Monday, 16 July 2012

Old photos.

May 2005 California
Dear Matt,
When I want to see you, I go to look at the old photos.
I have to say "old" now, as they have a start date, on the day  you were born, and an end date, after you were suddenly taken from us.
There are now no more photos, as there are now no more memories to add.
But the ones we have are so, so, very important, and precious.
It is a chronicle of your life here on earth.
A life lived with your family, and for a few short years as a young married man.
Your middle name was chosen on the day you were born.
It is your grandad's middle name.
I am glad that you and he were so close.
I miss you, both.
The one taken before his time, and the other at the end of a long life.
You have both left your legacy with us, in so many different ways.
 And we will come home to you both, in the fullness of our own time.
But, until then, I sometimes sit and sift through the photos, seeing once again your cheeky grin, or smiley face, and you looking right back at me.
Matthew Milford Sellers
Leslie Milford Sellers,
his grandad. 2004  
I can hear your voice and when I am in church, often "see" you where you used to be, near the front, standing to worship.
People still tell me about the evening two days before you died, when you went around the little assembled Friday prayer group and prayed for each one. It became even more special to each one of them, in the light of what happened 48 hours later, which shocked the church to the core and then reverberated outwards like some vast tidal wave, to our families, friends and wider community.
 So, in this soggy, rain-soaked summer, there have not been many days to spend in outdoor activities, and as the rain has poured relentlessly down, you would have been longing for the sun!
Oh how I miss you, Matt.
I want to feel your hug and hear you say "I love you mum"

After 6 years, you do learn to live with the emptiness, but it is always there. How can it be otherwise?

Cadgwith. The Lizard. Cornwall.
May 1997

So, my lovely, lovely firstborn son, smiling out at me now, we will always love you, always remember, and when people ask me, as they do(!)   "How are you?"
It depends how I feel about answering.........
I know that after 6 years, some of them think I should have "moved on" whatever that means!
It isn't possible to leave you behind, Matt. 
We carry you with us, a permanent physical scarring. 
You were bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. A part of me.

So when a newly bereaved friend asked me recently, " When does the pain go away?" I thought long and hard before answering. 

I was silent. And hugged her tight.   


Spain. May 2006. 

1 comment:

Marsha said...

such is the perfect answer to that unanswerable question... silence and a hug.
and thanks for hugging me with your post.