Hi to everybody...I wrote this last year in one of my blogs, but thought it was worth posting here...
Hi, Lovely peeps, Monday is my day normally for thinking of something to celebrate and writing a few thoughts down on the subject. As you can probably tell from my other blog, today hasn't been a good one and I'm trying to think of something I want to celebrate today.
I think it's going to be a very sensitive subject but one that is very relevant. On the 18th June, 1983, our son, Matthew, died at eleven twenty in the morning from a combination of asthma and a tummy bug, which caused his heart to go into arhythmia causing heart failure and he was dead in less than a minute.
I was in hospital at the time after having a hysterectomy on the Monday before and was due home on the following Monday. I happened to be in the local hospital after having been moved from the main hospital ten miles away after the op when a bed became free nearer my home. It meant my hubby and the children could come and see me far more easily and I did see them.
On the Thursday, I had a chat with Matthew on the phone when he asked me when I was coming home because he missed me making him breakfast, and I said I would be back on Monday, and he told me he loved me, and I said I loved him too, which I did with every inch of my being...I never saw him again, but was so glad the last thing we ever said to each other was that we loved each other.
My hubby came and told me the terrible news while our other son was being looked after by the nurses I think...I'm not sure where the poor little love was I was so horrified by the news, but I do remember the doctor coming in to see me the next day and telling me our other son had been taken into hospital as well suffering from the same stomach bug and he had asthma as well so that didn't help me feel any better, and heaven only knows what it did for him pyschologically either...we only learned later he thought it should have been him who died because he was the bad one and the good one had died...that broke my heart and we did our utmost to try to tell him that we loved him just as much as Matthew and that he wasn't bad...he was needy but not bad in any way.
The doctor wouldn't let me go home for a further week, because of the shock even though I wanted to be with our son and my hubby more than anything.
To cut a long story short, we survived the funeral, which was a very beautiful one with all of Matthew's class attending and they had made butterflies for him and there were painted butterflies all over his coffin and around the church amidst loads of flowers...then we had him cremated and laid underneath a huge Cedar tree in the Anglican church yard, which he loved sitting in with me whenever we went shopping together on the way home...there were loads of birds and squirrels in it and it was one of the loveliest places in the village, and it just seemed a perfect place to put him. We planted a white hebe on top of his spot and that was it...the tree, which he loved, he's now a part of and that feels right.
My celebration is his short but lovely life. He was very fragile when he came into the world and we didn't think he was going to make it, but he did. He took three years to stop shuffling at ninety miles an hour every where on his bum and to talk...he would point to something and his brother would get it so why bother to talk or walk for that matter. He was delicate but with a funny, really rascally sense of humour, and, at three, stood up, walked perfectly and talked in full sentences. He would also sit like a little buddha in the lotus position on our coffee table when he was tired, and, with his head bent right over and resting in front of his crossed leg on the table, would go to sleep...we called him our little buddha because of this amazing double jointed ability.
He gave us so much joy and love poured out of him every day of his life, his loss nearly killed us, but we had another son who needed us and who we loved just as much so survival was essential.
One incident I will always remember with the same vividness as when it occurred was the year before Matthew died, I was exhibiting a picture I'd painted in the local art exhibition and he came with me to see it and to look round at the other paintings. I met a friend there and we sat down to have a chat while Matthew went off to look at all the paintings. Suddenly, he came back and took both my hands in his and just looked me straight in my eyes without a word and I watched in amazement and awe as his skin took on a wonderful translucency and it was as if he was glowing with love and giving me something wordless and wonderful...all I could do was love him back with the same strenght and then he let go of my hands and walked away... I asked my friend whether she saw what happened and she had and was clearly shaken and said it was too much for her...I don't know what happened in that moment but it was something wonderful and which I will treasure till the day I die.
Today, I am celebrating his short but lovely existence. He was a precious and beautiful gift that came and spent some time with my hubby and me and his brother, and all of us have been profoundly affected by his presence in our lives and will continue to be because there was something special about him so here's to Matthew Roivas Hunter, our son who lived and died and now lives in our hearts....big hugs to one and all...