something very moving about these moments together by the tree, which reminds me of this powerful book.

Tomorrow, I head back to the doctor's office for more testing since I haven't been feeling well this week. In the evening, Peter and I will be attending Resurrection Children's Center's (RCC) annual auction. There are several families we know who are also going, including Ann. I have very strong feelings about RCC, because it was in this school Mattie found himself, and made lasting friendships. However, visiting a place where Mattie once was is always a difficult experience for me. I have tried to prepare myself and work through these feelings ahead of time before I attend Friday's event.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "Your reflections on life here in DC (I’ve seen it in NY, LA, Chicago as well) are very true. We get so caught up in making a living that we lose track of the fact that making a living is not a substitute for LIVING our lives. It should be what allows us to do the things we love with the people we care for. Thank you for sharing the stories from Abigail and Katharina; I have always felt children understand more than adults give them credit for and that sharing our feelings and encouraging them to share theirs is critical for healthy emotional development. “Protecting” our children from feelings, from events, results in children who cannot deal with the events that life throws at us all. Clearly Ann and Bob have done a wonderful job of raising their children to be both thoughtful and open about their feelings and many of us could take them as role models. Today’s practice was very challenging as things came at us in unexpected ways; eventually I found my balance and I sent the energy of my success to you to help you as you go through your daily challenges. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Tonight's picture was taken last St. Patrick's day! Mattie received these wonderful clover sunglasses and headband, and when he put them on, I thought he looked like the perfect spirit of the day! I can't believe that in just one year's time, my world looks so completely different.

Poem of the day: I am Learning How To Live by Jamey Wysocki

I am learning how to live
In a new way
Since that day
You were taken away
I am learning how to live
With the things left unsaid
Knowing I got to say them
With every tear that I shed
I am learning how to live
By embracing the pain
Knowing that you live on
Through the memories that remain
I am learning how to live
Knowing I will never again see your face
And I have peace knowing
You’re in a better place
I am learning how to live
Knowing you’re in God’s care
It gives me the strength to move on
And makes the pain much easier to bear.


"I am learning how to live." Or am I? Tonight's poem is intriguing. I agree I am learning how to live without Mattie. However, the word learning bothers me. I look upon learning as something that is positive, and something that I take on willingly. I did not choose to "learn" to live without Mattie, it was something that I was forced to deal with. As I see it, I have two choices in life now. I either deal with life without Mattie, or not live at all. That sounds rather black and white I am sure, but taking it down to the most basic levels this is what I am left with. However, I have experienced that through grieving it is very possible to be living, yet feel quite dead or empty inside. It takes great courage to work through those feelings.

It is interesting, over the last couple of days, I have reflected on life in general. Living in the Washington, DC area, people must work rather hard and long hours, just to afford to live here. However, in the process of working hard, it is easy to get stuck. Stuck in the daily grind, the routine, and forget about why one is working so hard in the first place. Before Mattie got sick, I was guilty of this. Going day to day, but not really appreciating what I had in front of me. I always felt that there had to be more to life than this, but really was complacent or simply accepted that this is what all responsible adults had to bear, especially while raising children. Now that Mattie is gone, I must say I question the whole daily struggles we put ourselves through. In a way, dealing with intense grief, has forced me to take a moratorium from life. I am left with the existential struggle of what is our purpose for being here on earth? I could come up with some trite answers to this philosophical question, but I am looking for a deeper or more profound answer.

I would like to share two stories with you. I had the opportunity to be outside Ann's house today, watching her daughter, Abigail, and our mutual friend, Katharina, climb a tree. Abigail and Katharina made a poem up about the tree. Basically the poem stated.... hug a tree when you are scared, and kiss a tree when you are sad. I then noticed that Abigail kissed the tree. Naturally I could only deduce from her poem that she was telling me she was sad. So I asked her. She said that she was sad at that moment, and when I asked her why, she said that she was sad because she was thinking of all the people in her life who have died. She then listed them, one of whom was Mattie. Abigail then told me about a very unique and creative game that she plays sometimes at recess in school. The game involves superheroes in heaven. In this play scheme Mattie is the mayor of the superhero town, and Abigail and Charlotte are the superheroes who enter this world to basically defend the town from the evil forces trying to get in and destroy the town. I am only sharing parts of the story with you, but what this illustrates to me is that death is a very real and complex topic and feeling for children. Unlike adults, where we either turn inward or talk through our thoughts and feelings, children play out these thoughts and emotions. Play is the work of children, and a great deal can be accomplished and learned through play. Abigail's story today made me pause because clearly her friendship with Mattie is a part of her, and perhaps will always be a part of her memory. The beauty of children is they tell you how they feel typically without an ulterior motive, and for Abigail, she was simply stating the facts, and wasn't trying to tell me a story to make me feel better. Ironically though her story did touch my heart, it meant even more to me because it wasn't planned. It just happened.

Later in the afternoon, Katharina, also a buddy of Mattie's, told me a story. She explained that she was creating something out of playdoh yesterday, and wanted to give me her final product. Katharina designed a beautiful necklace, and it had all three of Mattie's favorite colors in it: orange, red, and blue. She said to me, that she thought Mattie would want me to have this. Naturally I put the necklace on, because it was a very sensitive and thoughtful gift. It is during these unexpected moments, where I see that Mattie did touch so many lives, young lives. Yesterday, Katharina and Michael (Ann's son) overheard me talking to Ann about Mattie's upcoming birthday. I was explaining to Ann, that I am trying to plan some sort of gathering for our Georgetown University Hospital family to acknowledge Mattie's birthday. I was explaining that it is hard to plan such an event, or perhaps people would think such an event was unusual because Mattie is no longer alive. With that both Katharina and Michael corrected me. They said Mattie is alive. They pointed to my head and heart. Do I need to say anymore?! Sometimes children are much wiser than we give them credit to be.

I would like to end tonight's posting with a message from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "I am sorry you are not feeling well; grief is exhausting and self care is absolutely critical. I read about how Abigail made Mattie a part of her presentation on Russia. I agree with what she said, that when we remember Mattie in a setting or during something we are doing, he is with us in spirit. I am glad you have found a project to do (can’t wait to see the pictures of the centerpiece) and that you are getting out some and meeting up with friends. Finding your way is kind of like walking a maze filled with booby traps and unexpected surprises both positive and negative. You just don’t know what you will find around the next corner. Be gentle and patient with yourself today as you recover from your illness; I send you my healing energy from practice to help you. I hold you gently in my thoughts."

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Tuesday, March 16, 2010 -- Mattie died 27 weeks ago today.

Tonight's picture was also taken in May of 2007 at Dutch Wonderland in PA. Mattie had a great day with Peter going on every ride that was possible in the park. At age five, Mattie was fearless. You can see the big smile on his face, as he went on a ride that was like a rollercoaster on the water. Though I do not like going on rides, I did like taking pictures, documenting all of Mattie's adventures. At the time I would never have guessed just how much these pictures were going to mean to me.

Poem of the day: People Say by Charlie Brown

People say
Time heals
But it doesn't
It softens the colors
And frays the edges
Of my memories of you
People say
He's better off
Is he?
Of course not
He needs his mom
And his dad
People say
He's with God
Doesn't God have
Enough angels?
I had only one son
My arms are empty
I am devastated
I am angry
I want to cry
I want to scream
People say it gets better
I can't see how
Your support is
A ray of sunshine in a
Grey sky
A whisper of spring
Even in a winter wind
The promise of a rainbow
After the storm
People say
Friends help...
They do.

The poem that Charlie sent me tonight captures the sentiments of the day. A day that marks Mattie's 27th week gone from this earth. Time, does not heal ALL wounds. Not even close. As I have said before, with time comes a lapse in memory, a struggle to remember the specifics such as the sound of Mattie's voice, the beautiful brown color of his eyes, or the sensation of his hugs. Time from my perspective only further robs me of these vital tangibles. It is hard to believe that it is yet another Tuesday!

While I was driving today, I heard on the radio a song by George Strait entitled, "I saw God today." I have heard this song numerous times before, but for some reason the lyrics caught my attention. I think as a parent, perhaps one of the first true times you see God in action or what he is capable of, is when you have a child. On this day, where I am remembering the passing of Mattie, it seems ironic that hearing this song would bring me back to remembering the day Mattie was born. Naturally it is a day Peter and I will never forget. What is abundantly clear to me however, is that through Mattie's death, I feel more deeply than ever before. It is almost as if a protective layer of my skin has been removed, and by doing so, I am sensitive or overly sensitive to just about everything that surrounds me. I have attached the link to this song, if you are curious to hear it:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q06AvQF5NOw

I had the opportunity to see Ann this morning. We went shopping for different things, but one of my main focuses was picking up items to design Ann's next table centerpiece. This centerpiece will be for her youngest daughter's, first holy communion party in April. So stay tuned for pictures of this creation. Some of you may recall the winter wonderland that I created for her table in December, my current project is to design a spring time garden scene for the center of the table. To me, butterflies, birds, and flowers are perfect symbols signifying the purity of the holiest and most important occasion in a Roman Catholic's life. Or in other words, when a child receives the Sacrament of the Eucharist for the first time. I find taking on these projects fun, and they allow me to step out of my usual day to day feelings for a while, and be creative.

Ann told me that Mattie was thought about and in a way was a part of her daughter Abigail's Country Fair at school. My understanding of this event is that each child is assigned a different Country to study and then creates pictures, booklets, and other representations of the culture to share with others at the fair. Abigail represented Russia quite well, and even brought in my Russian Nesting Dolls to add to her display. When Abigail opened up each of the dolls, the littiest doll had two pennies in it. Abigail was confused by this, and asked Ann where the pennies came from. Ann explained to Abigail that Mattie liked playing with these dolls, and he hid two pennies in them. Abigail then innocently stated to Ann that Mattie was therefore with her today (in spirit) at this event! This was a lovely comment to hear, especially on a Tuesday, when I reflect more than usual on Mattie's death. It is always wonderful to hear stories about how his memory is being kept alive.

I had lunch today with my friends Christine (Campbell's mom) and Ellen (Charlotte's mom). In fact, this was our first book club meeting and we discussed a book entitled, "The Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet"by Jamie Ford. We had a nice lunch and chatted about a whole host of subjects. We all enjoyed this book, but agreed that the ending was too perfect, and most likely wouldn't be plausible in reality. I love learning about different cultures, and certainly love reading about relationships, so this book had the best of both worlds for me.

However, as the day continued on, I began to feel ill. It came on suddenly, and I hope that it goes away as fast as it has arrived. I would like to end tonight's posting with two messages. The first message is from Mattie's oncologist and our friend, Kristen. As many of my readers know, Kristen writes to us every Tuesday. Kristen wrote, "Just a note to tell you I am thinking of you...this Tuesday and every day. Much Love."

The second message is from my friend, Charlie. Charlie wrote, "Being a good chaplain is a fine balance of caring, compassion and a "thick skin." This is especially true for those who take up the challenge of ministering in a hospital environment where as many stories end sadly as end happily. It sounds as though Sharon has managed this difficult balance especially well. I think it is important for a chaplain to express what a loved one cannot but wants to say if that is possible. In this case, prayer in the appropriate places was something of a solace both at the time of Mattie's passing from this life, and in retrospect as well. That's not an easy thing to do. Often we end up either angry at the time and grateful later or the reverse. It is a blessing when it works both ways. I do think you are right and that the place for the support group is Georgetown if that can be managed. If it can, I know that you and those you connect with, will be the ones to make it happen. As I practice today, I will send you my strength and focus for the tasks you have ahead. I hold you gently in my thoughts."