Wearing your name. October 5th 2012

 Dear Matthew,

We have had a busy couple of weekends recently. Your brother celebrated his 28th birthday on 29th September and on 5th October his own son reached his first birthday. So we thought of you, as we always do, each and every day that goes by, and wished you could have been there to celebrate both events. 

Samuel had a party the day after his birthday, and it was a beautifully sunny autumn day. Saturday October 6th. We had travelled down for his actual birthday being greeted by his huge smile as we arrived at the house. 

But the sense of you not being there was very real. It is so hard to explain how in such a happy occasion I can feel the sharp pang of grief mixed in. Your nephew is a happy, generally laid back, child. And you will never see him on this earth.  

1st Birthday party for our grandson
 Samuel Robin Sellers

 It seems so long ago now, your first birthday, but the memories are stirred and I have to express how I feel. As I write it is a glorious October morning with crisp, sharp light and changing colours on the trees. We arrived home again late yesterday afternoon. But, Matthew, I found a tangible way, for me at least, of taking you with us to Samuel's party weekend.
Last year your Graduation tee-shirt was returned to us with several more of your things that your young widow thought we would like, before she went to live, and remarry, in America. I found it in the bottom of a cupboard, when I was looking for something else. Your dad had put it there so I wouldn't see it and be distressed.      

Matthew on his first  birthday. April 23rd 1977 

 I took it out and held it close to me, and the tears welled up unbidden. I eventually took out the other things and I put them in the wash. As they dried outside on the line, I looked again at your tee-shirt and once it was ironed, I put it on. It was comforting to wear your name. So I packed it in the overnight bag, and wore it to sleep in on Friday evening. I am wearing it as I write this, the morning after the birthday party.    

Graduation tee-shirt.

So, Matthew, when I go to bed I wear your name, next to me.

Love you always and forever,

Mumxx

Portsmouth University 1998.

September 10th 2012. 6 Years on.

 Stephen. Summit of La Chapelle St Jacques.
Cavaillon, Provence France.
9th September 2012

Dear Matt,

Your dad and I are in South West France. Tomorrow we are going to the old Cathedral here to light two candles. One for you and one for Chris. 

We don't know how we will feel, except that already today, we know we are going to have to face the inevitability of another anniversary of that tragic night 6 years ago.

We have talked of you often during the two weeks that we have been working our way from North to South West arriving in Provence 5 days ago. 

You would love the sunshine, the heat and the blue, blue skies...........

But there is one thing I know that will never ever change, 

Wherever I am in this world, you are not. 

Whenever I long to talk to you, there will be no reply.

Whenever I long to see you, your absence is profound.

To hear you say, "I love you mum" when I desperately, desperately need to know, and cannot. 

To feel your arms enfold me, when they never will again

To have those discussions that spiralled up and went nowhere as we disagreed! 

Yes, Matt, even that! 

We who love you always and forever, walked into a parallel world the night you left, and walk in it still. A world that forever changed and altered. 

A world in which we walk without you, and wish you were here every day. 

A world where other people's loss touches us more deeply. 

Because we loved you so much, our hearts were shattered, and although we have to go on, we will forever bear the scars which hold the shattered pieces together. 

A mark of the depth of our love for you. 

So, Matt, until we meet again, we hold on to the memories of you, and walk on.............        

Thinking of you Matt
Love mumxx

Matthew Milford Sellers
1976-2006

Engraved on the Palms of my hands

Matt at "Devil's Frying Pan" near Coverack,
 Cornwall 2003

His dad, same place, 2007.
One year after Matt's death  

I have not written a blog for the 10th September, but leave it to my husband, who has written so eloquently about our son. And in the second one  about a mother's loss.  Read the link to the article in the Economist. It is intensely moving.......   

Engraved on the palms of my hands

Here is FreeLanceNerd, (as he later called himself in his blog)
 We still have the photo of Teapot holding him which you can see in this pic, standing on the shelf in the background.  Now it sits looking at the fireplace in our dining area.

We saw his nephew Samuel,  or Sammy as I heard his mum say a few times, on Saturday, and he would give FLN a fair run for his money in the smiling stakes. Funny that as Curly Al, his dad, was not quite at the races when the smiles were on.

 September approaches - the cruelest month - to ape TS Eliot. I was struck by Matthew Maynard who had given interviews last week at a memorial cricket match for his son Tom between Surrey and Glamorgan. Tom, a promising Surrey cricketer,  died in June after trying to cross a London Tube line and being hit by a train. His father now carries tattoos on his arms with words in memory of Tom.

Memories are engraved deep within us. And there are plenty I am pleased to say about FLN. There is something remarkable about the ability to bring the past into the present however imperfect that may be sometimes. I often bring those memories to mind in our church of an evening where he would come and take part and worship. We were finishing our series in the prophet Isaiah last night and I found myself turning the pages to chapter 49 where the Sovereign Lord says.

"See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands"

There is something deeper here than a tattoo. And for all of us for whom September is the cruelest month we are comforted immeasurably by the knowledge we are never forgotten, held always in the memory of the God.

FRIDAY, 24 AUGUST 2012

A pair of spectacles

On this day when our most read newspaper self righteously publishes Prince Harry's photo in his birthday suit in the interests of the need to know press freedom and oh of course profit your blogger has decided on a more sombre piece.

Friday is the day the Economist drops on the welcome mat of the Tardis and one of its special features is the obituary page right at the end of the magazine. Here lives are remembered from all sorts of walks and backgrounds. Last week I read the story of Sir Bernard Lovell who died at 98 and forever linked to the Jodrell Bank radio telescope in Cheshire.

Today I read about Winnie Johnson the mother of Keith Bennett, the only child victim of Myra Hindley and Ian Brady whose body was never found on Saddleworth Moor, a wild lonely place not that far from Sir Bernard's telescope. Winnie died last week. Here is the article with another photo courtesy of the Sun.

http://www.economist.com/node/21560832

The last paragraph captures a haunting sadness of nearly 50 years. Although I have lost a son I can only touch the edge of the depth of the suffering and despair of this mother. I suspect Keith's remains will never be found.

4 weeks and counting down............10th August to 10th September.

 A poignant journey. 

Last Friday, 3rd August,  we drove to the Wirral to spend the day with a friend, Lois.
It was the same journey Matt and Chris were making when they were tragically killed. They were going to stay with her overnight, before boarding a plane the next morning from Liverpool to Spain. Lois was Chris's closest friend.

  They never arrived.

They had been at the England One Day International Cricket Match v Pakistan at Edgbaston in the afternoon, with a group of mates. It was the beginning of a break for Chris from his busy role as our church Pastoral Minister. With a membership of 550, and a congregation of c 600, there was a lot to watch over.

 So, they left Birmingham, waving goodbye to Matt's wife as they left his house, and died about 30 minutes later at the hands of a lorry driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel. Lois waited all night, and was frantic.
The Police called us at 2.30am to Matt's home where his wife was waiting...............nothing ever, ever, in this world prepares you for that.......................
Last Friday, we made the journey they would have taken, for the first time. Lois usually comes to see us, and Chris's sister, and family.
 Of course when we arrived it was an emotional event for all of us.
But we talked about them, and had a tour round the district. Lois took the photo when we were out for a walk.
It was a good day, and one we will repeat.
But Matt and Chris, we all said the same thing,
Once August arrives, we know September is coming.
Miss you, both.        
         

Chris Rankin and Matt Sellers.
(Insert in local press. September 2006)

Yesterday I sobbed in the arms of your brother.

Sun beginning to set. July 19th 2012 

I think of you 

From first light 

Till dusk.

You are only ever a heartbeat away.......

Until my heart stops its beating 

And stills........ 

I think of you as I hold my grandson in my arms

As you look out at us 

From behind the glass 

Of your picture frame.....

He brings me joy

And in that joy

I feel the pain of indefinable sadness

That you will not see him 

 On this earth.......

And suddenly 

I am overwhelmed

Unexpectedly............

The tears beginning to fall

And your brother.

Proud father to his young son 

Suddenly 

Crosses the room

And folds me in his arms

Saying

"I miss him too...................."

"I love you mum,"

So we sat

The two of us

And held each other tight

Knowing 

We will never be the same.

Both 

Tacitly facing 

A new month 

And the inexorable 

March of the days

From August 

To September......................

A few short weeks...............

Which relentlessly

Move

At the turning of the pages 

Of a calendar

Towards 

That date

That dreaded, awful date

Of a September evening........

When life was forever changed.................

 

Matthew July 2006.

   

   

 

 

  

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
with
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. 

  

Back home from The Lizard. June 2012

Hi Matt,

 Here I am back home once more. We enjoyed our week in Mullion with your brother and his family, going to various places and the old familiar ones.  And we talked about you, and how you are so missed......forever...... a hole, a gaping hole, in our family which you used to occupy.
And somehow, that underground grief which flows ever on welled up at the beginning of the holiday, when we heard the awful news of the sudden death of someone else we knew very well.

Mullion Cove. Cornwall. June 2012

Our friend had expressed her wish that we should not be told until we got home, and was upset that we had heard the way we did  but somehow someone else "thought we should know". So I received the news at the beginning of our first family holiday with our grandson, by a text, which although not stating what had happened, made my blood run cold, and eventually after several frantic phone calls we were given the truth.

I would say that it is not really the best way to learn devastating news.      

For me it meant it had a double effect. The shock making me feel helpless and sick, and then the thought of all that the newly bereaved family, in the loss of their husband and dad at a relatively early age, were going to have to face. It affected my son, and so his wife. Seeing the immediate effects.

It reverberated round my emotions for days, not being able to sleep very well, and constantly having flashbacks to the night we had our own phone call in the early hours of the morning. It made  the last 6 years melt away until it was as if I was living through it all over again.

Porthleven harbour

St Ives beach. 

We have visited the family today, having returned home yesterday, and the sheer rawness of the grief and shock is self evident. Nothing ever, ever, prepares you for the sudden death of a loved one, so alive one minute, and then.......................a call...................  

So, Matthew, we had our week, and as we knew there was nothing we could do at that point, I found great solace in the daily routine which began with our grandson having his breakfast, sitting in his high chair and beaming when he saw us first thing in the morning. He is a very smiley baby, now 8 months old, and he brings us much joy. I wish you could see him.

The path to Lizard Point

You would recognise the now familiar path which winds it's way down to the Most Southerly Point in the British Isles. This time of the year there is the yellow of the wild field mustard, mingling with the other flowers by the wayside.  And we went to sit on your rock, and I picked some sea pinks, or thrift as it is known and dropped in the small flower heads one by one, as we remembered you.
We already chose a house in which to stay next year! All of us once more. By that time your nephew will be almost two years old and walking.
So we left your rock once more and walked back along the cliffs to the sound of the waves and the sight of the shifting, ever changing sea.
In my heart Matt.............love you. Mumxx      

Mesembryanthemums growing wild on the cliffs at Lizard Point.