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Introduction Posted by Mark and Christine Dudley
in Introduction on
Wednesday, September 20. 2006
Comment (1) Introduction
We are the parents of Peter K. Dudley (DOB 5-10-02). Peter was diagnosed with a brain tumor on July 6, 2006. He had a surgical resection of the tumor on July 7, 2006 at Riley Hospital for Children in Indianapolis. The tumor was classified as desmoplastic medulloblastoma. After three years of treatment, Peter died on June 28, 2009
Over the years we have tried to keep family and friends updated on Peter’s condition and now the entire family through emails. Peter’s uncle, James Dudley, kindly established this blog as a way for us to post updates on first Peter’s progress and now ours in his absence. The two pictures are of Peter and his sisters. The pictures were taken four years ago. Mark and Christine Dudley  
Tuesday, June 29. 2010June 28, 2010
We thought since so many of you are thinking of us we would send a final update on the Dudley family on the anniversary of Peter’s death. We refer to it as Peter’s feast day as it is the day we celebrate his entry into heaven. We collectively went to Mass, then to a toy and book store. Each family member, including Maria, selected a toy, game and book Peter would have enjoyed, and we donated them to the Riley Child Life Department to distribute to oncology patients. Reminiscing about which toys, games or books Peter enjoyed, we trolled through the stores gathering items in our cart. Strangely, we parents find our fondest memories with Peter are during the years after diagnosis. God blessed us abundantly with the three years of time we spent with him. A significant piece of that time was spent at the hospital, made in many respects joyful by the generous parents and anonymous donors who provided gifts for distribution to patients. In so many ways Peter would have approved of our day. He loved shopping for gifts for his sisters and took picking out their gifts very seriously. The girls commented this was perhaps because he knew he would play with them too, but since we were picking out items he would have enjoyed we are sure he was pleased. On the way home, we took the opportunity of us all being together and stopped at a landscaping nursery to redeem a gift certificate for a memorial tree. Admittedly, the girls were less than enthusiastic about our feast day plans. Teresa commented that Peter did not really like work all that much, but preferred to play and therefore we should be playing today. This brought rounds of stories about Peter and his exclamation when I called for them while they were playing, “Darn, darn, darn, Mama is calling again!” We parents concurred Peter may not have liked work, but he disliked being in trouble for not working more. Nevertheless, we did honor the girls’ request for fun and decided to have s’mores and fireworks in the evening, two of Peter’s favorite activities. This ended our day on a high note.
I asked a friend whose young child died suddenly many years ago why people spoke so often of the first year after a loved one’s death. She thought perhaps it provided those living a year to experience the annual events of a year without the individual who died. For us, in so many respects the year after Peter’s death has flown by. This is the blessing six active children bring to our lives. Swim team, cross country, track, violin, cello, piano, horseback riding, soccer, orthodontist, doctor and speech therapy appointments, chickens and goats, and school fill our days. Holidays and special events give us pause and remind us someone is missing. Some holidays were easier than might be expected like Christmas. Other events were more bittersweet like the annual Team Dudley effort at the Holliday Park Trail run. Bitter because Peter, ever an inspiration in his post stem cell transplant immunity mask, or struggling to run the final hill in the one mile run was not there. Sweet in remembrances shared by the girls that when Peter was training for the fun run last year the girls tied a rope to him to keep him going as they ran laps around the yard. Sweet in Monica and Teresa training for and completing their first five mile run. And sweet Mark would also add because he beat Anna again. Mother’s Day found me reflecting during Mass on the meaning of motherhood, recognizing it is not just the hellos but also the goodbyes, the love showered on me on Mother’s Day, and the struggles associated with the failings and sufferings of my children as they mature. Eagerly I anticipated the blessing for mothers at the conclusion of Mass knowing I have a long way to go to fulfill my duty as the mother God calls me to be ever hoping Peter can help me through his prayers. Peter’s birthday quickly followed with the girls wanting to celebrate with Peter’s favorite race car cake adorned with eight candles. Maria smiled expectantly as we sang "Happy Birthday" and collectively blew out candles, knowing cake and ice cream followed those words. We tried to give presents to Peter in the form of vices he deplored. Anna tried not to sneak sweets which always brought angry outbursts from our boy. I tried to speak sweetly to the children all day, the middle girls tried not to argue with one another, and Catherine worked to control her tongue and not tell people what to do. Our efforts produced mixed success as always, but we are sure Peter appreciated our attempts. In true form Peter gave us a present too. Monica, who had surgery on both ears last year to repair holes in her eardrums discovered in February another hole had not healed from a rupture in November. Disappointed and expecting a May visit to the ENT would have us scheduled for another surgery, we prayed for Peter to ask God if it was God’s will to please heal Monica’s ear. We reminded Peter daily the week before the ENT appointment, and even on the ride there, that he was running out of time to ask God to heal her ear. By the grace of God, her ear was healed, and we praised God for this tremendous blessing, thankful to not have another surgery, but also thankful we could give Peter credit for interceding for us. Father’s Day for Mark brought confirmation of his long held belief he is King of our family when the Sunday homily noted the role of father as the voice of God and wisdom in a family. For years he has been pointing to himself and telling the girls “Wisdom.” Now, his position has been reinforced. Grieving to me is as much getting used to who or what is gone as it is learning to be grateful for what remains. Mark and I recognize that in our quickly lengthening lives Peter’s life and death is much like a layer in sedimentary rock, a part of us, but one of many events that make the foundation of the life we live today. We are thankful for all the blessings of Peter’s life and death, but most especially the positive effects it has on others. Somehow it makes my consoling words to a family whose son suddenly died more meaningful, or my hug to a young woman grieving the inability to bear much desired children more comforting, or our words to a high school youth religious education class more powerful. We are still adjusting to his absence and often remind ourselves of our belief in heaven, Peter’s presence there, and the hope we may see him again. Mark and I try to do our part to reflect the grace God has given us to cope with Peter’s illness and death. We quickly acknowledge if we did any of this well it is because God guided us through it. We give the credit to him, to all those who prayed and continue to pray ceaselessly for us, and to Peter who made it easier by his joyful disposition and easy spirit. Peter’s Godmother noted we would never be afraid to die, because we could look forward to Peter being there waiting for us. I hope she is right, but I also hope we are just as anxious to see Jesus as we are to see Peter. The days of our year string themselves one by one gradually building a necklace without Peter. Occasionally we are reminded of something that startles us into realizing the beautiful beads that were Peter are not part of our necklace anymore. He is with us, but in a less tangible, physical way. Our necklace will have to be beautiful without him. We cannot replace his beads with any others only continue stringing our days with the events and blessings God continues shower on our family. Thank you always for the prayers, Mark and Christine Wednesday, December 23. 2009December 23, 2009
As the infamous holidays loom we thought we would post an update to tell everyone how we are fairing. We know many of you wonder and for those of you who ask the answer is typically “OK” which is less than descriptive, but accurate.
Our fall kept us busy and we looked forward to many events. Anna started high school and ran cross country. Public high school is fine with no real surprises she reports, but cross country is great. She continues to train with the team this winter and enjoys a little more free time now that the season is ended. She and Mark competed in a five mile race in November and after weeks of training Mark gleefully came out ahead. He has challenged her to a rematch in February. I also competed in the event and pleased myself with my not last in my age group finish. The day after the race we attended the All Souls Day Mass for Peter at the cemetery as a family, and Mark and I flew to Italy for a ten day vacation. The grandparents encouraged this time together and were willing to take over childcare during the trip so we couldn’t resist. We spent three days in Rome, Orvieto, and Sienna respectively with various day trips. We walked, rode bikes, saw many churches, inside and out and enjoyed the gift of time with one another. The children enjoyed the time with the grandparents and the grandparents left tired, but happy for the time with the grandchildren. We really couldn’t ask for more. A few days after our return Anna traveled to Kansas City for the National Catholic Youth Conference. She said the most amazing thing was watching a procession down the streets of Kansas City with 21,000 youth following shouting “God is Good, All the time.” The other Dudley’s busied themselves with swimming, piano, violin and learning to walk. Settling into the business of the holidays tempted me to take some of the multiple grieving materials on hand to heart and consider changing some of our activities so Peter’s absence would not be felt so profoundly. I of course was thinking of where we get the tree, paper chains, Jesse tree, manger for the baby Jesus, birthday cake and the like. Then, during Mass the first week of Advent, I listened as the priest referred to Jesus as the Prince of Peace and I suddenly remembered the theme of the daily Advent readings leading up to Christmas. Over and over again Isaiah cries out in a steady drum beat “God is coming, God is coming. Help is in the Lord.” Like the Israelites seeking alleviation of their suffering, I too await a time when I do not miss Peter so much. Christmas and these readings is a reminder of this hope in a brighter future through the grace of God. I am wise enough to know it may not be December 25th, but my faith assures me it will come. So out trotted the Jesse Tree, the paper chains, the manger of the Baby Jesus and the Christmas Lights, but I am not missing one of the daily readings either. As for grieving, I’ve found it to be as interesting as childhood cancer, less intense, but just as thought provoking. I find as time passes I miss Peter more almost as if I need to miss him to keep him alive in some way. We talk of him often and share memories, but the reality of his presence seems to ebb away and it is almost as if he is a character in a dream. I often ask myself how could I have had this child and then not have him with me now? I can still talk to him, but when I am really missing him it is not enough and I long for his often smiling face and infectious interest in the world around him. The missing is like a summer storm arising without warning and washing over me culminating in tears streaming down my face only to dissipate as quickly as it came. This tug of war between remembering and sadness, forgetting and keeping busy is a puzzle I cannot always solve. Wrapped up in this is a curious impulse to somehow replace what is lost. Yet, the slow dawning realization is a new baby, boy or not, or adopted child would not be Peter. The hole left in our family must be knit together by the grace of God and time. I continue to ponder these emotions knowing they are a gift God gives to few I know personally and from which he can teach me a great deal. I should note, I am really the only periodically sad member of the family. The girls speak of Peter and miss him less as time progresses. Mark, though occasionally misses Peter when he and I talk of Peter when the girls are not present and when he is tending an outdoor fire or is in the barn, for the most part misses him less as well. I know from my reading we are fairing better than many and I believe we have a healthy combination of both reality of loss and faith. We wish all of you a blessed Christmas and a joyful New Year. We have so much to be thankful for. Mark and Christine Wednesday, August 26. 2009Tuesday August 25, 2009
We suppose it is time for another Dudley family update. School is underway. Anna is settling into her new high school routine. Everything, according to her, is pretty much as she expected it to be. She finds herself well prepared and enjoying the challenge of learning German. The other Dudley children and I are in the swing of history, math, science and grammar. Catherine is enjoying school most days, but she like her siblings before her, has her own opinion about what she is going to work on each day. Monica has resumed violin lessons and I am enjoying having fewer lessons to prepare and execute. Maria crawls around, climbs on furniture and stairs and pulls every piece of paper she can find off of any surface and hurls it to the ground. She keeps us on our toes and our books in the center of the table.
The four extra roosters are now down to one as two were eaten by foxes and one by a hawk. We keep saying we will eat them, but we are slow to find a butcher other than ourselves and none of us can muster any enthusiasm for the enterprise. The goats are still tended by Anna before and after school. Maria is terrified by them so she and I tend to only visit occasionally. They still love brambles, tree saplings, poison ivy and Asiatic Honeysuckle, but will only eat these delicacies when they are off the ground. We are unsure how people use these animals for vegetation control. Our best success has been to corral them in heavily overgrown areas and watch them eat everything down to about a foot off the ground. As far as post Peter traumatic stress, we are fairing well we think. The pace of life races along as it always has. Peter is ever with us, but also we are somehow leaving him behind. Somewhat like dropping something off a boat while sailing through the water. When we circle round to grasp the object we catch glimpses, but cannot recover it or even really see it clearly. Before long the wind catches our sails and we are moving again as fast as before leaving the object to the recesses of our memory and imagination. At times I find myself missing Peter more now than I did initially. I am certain this is because I am missing the idea of him more than the reality. It is easy to forget the difficult and the painful and remember only the joyful. We are blessed to have so many joyful memories. Mark is as ordinary as ever. He has unpredictable intermittent moments of sadness, but overall is very well. The cemetery contacted us when Peter’s grave stone was placed. We made the trip down to see it and they did a lovely job. I doubt we will be the type of family that frequently tends the grave, but we might replace a few perennials this fall that were dug up when the grave was filled in. The girls and I also went when they said mass for all the people who were buried during the month of July. Mark and I maintain Peter doesn’t need the masses said for him because we are sure he is already with Jesus, but we do. For us they are a healing part the grieving process and it is fun to hear his name mentioned. There were so many of you who suggested we turn Peter’s story into a book, we felt obligated to pray about it. We discerned if God was using all of you to tell us to put Peter’s story into book form it would be wrong to ignore it. I suppose not surprisingly, working on the introductions and reading the blog entries has been therapeutic in its own way over the last two months. Yet, last night for the first time I found it difficult to even read the chapter concerning Peter’s death. I think in some way the grace God gave us to cope with Peter’s death is no longer required and has somehow evaporated. Almost as if God took us to a dizzying height and then we parachuted out. Looking back up to where we were is perhaps as inconceivable to us now as it was to those of you watching us up there at the time. I continue to find Peter’s death an extraordinary experience and I ponder it often. As always thank you for the prayers and support you have given us. Mark and Christine Sunday, July 26. 2009July 25, 2009
It has been a while since we sent an update. We know many of you are wondering how we are doing. Our standard answer to the question is “OK” and we think that is pretty accurate. Time continues to flow merrily along. Over the last few weeks we visited a 1920’s working farm at Prophetstown State Park, saw some wolves at nearby Wolf park, celebrated Teresa’s 13th birthday (yikes!), went up to northern Michigan with the Krenek grandparents and my sister’s family from Phoenix, and tried to accomplish a few neglected tasks around the house. Anna continues on at the grandparents working at a traditional farm as a volunteer and will return to us next week only to be whisked away to Cross Country camp. Overall the girls seem well and adjusted. We speak of Peter every day either asking him to pray for whatever we need or something more specific. Sometimes we talk about what he would have said or would have thought about a situation. Not surprisingly, Sarah is the most expressive adding tone and emphasis to her imagined responses. In this way Peter seems alive to us albeit far away.
As for us parents we are well, but not surprisingly, intermittently sad. In a long tradition of proper grieving, Mark finds solace in work. He has cleaned out part of the barn, given the Fiat long overdue attention, used the bulldozer to move half of the dirt required in our driveway project and mowed for hours. The rainy cold weather does not help his disposition in general and since he did not join us in northern Michigan we found him a bit grumpy today on our return. We as spouses speak often of how we are doing and find we grieve differently, but at perhaps the same speed. I continue to try to redirect his need for work to the still yet unfinished parts of our house, but he is undeterred in his barn tasks. We are planning a trip together in the fall for just the two of us and are thinking of somewhere warm and sunny since Indiana has thus far failed us this summer. As for myself I have found grief to be a sly companion. Lurking around laundry baskets where stray socks are found and in front yards where children frolicked in sprinklers. I can feel peaceful and ordinary for hours or days and then from seemingly nowhere sadness. There seem to be many facets to grief, but the two that are the most obvious are the missing of the physical person in day to day life and the missing of what we thought we were going to have with that person in the future. I feel blessed in that it is typically only the former that troubles me. Months ago, when pondering Peter’s terminal diagnosis I asked the question “How can we live without Peter?” “How can he not be part of the family as they grow older?” The response I received was that he was never supposed to be with us in the future. Peter did his job and is where he is meant to be. In so many ways the faith that sustained us during his illness, gives us solace now. I always tell Peter I miss him and ask him if he can still give me his hugs and kisses. It is a miracle to me to find comfort and joy after this simple request. Nevertheless our family felt very small indeed today and our van terribly oversized as I drove back from Michigan with only five children. I know "only five" sounds odd. In farming news, we are overrun with wild life. A combination of rabbits, ground hogs and deer ate the girls’ flower gardens in their absence. Only marigolds were left standing. The sweet potatoes, squash and cucumbers were also assaulted. Tomatoes, onions and potatoes flourish. The most exciting contributions are the volunteer cantaloupe and cherry tomato plants. I suppose because they were unexpected. The farm animals continue to amuse. The goats are well and enjoying the cool summer. They are Alpine goats and prefer cold to heat. We have moved them using an electric fence to areas that need clearing of small trees and poison ivy and they do their job with enthusiasm. The hens seem to have chosen their leader and selected the one rooster I named “Dinner.” The four rejected roosters are lamenting their present situation outside the electric fence. We would like to take them to be processed, but the fox may get them first. We shall see. Thank you for your continued prayers for our family. We often feel God’s presence and are thankful for his grace which sustains us. Mark and Christine Wednesday, July 8. 2009July 7, 2009
We know so many of you are wondering how we are doing. Our standard answer to the question is O.K. This seems pretty accurate. We notice Peter’s absence, but recognize that our lives are still very full and blessed. We have the normal things to sort through like Peter’s clothes, toys he had the girls do not want, or surprising sadness when something he made or used often turns up. True to grieving tradition we are trying to stay busy. We took the paintings the children did in art class this spring to pick out frames. While there, I fielded the first “All girls?” question with a reflective “Yes.” If people knew how difficult this question was for us I know they wouldn’t ask it. We also weeded the garden; first thorough weeding in a while, cut and raked more hay, sprayed White Snake Root, and we are catching up on doctors appointments. I also wanted the girls to paint a mural on the inside wall of our garage. It is sad Peter will not have a place on the wall, but I think we will draw a replica of something he drew and we can paint it to match.
The girls seem to be well. We ask often what/how they are feeling. Catherine said she wished Peter didn’t have to die. She seems a little lonely without her playmate, but this takes her to the barn more often to see Mark. This in turn helps Mark miss Peter not coming to the barn less. She entertained him tonight when he told her to use soap in the bathtub. She replied that she didn’t have to because I said she didn’t have to. Mark replied, “Who is in charge, me or you?” She replied, “Mama.” Mark had to play the “Mama’s not here, I am” card. Fr. Philip Halfacre, the priest who said Peter’s funeral Mass sent us a copy of his homily. We know many of you have requested a copy so we are posting it with his permission on Peter’s blog, Peterdudley.info. Please do not be afraid to call and say hello. Thank you for your continued prayers. We are working on the thank you notes. Mark and Christine Wednesday, July 8. 2009Funeral Homily
Funeral Homily – Peter Kenneth Dudley (May 10, 2002 – June 28, 2009)
Thursday, July 2, 2009 Christ the King Church, Indianapolis, Indiana Fr. Philip D. Halfacre, celebrant and homilist Let me begin by offering my most sincere sympathy to all of you: to Mark and Christine; to Anna, Teresa, Monica, Sarah, Catherine, and Maria; to Grandma Everest, Grandpa Dudley, and Grandma & Grandpa Krenek; and to all the family and friends of Peter Kenneth Dudley. On behalf of Mark and Christine, I thank you for your presence here today. They have asked me to extend to you an invitation to join them for a luncheon here in the Monsignor Touhy Hall immediately following the cemetery rites. Mark and Christine, we seem to find ourselves together at the most significant moments of life. There is something deeply Catholic about that, and it speaks to us about the communion of saints: we are all in this together – in good times and in bad, in this life and in the next. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Fr. Philip Halfacre. I am a priest of the Diocese of Peoria. Mark and I have known each other since I was a freshman at Indiana University and he was a senior in high school. Shortly after my conversion to the Faith, Mark himself became a Catholic. I am his godfather and Confirmation sponsor. I can’t help it that he looks older than I do. Mark and Christine asked me to officiate at their wedding Mass, and baptize all seven of their children – which I’ve enjoyed doing every other year or so. They’ve kept me on retainer these many years. I went back and looked at my calendar and I found where I baptized Peter on June 23, 2002 right here in this church. He was about six weeks old. In the normal rhythm of life, things like this aren’t supposed to happen. It is the task of children to bury their parents – not the other way around. Yet, here we are. We have seen this day coming for a long time – almost three years. To borrow an image from the Peter Dudley website, which you have so generously and eloquently provided for us: For three years now, you have lived with a lion in the house. Now, the lion has finally gotten its prey. At times like this, our mind naturally searches for answers. Why did things have to be this way? Why did Peter have to get sick and die? Why do any of us have to get sick and die? And we don’t want cheap, tawdry answers. They won’t do – they don’t satisfy our minds, and we know it. Cheap answers like, “God must have needed Peter more than we do.” God doesn’t need anything. We have to do better than that. I purposefully chose that reading from St. John’s Gospel about Lazarus – but not for the obvious reason. (The obvious reason being the connection with being raised from the dead.) Lazarus was a friend of Jesus. We sometimes forget that Jesus had friends. We know he had disciples and apostles – and enemies. Well, Jesus also had friends, and one of those friends was Lazarus. Lazarus was the brother of Martha and Mary, and they lived in a little village named Bethany – just under two miles from Jerusalem. At a certain point, Lazarus fell ill, and his sisters sent him word: “The one you love is sick.” But Jesus didn’t come right away – he seemed to be dilly dallying. By the time he got there, Lazarus was already dead and in the tomb for four days. Both of Lazarus’ sisters at different points say to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” And you can almost hear the accusatory tone in his sister’s voice. It’s as though she is saying, “We told you he was sick – why did you take so long to come?” I suspect that sentiment resonates with some here today. Some could be thinking the same thing. God could have prevented Peter from getting cancer – God could have cured Peter of his cancer. But he didn’t. Why didn’t he? I don’t know. In the end, I don’t think we will find answers per se, though we may discover an insight here or there. A question that presses upon men and woman of faith is this: Why does God so often appear so weak, so impotent? God often appears weak. He appeared weak during the Sacred Passion, and many times through history. God appeared weak at Auschwitz. And he appears weak now. We are butting up against a mystery. Would it be better if there were no pain or suffering in this life? Well, evidently God doesn’t think so. I don’t know precisely why God does what he does or allows what he allows, but one reason why God permits suffering is this: Some who suffer – not all – but some who suffer create something beautiful for God. Not everyone does. A clear example of this is the bad thief who died on a cross on Good Friday along with Jesus and the Good Thief. Because of what he suffered, he cursed God and cursed men. He took something that was already ugly and made it uglier. But not all do this. Some, even when faced with grave hardship and tortuous suffering, take the hand dealt to them by Divine Providence and, as I said, they create something beautiful for God – and something beautiful for others. Clearly, we have all witnessed this in the past three years with Peter’s sickness and death. God never promised us an easy life. In fact, from the Gospels, it is rather clear that Jesus promises us the opposite. He promises us the Cross. And until the reality of suffering and death – the reality of the Cross – is integrated into our thinking and understanding, we are little more than nominally Christian. There is no Christianity without the Cross. But there is more to the cross than pain and death. The Cross bears within it, the seeds of the resurrection and the seeds of glory. Things are often not as they appear – there is more going on than we immediately grasp. That was the case in the death of Jesus, and it was the case in the death of Peter as well. Our God is a strong God, with a love that is stronger than death. And his power is made manifest through weakness. To accept that, we need more than simply faith – we also need hope. By hope I don’t mean “wishful thinking.” Wishful thinking is of dubious value. I don’t say it is of no value, but whatever value it may have – hope is not wishful thinking. Hope has to do with the keeping of promises. And the man or woman of hope is confident that God will keep his promises; that God will do as he has said he would do. Though we can’t see all the connections, and the ins and outs of why God does what he does, some things stand out clearly. The lives of many people here today have been forever changed because of the events of the past three years – the events surrounding Peter’s illness and death. Some quite obviously more than others. Peter’s illness provided you the opportunity to give of yourselves in ways that – without his illness – you wouldn’t have had the occasion to do. And the response of many of you has been nothing less than heroic. You likely don’t see yourself as a hero, but your heroic actions speak for themselves. I don’t need to point them out. You know who you are. And more to the point, God knows. Real love is hard – it requires the giving of ourselves from the depths of our soul. The Russian poet, Dostoyevsky, was right when he wrote, “Active love is a harsh and fearful reality compared with love in dreams.” You loved Peter, and you loved him to the end. On the Christian view of things, this isn’t something that is simply part of the past. It is an existential part of who you now are. These ways of loving and giving weren’t there before – but they are there now. And they will remain with you forever. This is why Jesus still has the wounds in his hands, in his feet, and in his side – even in the Resurrection. We take those things with us into eternity. This is part of why God permits what he permits. Suffering permits us to become persons we existentially would not have otherwise become, and we take that difference with us into eternity. I think this is the key insight for understanding suffering. This is why God is not unfair. You see, the issue is not simply whether one goes to heaven or not. Everyone in Heaven experiences Heaven differently: everyone is happy, but those in Heaven aren’t all the same anymore than those here on earth are all the same. Jesus said there are those who are first in the Kingdom of Heaven – and those who are last; those who are the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven – and those who are least. Everyone has suffering in his or her life – there’s no way around it. Some respond well – others, less so. But God gives to some favored souls the opportunity to, so to speak, play for the gold ring. This is the logic of the Kingdom of God. Those in Heaven aren’t all the same. Well, Mark and Christine, you played for the gold ring – and you got it. God gives us the opportunity to become great by allowing us to have great obstacles to overcome. And for those who have the eyes to see it, it is a gift from God. Mark and Christine, the way that you have chosen to live family life and interact with your children is something I find extraordinarily beautiful. Admittedly, I am something of a romantic in the classic sense of the word. But few of us could do what you do. And now, with Peter, you have already accomplished the fundamental goal of parenthood: to get your children to heaven. Dying, as he did, in the state of baptismal innocence, you can be confident you have another intercessor for your family. The separation between this life and the next is an illusion. It’s like looking through a one-way mirror. From one side of the mirror – from our side – all we see is ourselves. But from the other side – from the side of eternity – it is as though one is looking through glass. The separation, as I said, is an illusion. Peter is still very much a part of your life. I encourage you to continue your conversations with your son. He isn’t seven-years-old anymore. He is fully grown – and eternally young – with the wisdom that comes from seeing God face to face. And we look forward to the day when all of us will be together again, with our resurrected bodies, living the life of the saints in the Kingdom for which we were made. Jesus said: "Behold, I make all things new. They are accomplished. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give a gift from the spring of life-giving water. The victor will inherit these gifts, and I shall be his God, and he will be my son.” Friday, July 3. 2009July 3, 2009
Thanks to all of you who came to Peter’s visitation and funeral. The flowers, cards and gifts that you sent are beautiful. And we loved the remembrances many of you took time to write at the funeral home. If anyone wants to send us memories of Peter via email we would love them for ourselves, but particularly for Maria. Throughout Peter’s cancer treatment and death we have felt the prayers and support of many. Truly God has been present through the thoughts, words and prayers of all of you. For those of you that marvel at our faith, we credit the holiness and steadfastness of those praying for us. For three years prayers have been said around the world for Peter and our family. We are so grateful. For those of you who wanted to be there, but could not, we thought we would write a few impressions of Peter’s visitation and funeral.
It was a busy two days, but not overwhelming. Hearing the way Peter’s life and death touched your lives comforted us and made his very short life meaningful. Seeing him in his casket was not as bad as we thought either. It really didn’t look like him to us anymore. For those of you who wondered, he was wearing his Holliday Park Trail Run t-shirt and, no, he did not have his shoes on. True to form the cheap Dudley’s could not bear to bury a good pair of shoes that Catherine or Maria might wear some day. Woof Woof was with him in the casket, later removed by Sarah before we went home. All the girls except Maria handled the evening well. Anna mustered the strength to greet and speak to many of those who attended. The three middle girls interacted with their cousins and occasionally brought us reports of what was happening outside the visitation room. Catherine would tell us whenever she spotted someone she recognized. Sadly, Maria found the later part of the event troubling. She was hungry, tired, overwhelmed by all the strange faces and had to be taken home to bed. She put forth a heroic effort for the first three hours we were at the funeral home so we really cannot ask more of her than that. The funeral was beautiful. Fr. Philip Halfacre, Mark’s friend from college who witnessed our wedding and baptized all our children said the mass. Fr. Joe and Deacon Frank from St. Thomas and Fr. Tony from Christ the King were there as well as a seminarian. We will not try to summarize our friend’s meaningful homily, but will post it when he e-mails it to us. Except for Maria who cried most of the funeral, the rest of us were for the most part surprisingly peaceful. Catherine provided comic relief by singing the canter parts of the Lamb of God and Maria was once again hungry, tired and overwhelmed and spent the mass with a dear friend outside the building watching the trees and flowers. For those of you who know Christ the King, the song we chose for the end of the funeral is the one they play after Mass on Easter, Christmas and other joyful feast days. When the music started the choir director and I just smiled at each other. It was perfect. At the cemetery, the sun peaked out for a moment from an otherwise unseasonably cool gray day. The prayers and reading there seemed as meaningful and beautiful as those said at the church. Catherine commented on how deep the hole was, we said goodbye to Peter’s body and went back to Christ the King for a lovingly prepared peace meal. Praise God for a nearly five year old! When Catherine asks about what she was like at the funeral, we will tell her she made us laugh and smile. The entire experience was reminiscent of our wedding. Visiting with family and friends was wonderful. We were unquestionably sad at times, but also joyful. The thought of Peter not being a part of our day to day lives is heartbreaking at times. Yet, I couldn’t help but think this morning as I lay in bed drafting this update that my heart was not filled with sadness but rather with love and joy. God has allowed Peter to die, but God has replaced Peter with himself. As always thanks for the prayers and support, Mark and Christine Wednesday, July 1. 2009June 30, 2009
Whew! The last two days have been a whirlwind. We spent more time planning Peter’s funeral than we spent planning our wedding. The funeral home had choices, the cemetery had choices, the church had choices and we didn’t have much other than price point to guide us. At the cemetery today wandering around to find a spot for Peter we finally decided to put him under a tree because he hated to be hot. Not that he cares now, but how else could we decide? We went ahead and chose his grave marker as well so we think we are done making decisions and we can enjoy the family that is in town. It is a perk that we are able to see family that we haven’t seen in years and that we have a home big enough to host them.
We did want people to know we will be praying the Rosary at the funeral home at 4:00. We know it is early, but we feel like doing it first is the best plan. Otherwise we are plodding along grieving as we do. Anna is unsettled by the crowd and excitement. She feels as though we are forgetting about Peter a bit. We talk often and while I do not know what it is like for a sibling to die, I can talk to her about my feelings of grief. Last night for example Mark and I watched a movie free off the internet. It was diverting but not worth recommending so I’ll spare you the title. After the movie I was overwhelmed by sadness. It was almost as if my grief was like a leaky faucet and during the movie I plugged the drain in the sink only to find after the movie I had a sink full of grief to drain. I talked to Peter last night and told him how sad I was, he told me it was OK and that he would stay with me. Just in case I end up with some personality disorder from talking to my dead son you all can say you knew me when itl started. We look forward to seeing you all tomorrow. It will be a long evening, but worthwhile. We will see Peter’s body for the first time in a few days. Hmmm I think I could probably do without that. We shall see. Thank you for your prayers and support, Mark and Christine Monday, June 29. 2009June 29, 2009
A quick update with the funeral arrangements.
The visitation is Wednesday July 1, 2009, from 4 to 8 p.m. at Seals Funeral Home, 122 West Staat Street, Fortville, IN 46040. View Larger Map The funeral is Thursday July 2, 2009, at Christ the King Parish at 10 a.m. Christ the King is located at 1827 Kessler Blvd E Dr., Indianapolis, IN 46220. View Larger Map Burial is at Our Lady of Peace Cemetery. The cemetery is located at 9001 Haverstick Rd., Indianapolis, IN 46240-2040. View Larger Map Memorial Contributions can be made to: Riley Hospital for Children Child Life 702 Barnhill Drive Indianapolis, IN 46202 On your donation please, indicate Hemoc playroom. Mark and Christine Monday, June 29. 2009June 28, 2009 #2
It is one of the most surprising aspects of the last three years how much we have grown to be comforted by writing these updates. We have the benefit of consolidating our thoughts and having a permanent record of one of the most unique and powerful experiences of our lives. We also have had the benefit of almost daily hearing about how meaningful Peter’s story has been to others. In so many ways God has blessed us by providing such tangible good for all of Peter’s suffering. (We hope many of you are able to come to Peter’s funeral or visitation. We are still working on the details – sorry not much happens on Sunday).
Because we know his adoring fans would like to know, and writing this always helps to sort out the swirling thoughts, we thought we would write of Peter’s last hours. It is not for the faint of heart, but we will include some humor. It was Mark’s night to sleep in bed with Peter, but he slept on the floor and let me sleep next to him instead. This was probably a good thing because Mark woke about 3:00am because of his shoulder and went to go to the sofa. This of course woke me up and we noticed Peter was breathing rapidly again and his eye was open and he was making small plaintive cries. Looking at him it was as if he was either in pain saying, “Wake up Mama, can’t you see I need you!” or “Wake up Mama I am leaving and I want to say good-bye.” I gave him Tylenol, but he couldn’t swallow it so I gave him Morphine instead. It was extremely concentrated and could be absorbed through his mouth without swallowing. I also gave him Ativan. He relaxed and his breathing slowed. He had a fair amount of congestion from not being able to swallow and it was difficult listening to him struggle to breathe. I woke Mark and we lay next to him listening to his breathing getting slower and slower. When he started skipping breaths Mark woke the girls he could see (it was dark and Mark didn’t have his contacts in) and Sarah and Monica showed their faces. They said good-bye to Peter and Sarah ran to get Anna and Teresa upstairs, except Anna and Teresa were in the Family room on the first floor. After restless searching and extra effort to rouse Catherine, the crew, less Maria, was present in the room. We laughed at Catherine’s comments and she said, “I have to make you laugh so you won’t cry.” After a few shallow breaths, Peter left us. We all stayed around him and we suggested we give Woof Woof (the stuffed toy dog Peter has had from the beginning) to Maria. Catherine said, “I’ll take him.” But we all replied we didn’t think Peter would probably want that. We asked the children if they wanted to touch him and no one made a move until Anna came to the bed to touch him one last time. We knew we had the option of washing Peter’s body instead of the hospice nurse and I couldn’t imagine a stranger doing it. None of the girls wanted to help, but Mark sat with me. I had heard in an interview with someone else who washed the body of a loved one how powerful the experience can be and it was. When I washed his hair I was so gentle and careful as if he was still alive, but as I proceeded with the rest of his body, it became increasingly apparent that Peter was no longer there. Mark insisted Peter was not going to leave the house in a diaper and he went to pick out an outfit to dress him. His choice was so perfect he is going to wear it in the casket as well. We will you leave in suspense for that one. After he was dressed I held him in my arms. We had not been able to hold Peter other than to carry him to the bathroom since he came home from the hospital. He was so uncomfortable when we moved him that it was torture to think of holding him for our own sake. As I held him, somehow it was clear he wasn’t there anymore. I gently laid him on the bed and called the hospice nurse. We realized she didn’t need to come unless we needed her so we called the funeral home ourselves. We had another hour with Peter lying sweetly on the bed, pale but still himself in form. I stroked his hair knowing the rest of him was no longer warm and soft. I also couldn’t help but talk to him. The tangible form of the body is such a strong indicator of presence of that person. When the funeral home representatives arrived they were very kind and we led them to him. They suggested that we wrap him in a quilt he was lying on and they would carry him away. I had watched a documentary on mortuaries and they had featured several families, one of which had a young child die. The mother said when the child left with funeral home representatives it was the most difficult. She was right. As I wrapped his body in the quilt I started sobbing uncontrollably. I had cried up until then, but not like this. Sending his body away, no longer able to care for him was unbelievable. Then the funeral home representatives asked if we needed more time, I kissed his head and it was cold. I instantly realized it was time for him to go. He was carried gently out the door, down the stairs and was placed in “the trunk of the car” so said Catherine who watched him go. Looking back we are fairly confident his last word was “Mama” when he gave me the last hug. As a mother, how can that be beat? We managed to make it to Mass at 11:00 for the parish picnic mass at the park. Getting into the van without him, sitting in Mass without him, going to communion without him with his little hands crossed and outstretched, was an unbelievable experience. We looked at each other after mass with tears in our eyes and thought, “Wow, this is hard.” Yet, when we got back in the van for the return trip home it was better. We know it is by living the life that is left to us and drinking in the joy of the other children that our loss will be mitigated. We don’t have to look far to see Peter’s eyes. They are in Anna and Sarah’s head. As we processed the random thoughts swirling through our heads this morning, we realized we wouldn’t wish him back if we could. He is where he is supposed to be, where we all hope to be one day. We know he is better off, we know God will help us and we really are not overly sad. We still crack jokes at the dinner table, we still looked through pictures to give to the funeral home to make a DVD for the visitation and as I laid in bed trying to rest before Mass I realized if I focused on Jesus’ Divine Mercy I felt not sadness but joy. By the grace of God and time itself our family will find joy in Peter’s absence. There has already been the suggestion that we have another boy baby and name it Peter (how likely is that?) or name the rooster we keep Peter. We weren’t too keen on that one either. But God will find a way and we are so thankful we were blessed with the life of this child. His life, sickness and death have been an incredible experience that is still unfolding. As always thanks for the prayers and when we have that funeral information we will send it out. Mark and Christine Sunday, June 28. 2009June 28, 2009
Peter Kenneth Dudley died at 4:13 a.m., June 28, 2009. His parents and sisters gathered around and were with him at the end. We are happy that Peter’s struggle is finished and are looking forward to the day that we are reunited with him. The Dudley family marked out June 28 as Peter’s feast day. There is no need to wait for the official Church pronouncement.
The more the merrier is our message for Peter’s arrangements. Celebrating Peter’s life in a crowd will fit in with the crowd he had to live with here at home. He is used to noise and bother. As we firm up the details, we will let everyone know. Thanks for everyone’s prayers and support, it has meant a lot to Christine and I. Mark and Christine Sunday, June 28. 2009June 27, 2009
Peter has really been working hard the last 24 hours. He finally purged his digestive system last night. We changed more diapers in four hours than we did when we had three children in diapers. It was hard work because he was very uncomfortable having his legs lifted repeatedly and when he was awake his body seemed to shake a great deal.
On the heels of all this exertion he started breathing with rapid shallow breaths. We marveled at it at first, and then we started to feel tired just listening to him. We gave him some of his relaxing medicine with little effect, but since rapid shallow breathing was on the hospice death checklist we were not too concerned. In the morning his eyes were open as if to say I have been working really hard all night, is there anything you can do about this? We called the hospice nurse and she had us time his breaths and she could not believe it when she figured out he was breathing about 100 times a minute. We explained to the children Peter had been running all night and he still was. The recommended treatment was Morphine, then more Ativan (relaxing medicine) and oxygen. We resisted the Morphine, and tried the Ativan first while waiting for the oxygen to be delivered. The Ativan slowed the breathing to about 80 breaths a minute. The oxygen arrived and it made no difference. We parents decided to approach things scientifically and tried each suggestion independently. First was the Morphine because we wondered if we relaxed him anymore with the Ativan he would be able to swallow. Other than making his face turn pink, the morphine didn’t seem to have any effect. Oxygen was tried again for an hour and then the Ativan. By 3:00 pm we realized we didn’t really have anything to change the breathing, but since he was otherwise pretty peaceful we decided to do nothing. This is the definition of a respiratory system in tip top shape. This evening his breathing has slowed a bit, and he occasionally stops breathing for short periods of time. We have the sense he could die at any time. The children asked about Mass and we told them that if Jesus wants us to go to Mass he needs to stop and pick up Peter first. Otherwise we will stay here with Peter. The girls are ambivalent about being with Peter when he dies. Sarah and Catherine are certain they want to be there. Monica isn’t so sure, Anna isn’t sure she wants to be around all those people who may be crying (too much emotion for her), and Teresa just doesn’t know if she wants to see him take his last breath. We asked the ambivalent crew to pray about it and let the Holy Spirit guide them. We also told them we are not going to leave Peter’s side to go wake them up, they have to sleep downstairs. Not really sure how many of them are down here, but I had to step over a couple to get to the computer. After all that drama, he will probably make it through the night. Please pray for the girls that the Holy Spirit guide each of their souls in discerning whether or not they would benefit from being with Peter. We don’t want anyone traumatized they were there or that they missed it. Thanks for the prayers and support, Mark and Christine Saturday, June 27. 2009June 26, 2009
The wisp like breath of a voice disappeared today as did his ability to give hugs and kisses. Peter did open his eyes a few times, but he cannot control his arms well and is having difficulty swallowing. It is amazing how he is moving right through the hospice signs of death checklist. Death is so unique yet the same and to a certain extent predictable. He seems comfortable and sleepy. His breathing is typically shallow, but with pauses at times and congested. The pauses were long enough we called the girls in to say good-bye to him. The girls have asked to be there when he dies, but their ability to sit in his room with him for extended periods of time without rolling all over each other and causing a ruckus is minimal. We were wondering today how people can ever be gathered around a loved one’s bed? Romantic notions of the family Rosary or Chaplet of Divine Mercy being prayed over a loved one as they die just are not realistic for the Dudley family. We are confident it will be lovely, humorous and in our unique Dudley style.
As we hover over him, pestering him with our hand holding, kisses and stories of the day, we realize the Peter we hug and kiss is just a shadow or remnant of the Peter we have loved. It is the memories of Peter that make us long to be with him and hold him. The Peter who was so wiggly he stood in his high chair the minute he was put in it regardless of the industrial strength and varied restraints tried. The Peter who listened to Vivaldi and played accompanying percussion on a drum set made from toys. The Peter who wanting to be like his dad, spray painted tractor attachments, the bumper of the van, a tree and a fence in his pajamas one morning. The Peter who loved to be with his dad driving tractors. And the Peter who lovingly sang and spoke to Maria in the womb and loved cared for her after her arrival. It is the blessing of cancer, or Alzheimer’s, or any of the slowly degenerative diseases that we here left behind are allowed to say good-bye bit by bit. In other amazing news, one of our new chicks laid an egg! It was getting tough here getting by on one egg a day. Monica was so excited she brought it in and gave it to Peter to hold. It is tiny, but it is an egg. Life continues to gurgle and burp along. Thank you for your steadfast and faithful prayers. Mark and Christine Friday, June 26. 2009June 25, 2009
If yesterday Peter’s voice was a wisp, today it was a breath. First thing this morning he managed a “Mama” before struggling to lift his arm for a hug and two kisses. It was an absolute treasure. We don’t know how many more of those there will be. Peter had a peaceful comfortable day today. He slept most of the day as perhaps the long awaited sleepiness has arrived. He no longer can swallow pills so we are giving him infant strength Tylenol and Ibuprofen. The stronger concentration allows him to take far less than if he was taking the juvenile formula. No vomiting today. What a gift! Today was a better day.
When we look into the peacefully sleeping face it is difficult to imagine not seeing it again. It is comforting to lay by his side and drink in the softness of his skin, his long eye lashes and perky Dudley nose and yes, that darling cowlick right in front. There is sadness; yet, the day is also mingled with surprising joy. Peter’s suffering is drawing to a close, as is ours to a certain extent. I also imagine God wants us to feel the joyful anticipation there is in heaven for Peter’s true homecoming. We are thankful for a faith that allows us to believe in a better future for Peter than the present offers him and an opportunity to be with him again one day. The girls continue well. Yesterday Anna hitched up the large tractor to the chicken coop and pulled it to a new destination. Then she and Monica installed the new poultry netting around it. The chickens were delighted with their new bugs and plants. The netting seems to deter the fox families in the area which have proven they have an unstoppable appetite. The girls tangled the goat netting and overnight when it wasn’t charged a family of rodents nibbled through the power wires. Mark came to the rescue and spent several hours sorting it out. Even he admitted it was hot! Teresa and Sarah continue to spearhead the entertainment division. There is a sort of hockey game using Tennis rackets and some variation of tennis rules going on in the basement. Peter can just hear their excited squeals through the floor which is really loud enough. At evening prayers Catherine used to pray that Peter wouldn’t die, tonight she asked in an impatient tone of voice, “Whenever is he going to die?” Ahh, tick tock. Places to go. People to see. We can only imagine how the family dynamic will change when she has more power. Thanks for the prayers and support. Please include the long suffering Grandparents. They must contend with feelings for their own children and dear Peter, but from afar. There is little they can do but pray. Mark and Christine |
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