I can hardly believe it, but my middle son Matt is graduating from high school. How did this happen — where did the time go?
I believe that every family has a Matt — that person who asks so little, and gives so much. Happy by nature, always one of the funniest people on the planet — Matt has always championed his brothers and has been very secure in himself; he has never needed the limelight, but instead pushes quietly forward. He has been there for me many times, and for his father, too. He doesn’t take a thing for granted. He calls when he’s going to be late, he is quick to offer a smile and an encouraging word, he brings the pets in out of the rain. He notices those who aren’t noticed by anyone else. He’s like oxygen — you need him to get by. He and I have jokes between us that nobody else would even understand. So, I’m wondering what I will do when he leaves for college in the fall.
When Matt was six years old and we lived in Connecticut he, his brother and I were in a very bad car accident. It was nighttime, and a large truck coming the opposite way veered into my lane, and it was too late to do anything by the time he hit us. At the time, we were just driving around our block to re-charge my dying car battery; the boys didn’t even have their shoes on. We were going to be right back. It was the day OJ Simpson was acquitted, and I remember saying to my husband on the phone earlier that afternoon, “What a bad day this is." Little did I know.
I remember seeing Matt, who was sitting in the front seat next to me, (this was before air bags, when kids could sit up front) fly forwards towards the windshield, his blonde hair illuminated in the other car’s headlights, his small arms limp as he was jettisoned forward. Just in time, the safety belt caught him, as his nose was literally at the windshield, and snapped him back. In that second, which seemed freeze-framed, all I could think of was one word: Matt. Just Matt. I knew that his brother had the front seat keeping him in the car, and I had the sense that he was okay. But what about Matt, sailing away from me when we were just supposed to going around the block? I couldn’t lose him. And I didn’t. He and his brother were fine, and I would be fine, after a week in the hospital, recuperating from broken ribs and a collapsed lung. And you know what? I was happy in that hospital. Battered and sore, you couldn’t have found a happier patient, because I had learned the lesson that comes at a price. Life is what is important; just life. And that image of Matt arcing in slow motion towards the windshield has stayed with me, and has worked for good in my life to remind me of what is really important. And every once in a while one of the boys will say, “Remember our accident, Mom?" and the look they have, as they recall the sounds and sights from the ensuing chaos of that night, let me know that they learned that lesson, too.
Matt — a lot of people will be wishing you well in the next few weeks. I just want to thank you, for everything you are, for the joy you have been, and will continue to be. We are always right here if you need us. Don’t ever lose that light that you have, that draws people closer, even your parents, who have loved you since you were just an idea of a second child for us. And I thank God, surely traveling with the three of us that night long ago (and for being with my husband, who had to hear that his whole family had been in a car accident long distance, in a hotel room) for sparing us all, and for bringing Matt away from the windshield, and back to me. And that’s why somehow I will be able to let him go — because I once got him back.
### |
