Letters to Matthew

A few days after Matthew's death, I remember getting in my car one night and just driving. I wanted to drive so fast; I wanted to hit something and die. I felt so full of pain and deep, deep loss that I wanted to end my life. The only thing that stopped me from following through that night was the thought that I might take someone else out with me by mistake. Instead, I drove my car to the middle of nowhere, and I screamed and cried and screamed and cried. It was the dead of the night, and there was no one around to hear me. I had never screamed and cried like this in my life, and the sounds that came out of my body were like nothing I had ever heard before. I shook and trembled and screamed and cried some more. If anyone heard me from a distance, it would have sounded like a wild animal. It is impossible to find the words to explain the incredible pain I felt and utter disbelief that Matthew was never coming home again. After a while, I thought about my daughter and my husband and how could I not go on for them. They were hurting too. Matthew was made of tough stuff, and he would be cross if I did not pull myself together. He used to say, "Mum, if I can get through this, then so can you." And after a while, I could almost hear his voice and see his face and see him holding up his clenched fist saying with determination, "Come on, Mum, you can get through this." Matthew saved me that night-whether I imagined him there or not, he saved me.