The day has come and gone. The day you were stolen from us. People call it an ‘anniversary’ but I hardly think of it as that. Some people think it’s time to move on. I think those people are ignorant about grief, which I guess is good. Grieving a loved one is very hard on the mind and body. Nothing really has changed except that it has been 4 years since I saw your sweet face.
Leading up to this day has been really hard on me this year. I didn’t think it would hit this hard again, but it has. I haven’t eaten very much, and sleep was barely existent. I tried working out but I ended up crying thinking about your last week. I am so glad I took the week off work. I have no idea how I would have gotten through a day.
Memories of your last few days kept jumping into my mind randomly. How you hugged Valin for the last time. How all your family came to say their goodbyes. How you struggled to breathe. How panicked I was trying to control your pain and secretions, feeling like I failed you over and over again. Those moments are still clear in my mind. I can’t believe it’s been 4 years. I can’t believe I have to live the rest of my life without you in it. I don’t think I will ever get use to that thought.
This year I let Valin sleep while I drove down to your resting place. I just laid by your plot thinking about our fun and sad moments. I listened to some music that made me ache for you more. Even though I felt dark and gloomy, the sun was shining brightly. Valin was waiting for me when I got home and gave me a long hug. I know he misses you just as much as we do. My biggest fear is that he will forget you and the things you both did together. So we will continue to talk about you and share moments so we will never forget.
Poor dad had to work all day so we all went to your plot together in the evening. The sun was starting to set and a slight breeze was felt. We sat around your plot sharing stories and moments. Did you hear us? Even Valin shared your last words to him. I’m glad he remembers that moment, even though it was hard. It was nice to see a family of deer come out of the forest while we were there. I always find it calming to see the deer graze while we visit you.
Although we don’t visit you at your plot as often as we use to, I sit in your room often. I hope you hear me talking to you when I am there. Not a day goes by that we don’t think about you, and the time we have lost without you. These days are hard but we are trying to continue living our lives. You are never forgotten Madox. We may smile and laugh and enjoy our time together, but there will forever be a broken piece in our hearts for you. A piece that will never be repaired. A piece we will never forget.
We love you my favourite little guy XO
What does palliative care mean to you? It means different things to each of us, depending on if you had a loved one on palliative care or not. WHO defines it as: “an approach that improves the quality of life of patients and their families facing the problem associated with life-threatening illness, through the prevention and relief of suffering by means of early identification and impeccable assessment and treatment of pain and other problems, physical, psychosocial and spiritual.” Wordy for sure. To me, palliative care means support. It means comfort. It means quality of life. It means the choice to stay at home. It means your family never feeling alone. It means care.
The hardest and easiest decision we made about Madox’s treatment was placing him on palliative care. Let me explain. The fear of your child dying is immediately embedded into your head when you are given the cancer diagnosis. Regardless of the type of cancer and the survival prognosis. It still elicits that fear for that 1% chance. For us, it was clear there was no other option but death. There was no hope, no real fight for survival. Only the fight to help Madox live his last months, weeks, days to the fullest and for it to be peaceful. A quality of life everyone deserves.
Palliative care wasn’t discussed or even mentioned prior to Madox’s last MRI in June 2014. We were trying alternative treatments, diet change and radiation prior to that. We didn’t want the word palliative hanging over his head until we felt it was necessary. That repeat MRI date changed everything. We were told the tumour not only grew to the original diagnosis size, but it had “cauliflowered” and began growing outward. That really explained why Madox was having so much neck and back pain. The tumour was growing down into his spine. The doctor barely got the words out about palliative care when I said we would sign the papers. It was a no brainer but so very very hard to accept. We needed to take a deep breath before signing. It was so final. So complete. The beginning of the end. Our son was dying, and will be dying soon.
Madox was placed on palliative care which allowed us to have a physician and nurse come to our home when we needed. Supplies were ordered and sent to our home such as a hospital bed, or commode. It allowed us to have access to stronger pain medication and unlimited support from the program. Allowing Madox to have his dignity and peace without dragging him around everywhere sitting in waiting rooms to see different specialists. It allowed us to stay in the comfort of our own home. It is a necessary program that no one wants to have to access for their child. Where would we all be without this program?
Although I hated it, I was thankful to be able to have the support and supplies to help Madox through the hardest time of his short life. It is never something that crosses your mind until it is mentioned by a doctor, even if you know it was inevitable. Placing Madox on palliative care gave us personal time together at the end. It was just us 4 in our home, without any interruptions, but knowing the team was just a phone call away. We were able to be with Madox at his last breath, in a familiar setting, on our own terms, laying with him until we were ready to let go.
So when I think of palliative care, I immediately think sadness as I know someone is dying. A family is shattered and feeling hopeless. But I also think peace, comfort and quality of life, because of the care to help the patient pass as comfortably as possible. So yes, I love and hate everything to do with palliative care.
The other day, Marco and I were shopping for flowers at a local nursery. I was wearing my Madox’s Warriors hooded zip up sweater, where it solely says Madox’s Warriors, cure DIPG on the back. A gentleman near us noticed it, “excuse me? I see your sweater. Madox’s Warriors! We know about Madox and his fight.” After speaking with him for a short while he asked ” were you Madox’s parents?” My heart ached at the were word. As humans, we use past tense when someone has died. I try to never us past tense when speaking about Madox. I know he didn’t mean anything hurtful by it, but I responded as I always do “yes, we are Madox’s parents.”
He and his wife gave us their condolences and shared with us how they came to follow our story. What I appreciated most was that they both gave us their sympathy of Madox’s passing. May people either pretend nothing happened, or think it has been an X number of years so not to say anything about Madox. Both hurts our hearts, as it tells us Madox didn’t matter. It really lifted my spirits to hear them talk to us about Madox and the significant impact on us and our loss. They didn’t understand from experience, but they tried to which that alone touched us deeply. Hearing his name. Speaking of his life. Acknowledging his fight and our days without him. It means so much to us, even if it makes us sad for a short time. It tells us we are not fighting alone and not doing what we do in vain. People who know Madox through our charity and our events have helped us realize we are reaching out and making a difference with our awareness.
So to Rick and Grace: Thank you for taking the time out of your shopping to approach us. We truly appreciate that you spoke to us about Madox and his fight. You really made our day and added a little skip in my step for the rest of that day. So thank you.
Father’s day doesn’t seem to hold as much importance as Mother’s day. You get the idea from people that you HAVE to go over board for mom. I totally understand why people think this. Mom’s are usually the ones who stayed home with you when you were ill. Who kissed your boo boo’s all better when you fell off your bike. Who you would go to when you were sad about a break up. I kinda think that’s an old way of thinking though. Previous generations, mom were home while dads worked outside the home, sometimes with two jobs. This generation you see very involved fathers, while the mom’s are working hard outside the home as well. Both parents share work, family and house duties.
Father’s day is so important, especially to those who no longer have their dad to visit with. Those middle of a project calls, asking how to fix an error you made. Sitting at dinner listening to some terrible dad jokes. And my favourite, listening to old stories when he was young. Those times you no longer have with your dad rings louder on days that should honour him, like Father’s day.
There is those other men who feel Father’s day is important but difficult to navigate through. Those are dads whose children have died too soon. The dads who wish they had more time with their child. More time to teach them everything that is important to learn. How to shave. How to drive. Something as simple as using a drill. These missed moments scream loudly on days that fathers should be enjoying with their children. All their children. Instead, some dads, like Marco, sit at their child’s plot thinking about what the present would be like if their child was alive. No laughter in that moment. Just heaviness and sadness of missing their child.
Madox and Valin have a great dad. He ensures he is always available and present for his boys. When they were babies, he would make me pump milk so he could feed them by the bottle. He would happily change their diapers, back to back, even if they both had poop-filled-bums. He would set up a lego day while I slept after a night shift, and the entire living room was covered in lego. It was literally unwalkable! When Madox was sick in the hospital, Marco would switch nights with me and did everything he could to help the nurses with his care. Even though he didn’t know what to do initially. He would give Madox a bed bath; help suction his mouth; and kept Madox calm during scary moments during radiation. Although those were tough days, Marco never faltered. Now Marco helps Valin with his homework; coached him in soccer; and stays present in his life. Marco even learned how to play the video game Fortnite so he can play with Valin and understand what he was talking about. Haahaa THAT was a tough one for him.
To those papa’s missing a little body by your side, I’m sorry. Wishing it was different for you all.
Another Mother’s day has come and gone. It is always tough to understand emotions that become so present and prominent in one specific moment. Those moments have me realize that I’m just pieces of who I use to be. Fighting to keep those parts around, for myself and those around me. Living in ones tangled state of mind.
No matter how I feel on one specific day, I try to live in the moment with Valin and Marco. They deserve it. I deserve it. On Mother’s day, we woke to enjoy a nice long walk together at Birds Hill Park. Something we’ve never really done. We have always had a nice family bike ride, ending at the beach with a picnic. I wanted to bring something of Madox’s so I could feel him with us. I immediately grabbed his medical alert bracelet. The only item he never took off, well until he was diagnosed. I kept it in my pocket, holding it, gently rubbing the inscription. It made me feel he was walking alongside us.
We then headed to where Madox was laid to rest. There was no discussion about it as it has just become a tradition we adopted. The last place we ever got to see his sweet soft face. The last place we could hold his hand. The last place I never want to be on Mother’s day. Our new home away from home. People say I shouldn’t go to his plot. They say it just reopens wounds. Sorry, but these wounds will never heal. They are still wide open and gaping. How would you feel if you were standing in my shoes? You would do what you feel is right, in the moment. What you feel is necessary for your heart. What you feel you need to get through another day.
So we sit where our son is buried. Think about past memories, sharing happy stories and sing a song for him. I laid two cookies for him made by two wonderful friends. An older friend who was lucky to have met Madox, and helped me through some very hard days when Madox was ill. And a newer friend who never met Madox, but he was the reason we met. He brought us together, creating a friendship that may not have happened. So I sit by his plate, tears raining down. This pain hasn’t faltered. At times I may seem crazy. That’s okay. I would have given up my life for him. I would have sold my soul. That’s not crazy I realized. That’s just called mom. I clearly didn’t get to choose either of those options. Instead we continue to sit here. Wishing everything was different for this mom on Mother’s day.