There are so many topics worth blogging about. Endless are my words. But what’s the point in sharing my mind, if I limit My Truth.
Hiding behind “Happy Endings” is not what I want to be known for. I’m here to deliver words that not only motivate, but also, Linger in your soul.
I never find myself struggling to write. Nope, not even a little. Where I struggle most, is finding the confidence to click the Publish button.
I guess it’s because I want my blogs to be full of Purpose. All the ‘Little Big’ Important topics I’ve experienced in My life have had so much purpose; I want my readers to feel the purpose.
I want to help my subscribers find a deeper truth in all subjects I choose to blah blah blah about.
I want my writing to help you get through Difficult times. Lonely times. Hopeless times.
I want my words to make you laugh. Maybe even cause you to say, “Amen!”
I want my work to be more than motivational words. I want to be your Hope.
A Helpful Opinion Purposed to the Extreme.
I don’t want to simply inspire people,
I want to be known as a ‘Friend’.
A friend willing to put it all out there.
The Good. The Bad. The Ugly.
But, if I don’t tell it all,
Then, I’ve honestly told you nothing.
Today, I wished for you.
Wished for who?
Today, I wished for My Son.
His heartbeat I’ll never unhear.
My Son, who Lived inside me,
But never outside of me.
My Son, who I named,
But never got to kiss.
Like I said, to not tell it all is to, honestly, tell nothing.
This is more than Matthew’s story.
This is Matthew’s Mother’s story.
I loved you the second the stick showed two pink lines.
I loved you even more when I couldn’t keep food down.
I loved your porcelain face and jet-black hair.
Hair I never got to run my fingers through.
I knew you before you knew me, kiddo.
All that warmth felt in My Womb,
It was your Mother’s Love.
You’ll never know this, but, had you gotten the chance, I’m sure you would have laughed at the story behind your name.
It was late (maybe even early morning). I was beyond over the boredom of bed rest. Bed rest is no fun. But it was worth a try. More so, because it gave me more time with you, My Son.
I was watching the movie Mannequin (One of your Mother’s favorite movies! Something else you didn’t know. Or did you?) My favorite scene started – It was the part when Andrew McCarthy is standing out in the rain, in front of the department store window, staring at his creation. He tells his creation that he desperately wanted to take her with him, but they wouldn’t let him.
I started bawling like a big fat baby.
Because, I desperately wanted you to stay with me.
You were already my greatest creation.
But the doctor told me, there’d be little chance that I’d get to take you with me.
As a good Mother should, I refused to believe him.
Back to that night. Back to that scene. Back to me bawling like a big fat baby.
Andrew McCarthy is telling his creation he’ll see her in the morning. And I shout out,
“Matthew! Your name is, Matthew!”
Readers, you’re about to laugh!
It had to have been all that damn wannabe rest I was getting (but really not getting), that had my mind flowing a Sea of Crap! I thought (even though, I knew it wasn’t), that the actor Andrew McCarty’s real-life name, was Matthew McCarthy!
Shit. I am such a fool.
I thought, Matthew is brave. And I wanted you to have a brave name. I wanted you to be proud of the battle we were fighting. The battle we were going to win.
I wanted you to grow to be a man, proud of all he’d create. I wanted a powerful story to tell, when you’d someday ask, “Why the name, Matthew, Mother?”
Can you believe my mistake is your name’s story? You’d be so disappointed in me if you were here to hear the story.
Or, would you be?
I believe the name Matthew is brave.
The name Matthew always makes me smile. But my smile often welcomes tears. Lots of hard tears.
Back to that night. Back to me bawling like a big fat baby. Back to Matthew’s story.
No more than thirty minutes after declaring your name, I felt The Mother of all cramps.
“No. Please, God. No.”
I held on to my stomach tight and slid us off the bed.
I was failing, My Son. My body was killing My Son.
A gush of red.
An uncontrollable, fuckin’ gush of red – the beginning of Our End.
Matthew, I’ve come to understand that sometimes, Rest simply is not enough.
Still, we fought a good fight, My Son.
I managed to crawl from my bedroom, to the bathroom.
It was in a tiny bathroom, on a warm bath mat, I gave birth to you.
It was in a tiny bathroom, on a warm bathmat, I saw you for the first time.
It was in that tiny bathroom, on that warm mat, I saw you for the last time.
Willingly, I closed my eyes.
I woke up in a small hospital room.
In a cold hospital bed.
A Mother with an empty womb,
But no baby in her arms.
I’m writing your story nearly fifteen years later, My Son.
Because yesterday, your baby brother turned thirteen. I spent the day looking at old pictures of him. Yesterday, a special baby picture of an adorable porcelain faced, jet-black haired, baby boy, Broke my heart into pieces.
And, I wished for you, Matthew.
I don’t remember much about my hospital stay. Only the offer, to have a priest come in and pray over you.
Please, give him back.
Like lots of pains of Life, time healed my mind.
But never my heart.
I hear a heartbeat, that I’ll never unhear.
Time heals. Time continues to bring on new days. New creations.
Congratulations! You’re having a baby boy!
Why did those words make me feel like a traitor?
Why couldn’t I feel my new baby boy’s beats?
Why was this new beginning, not enough?
I wished for you, Matthew.
Then one night, I had a dream. I was sitting on our living-room couch holding a porcelain faced, jet-black haired, baby boy. He was wearing a Colorado Rockies onesie. I will never in this life (or any other) forget that dream, Matthew. The baby was in my arms, and the two of us were smiling. And gazing into each other’s eyes.
It was True Love.
Then I woke-up.
And, I wished for you, Matthew.
It was that dream that brought me peace. A Mother lost her Son. Later, to be visited by him in a dream.
I felt in our loving gaze, Matthew. Your permission to heal.
To forgive myself, for not being able to hold on longer. Long enough for you to grow bigger, and more developed, so you’d survive outside of ME.
On your own, without Me.
I owe you an apology, Matthew. You were stronger than I’ll ever be. You held on as long as you could; Long enough to know you wanted more. So much more than this world could ever offer.
Thank you for that dream, Matthew.
It was in that dream, and in your smile, I realized you were giving me your Brother.
Thirteen years later,
I wished for you.
My blogs are my words. My words are my stories. My stories are my experiences, simply told by sweet lyrics I create in my mind, my heart, and my soul.
I didn’t get to experience much with my son, Matthew. But the time I did get, keeping him warm in a womb full of love, was enough.
Healing from Matthew’s death has been a long painful journey.
I’d love to tell you that I never have bad, emotionally draining days.
But I don’t lie.
I still grieve. And, every now and then, I still cry for My Son.
I’ve had secret Mommy moments when I’m yelling at all my children to gather at the dinner table – and in a calm earnest whisper, I add Matthew’s name to my call. Fuck! That’s the 1st time I’ve shard that .
I wasn’t planning on sharing that detail. It hurt. Which tells me that someone out there reading this really needed to hear it. Keep your child’s name alive. You’re not alone. I promise.
I find my way out of the sadness by reminding myself of that dream long ago. I remember his smile, and I whisper, “I’ll see again, someday soon, Matthew.”
My son’s short scene in this Life was important, and full of purpose.
My son’s short life has given me an unforgettable story to tell.
I long for the day I’ll walk through Heaven’s gates, and My Son will run into my arms.
Kiss me, and whisper, “You fought a good fight, Mother. We fought the good fight. I was always with you.”
“Today, I wished for you.”
BlaH – BlaH – BlaH