matthew

jmdx3mom (matthew's wife) here. He is already signed in to this computer and asleep. Randi Dugger, matthew's mother has passed away this morning, Aug. 7, 2009. She was in an extended care facility receiving the maximum amount of pain reflief drugs and comfort care when she passed. A true memorial to her and all cancer victims, survivors and families touched by this: please talk about it. Early detection can save lives and pain for all. No matter what stage of illness an aquaintance or loved one is in, love them in whatever capacity you can. We all deserve love as we face our mortality. To do so with indifference or alone is supreme cruelty. I say this not because Randi experienced this, but I have seen individuals also in stages of illness and pain in the hospital and care facility. I pray that they are loved by someone.

sheftali52

Condolences to all in matthew's family at this sad time....yet, it's hoped love makes things more bearable.

Dragon

Sending my condolences as well. I hope you can all find comfort in the love of family during this difficult time.

polenta

My real condolences to Matthew and all his family. Hope he can find comfort with his dear ones and with all his TD friends.

LadyO

heartfelt condolences to Matthew and his family ... Peace be with you.

anotherronism

Matthew and family. My sorrow for your tragedy is real and I feel your loss though I did not know your mother.

When I was a kid - me and some friends would walk the train tracks for fun.

Then we all started growing up.

Twenty five years later my own mother passed away. Late that afternoon a car pulled up at my sister's house. Inside were three of my old buddies. We exchanged condolonceses and they gave my sister prepared food then bade me enter the car.

We drove for some time until we arrived at a dusty parking lot. It was night now.

We got out and I was led to some railroad tracks.

We spent that whole night walking those tracks and tressles. There was something cathartic about it.

We drank too much. We smoked too much. We laughed in the face of tragedy and two of us cried a bit off to the side. We even had an actual rock fight.

But it's become a thing with us now. Wether tragedy or great success - we four middle-aged men (and even an occasional wife) walk the tracks to mark the time or passing or whatever.

I hope you and your family are surrounded by friends and loved ones and that you walk your own version of the tracks these next few days.

My condolonces,
Ron Thompson

matthew

Ron,

You are truely gifted by God with the writen word...

Thanks to you & to all...

anotherronism

“untitled - dedicated to matthew”

Death is like nothing we can imagine.

Perhaps it is freedom

As a young schoolboy flinging his books away when the bell rings on the last day of school - his bare feet feeling new grass, that endless expanse of time and freedom stretching forever ahead.

There is sadness and abandon. So many friends won’t be seen for months, an eternity.

And oh so many things will happen in the summer. We’ll hardly think once about what was left behind. We will frolic and play and sing and dance and be without illness, old-age or strife. We will be reacquainted with long-dead parents and their parents too. And even theirs.

Our toils in school will be, for a time, forgotten.

But the fall bell rings just as loudly – pulling us back to old habits and old friends.

So what was will be again. And what is to come - well – that thing will be glorious - that next summer already heading this way.

(This is a paraphrased poem from an author I cannot recall. His idea of death being the start of something versus the end of something has long intrigued me.)

Qsilv

I offer a story as my contribution too... just a small one.

When I was in my early teens, a friend and I used to stop by a sandwich shop once or twice a week on our way home from school. It was run by a grizzled old man with an accent and a less than spotless apron, and we felt rather daring eating there.

One day he overheard us talking about our version of deep philosophy, and he asked us a question.

"What is the most important thing in the world?"

We glanced at each other, but barely hesitated, so sure were we.

"Love", we answered.

He just shook his head. We were shocked... and puzzled. Surely this odd old man wasn't the sort to tell us that money was greater than love... was he? We tried a few wild guesses at what he might value more than love, and finally gave up.

He wiped his hands on his apron for a while, then planted them palms down on the countertop, looked a long time back and forth between us, into our faces. Finally, in the time-honored way of answering one question by asking another, he said--

when he was young his country had been at war, and his whole family and all -- all -- of his friends, all of his neighbors, had, one and a few at a time, been killed; his own wife had died, his small children too... he was all alone... no one left who loved him, no one left whom he loved, whose heart he shared memories or yearnings with...

...so, when there is no love left, what IS left? what is strong enough to let you go on?

We shook our heads... and waited.

"Hope", he said.

You may prefer to call it faith, but I recognize that that is what makes hope possible. And that is what helps us all when we feel lost.

((Hugs)), Matthew --and Jmdx and Poet... hugs and hope, to all of you.

Normal

Matthew, my heartfelt sympathy to you and your family. I know you will find your own best way through the grief.

My mom died here in Central Illinois while I was working in Hamburg, Germany. Though suffering a painful condition for many months, she died suddenly from something else, after a surgical complication. I had planned a fall visit, but instead of rushing to a funeral, simply postponed it until Thanksgiving, to support my dad at the first major holiday he would face without her.

Friends helped with distractions and kindness and I plugged along numbly through my job. At home alone I allowed myself to wallow and listened to the great Western grief music: some version of Stabat Mater and Bruch's Kol Niedre. Then one late fall afternoon, walking the dog and watching the sky change in the naked treetops, it suddenly seemed brighter and I heard (in my head, not an outside voice), "I'm fine now. You don't need to worry." That really started the healing, since I knew it was she and I knew it was true.

mostblessedone

Matthew and Family,
My condolences to you all. I, too, have watched loved ones leave. The only real comfort is knowing that I will see them again. But that comfort somehow doesn't fill the empty space that they left behind, not at first. Maybe not ever, completely. But it is, indeed, hope.

This is rather long, but I'll not be submitting it to Think Write, so I hope it will be okay. It is my offering to share.

PASSAGES
An unborn child snuggled in his warm cocoon. Life was perfect. Temperature neither hot nor cold; humidity just right. Shelter couldn’t be a better fit. Clothing was certainly not a problem. He was never hungry. Pleasant sounds floated by – his mother’s voice;music;a more distant rumble belonging to his dad.

As far as Baby knew, this was the perfect life, and this was the way it should always be. He did not know that this was temporary. He could not have conceived that for the status quo to continue indefinitely would have meant his demise. If he had known that he was soon to be roughly and painfully pushed out of his comfort and into a new world, he probably would have been afraid. Afraid of the pain; afraid of the unknown changes he would face.

The time finally came. People said his mother was “in labor”. They did all sorts of things to comfort her, but they couldn't let her stop, even when she demanded that they do so. And what about Baby? He was being squashed and stretche and twisted and squeezed until it seemed his head would burst and there would be no life left in him.

Then it happened: he was thrust out into light and noise and cold. He took a breath, and with it expressed his dismay at all that had just come to pass.

Ah, but now he was wrapped and warm and held. Those distant voices came at him again, but now they came from faces. He could SEE them! This was something new and marvelous. Who could have thought such a thing? Then there was a warm, sweet taste in his mouth. Another wonder! And he could move with a freedom he had never before experienced. So, THIS is life! If he had known about any of it, he could not have imagined it this way. But this made it all worth while. Life!

Now Baby, who turned out to be Bill, is once again engulfed in a mighty transition. He is struggling through the passage that will lead him away from all that is familiar. He knows that to live like this forever would be unacceptable. He has heard that there is something even better on the other side. He believes it. But he fears the pain. He would stop it all right now if he could, just to be away from the pain. Just as was true in his mother’s case, there are others present. They can’t stop what’s happening, but are doing what they can to ease his labor. They are escorting him into a new life. He just can’t imagine how it will be.

Then it happened: Bill was lifted into a world of beautiful light and sound such as he could never have imagined. He has shed all the vestiges of life that have hampered him so. Such freedom! Such joy! And he can see the Face of the One whose Voice he had always only heard from afar. THIS is LIFE!

matthew

Is that your writing Blessed one??? What a great compairison... I would like it read @ mother's memorial & would like to credit it's author...

mostblessedone

Matthew, yes, those are my own thoughts. I would be honored to have you share them at your mother's funeral. To God be the glory!
Ann

cutegrl289

http://video.yahoo.com/watch/5610574/14725858

From this season's "So You Think You Can Dance". Beautiful and touching routine.

lynnspotter

cutegrl~that was one of the most amazing tributes I've ever seen!!! It goes far, far past the written word to express the emotions of those with breast cancer, & those who know them. Thank-you!

matthew

Thank you cutegirl... that was beautiful... I am still trying to hold back my tears... I do not know why I have bottled my feelings up, but this was as beautiful as it was sad...