Ten years. I can hardly believe I’m writing those words. Ten years since my son Matthew died and my world changed forever.
Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and yet there are moments when I can close my eyes and feel as though I’m right back there, living through those awful days when I knew my son was dying and I couldn’t do anything to change it.
How do you sum up ten years of living without someone you love so much? How do you explain what it feels like to have your life split into two parts: the life you had before your child died, and the life you’ve had to find a way to live afterwards?
I often think about the life we had before Matthew became ill. We were a family, making memories, laughing, enjoying the everyday things that you don’t realise are precious until they’re gone. I didn’t know then that those ordinary days would become some of the most treasured memories of my life. Sometimes I like to day dream about those times just to hear his voice, see his smile and have him sitting around the table with us again. Sometimes that makes me cry and sometimes it fills me with love and connection – but thats grief!
Recently, I saw a post on social media that said, “Your Best Days Are Yet To Come” and it stopped me in my tracks. My immediate thought was, I’ve had my best days. My best days were when my family were together, healthy and happy. When I didn’t have to worry about cancer, hospitals, treatments or what the future might hold. When life was full of fun, laughter and love, and I had no idea how much I would one day long for those simple things. A time when my life was perfect! I know that might sound sad, but it’s my truth.
Losing Matthew changed everything. In the early days, I wasn’t thinking about healing, personal growth or finding a new purpose. I was simply trying to get through each day without him. I was trying to understand how the world could carry on when mine had fallen apart. There was shock, disbelief, sadness and a loneliness that is difficult to describe unless you’ve experienced the death of someone you love so deeply. And then, somehow, the days turned into months, and the months into years.
I wish I could say that ten years has made it easy, but it hasn’t. There are still moments when the reality of his death catches me off guard. There are birthdays, anniversaries and random occasions when I just bloody miss him so much.
My grief has changed over time. I’ve learned that I can laugh without betraying him, enjoy myself without leaving him behind, and look forward to things while still wishing he were here to share them. Ten years doesn’t mean I’ve stopped missing him. It means I’ve had ten years to learn how to miss him and still live. I no longer feel the need to measure my grief or prove how much I miss him. My love for Matthew doesn’t depend on how often I cry or how difficult a particular day feels. He is part of me, whether I’m having a good day or a bad one.
One of the things I never expected was how much my life would change in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I never set out to become someone who talks about grief, but my own experience made me a better therapist. That’s something no amount of training can truly teach you.
The Louise I was before Matthew died would never have dreamed of writing two books, speaking openly about grief or starting a podcast called A Gift for Grief. I certainly wouldn’t have imagined sharing such personal parts of my life with people I’d never met. But that’s what I’ve done. I’ve found myself talking about things I might once have kept private, having conversations about death and grief, and connecting with people who understand what it means to have someone you love die.
If my books, blog or podcast have helped even just one person feel understood on a difficult day, then I’m grateful I’ve been able to do that. I would never say that Matthew’s death happened for a reason, or that anything good could ever make up for losing him. But I can take something from my experience and use it to help someone else. That matters to me.
When I look at the person I am today, I know grief has changed me. My priorities are different. I appreciate things I might once have taken for granted. I’m more aware of how fragile life is and how important it is to make the most of the time we have with the people we love. But I would give anything not to have learned those lessons this way.
Perhaps the biggest change is that I’ve come to understand that grief isn’t something I need to leave behind in order to move forward. Matthew doesn’t belong only in my past. He is part of my present too. He lives on in my memories, in the stories I tell, in the love I carry and in the person I’ve become.
Ten years on, I have made peace with my grief. That doesn’t mean I’ve made peace with Matthew dying, or that I wouldn’t change it if I could. It means I’ve stopped expecting my life to return to what it was before. I’ve accepted that this is my life now, and I’m learning to live it as fully as I can. And so, coming back to that post about our best days being yet to come, perhaps my best days really are behind me. I can say that without feeling that I have given up on life.
Those years with my complete family were precious, and nothing will ever replace them. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking backwards, either. I still laugh. I continue to make memories, have adventures, enjoy my family and discover what life has in store for me. I want to appreciate the time I have, without feeling guilty for enjoying it. I want to live, not just survive. And I want to do all of that with Matthew in my heart.
Ten years ago, I couldn’t imagine how I would survive losing him. I certainly couldn’t have imagined the life I have today. There are still difficult days, and there always will be, because love doesn’t have an expiry date and neither does grief. But I’ve learned that the two can exist alongside happiness, hope and a sense of purpose.
My grief has changed over time. I have learned to grow around it and increasingly I see it as another expression of the love I have for my son. I miss Matthew. I always will. I miss the life we had, the future he should have had and all the moments we will never get to share. But I am also grateful beyond words that I got to be his mum, that I had 27 years with him, and that I have a lifetime of memories that death cannot take away.
Ten years without Matthew. Ten years of learning, changing, stumbling, carrying on and finding my way. I may have had my best days, but I can still have good days. I can still find joy in the life I have, even while longing for the life I thought I would have. And through it all, one thing has never changed. I love my son. I always have, and I always will. Matthew is still part of my life. He is part of me. And wherever the future takes me, I will carry him with me, just as I have for every single day of these past ten years.
My life has changed beyond anything I could ever have imagined, but my love for Matthew remains exactly where it has always been: right here, in my heart.
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