Mother's Day March 10th 2013

Mother and two sons 

 It is just over 4 weeks since I last wrote here about Matt. This is our 7th Mother's Day, (Sunday 10th March) without him. I have been looking through the old photos, and in those years which have passed, new memories have been made for our family. It is like building, very slowly, layer upon layer, a new kind of life. Often people refer to it as "A Different Life". It is a hard journey to begin, crushed and bewildered.
We began in September 2006.
At first it is almost impossible to comprehend that we can live without the one we all loved so much, and still do. And yet....gradually over those years, I have realised that love does not diminish, I do not have to fight to remember him, as he is there all the time, in our waking and sleeping and a thousand times in between.                     

Matt and Alan. The Lizard.2004 

 All those good times we had as a family, on holiday in France and Cornwall, or birthdays, Christmases, Easters, other celebrations, will never be forgotten. Each one precious. The daily routine of a family. First school days, University, leaving home, getting married, new job, all recorded and logged. Only you never expect to log a death.
When Matt's brother was married in 2008, Matt was no longer with us.

Alan's Graduation  July 2008.

Alan's "Best Man" paying a touching tribute to him at the end of the traditional "Best Man" speech at the wedding.    
When our grandchildren arrived, in October 2011 and end of January 2013, Matt was not there to see them.
It is always and forever to be like this.
I knew that Mother's Day was coming up on the calendar, but it did not disturb me much until the  middle of this past week.

I began to think of Matt, and, in my mind's eye, (as I have a very visual memory), I could see him,  in snapshots of time.
After he was married in November 2000 he and his new wife lived relatively close by.
Close enough to drop in. Usually each Sunday for lunch. And sometimes a drop in during the week.  
A key turning in the front door lock and Matt coming in as he did, saying
"I just thought I'd come and see you."
Then a hug.
 If  I was outside in the back garden, the backdoor would open. Matt stepping outside and loping up the path to see me. Then we had a cup of tea sitting on the patio for a chat.
One day, when I was quite ill with gastric 'flu he visited for awhile and sat on my bed, (his dad  having to be at work.) Going beyond the call of duty unasked when I was vomiting. These things I will never forget.
He had begun to set up his own little company as a programmer, working from home, so he had flexible hours.
When my own mother was seriously ill in hospital in the town where I was born, in 1990, he came to see her with us, and sat at the end of her bed and rubbed her sore feet. I will not forget.
She died not long afterwards.
   I don't see him through rose coloured glasses, but I was proud of him. We often clashed, having similar temperaments, but because of it we had an affinity. That I miss terribly. He had a caring heart.
This is why one evening this past week, as I arrived at the home of one of our friends, she remarked " How are you?"
I didn't have to say it was Mother's Day coming along. She could see it written in my eyes.
    And as the old saying goes,
"The eyes are the window to the soul"

     My "soul" reflects forever the loss of my firstborn son.

Matt Ullswater July 2006.

 
   So as I look at this photo, taken in half shadow, the camera looking into the sun, I am mindful of the words in the Bible      

 

       
     

1 Corinthians 13:12

The Message (MSG)

^"12 We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!"

Until that day breaks and the shadows flee away, we will love you and remember you Matthew, until we meet again.