Dear Matthew
I had a dream that this is all a mistake and you’re still alive. And in the dream you are really, really mad at us for planning a funeral. As much as I want it to be, I know this isn’t a bad dream. But I do hope you are happy with how we’ve chosen to celebrate you today and all the people that are here for you.
That night you called me, you made me promise that I wouldn’t be mad at you and made me promise that I wouldn’t blame myself. I promise I am not mad at you.
I know how long you had fought and how tired you were. I know you wanted nothing more than to be healthy and happy. I never gave up hope for that day to come, but I understand that you had. And I hope you are finally at peace.
As for the promise not to blame myself, well I’m going to need you to give me some time on that one. But I’ll keep my promise to you and I’ll get there.
Looking through all the old pictures has brought back so many memories. Like when Maggie was born and you decided it was your job to rock her to sleep every night. You didn’t want to fly home that summer to spend time with Mimi and Grandy because you didn’t know who would be home to rocker Maggie and I had to convince you that I was capable of handling it.
I also remembered the time in New Orleans when we lived in base housing and the common area was right behind us where all the neighborhood kids gathered after dinner to play games. Something had happened to John and we heard him cry out. You ran out of the house faster than I did to get to him. You were ready to either help him or go after whoever had hurt him.
It’s always been Jennifer and the six kids. I’m not sure what to do now that it’s Jennifer and five.
As the oldest of the six kids, most of our pictures are of you with at least a couple of your siblings. You took your job as a big brother seriously and as everyone got older you always told me how proud you were of each of them.
These are the kinds of memories that make me smile when I think of you. When anyone asks me to tell them about you, l will tell them how much you loved baseball and music and reading.
We have pictures of you in a lot of different baseball uniforms over the years. And a lot of memories of you hitting the ball far into the outfield. One year we got to go see the Cubs vs the Pirates at Wrigley Field. I think that trip was better than Disney World to you. It was so cold that day and I remember the look of disappointment on your face when I said we had to leave early. I’d give anything to go back and finish watching the game with you now no matter how cold it was.
And you didn’t just love music, you loved the poetry within the lyrics. Sometimes when things weren’t good or I hadn’t heard from you in awhile, you’d just text me the link to a song. I’d listen and know what you were trying to tell me.
Your books meant everything to you. We mailed boxes of them to you when you moved away and we still have a couple boxes in the attic. You were so smart and wanted to be a writer yourself one day. I know from the journals you shared with me that you already were an amazing writer.
These are the kinds of memories we will share when we talk about you. And we will always tell the funniest story of the time you came home and acted very suspicious going straight upstairs for two days in a row. Finally you admitted that you found a kitten in a ditch, snuck it into the house and that kitten was now lost in the walls of the attic. Well after another week and a borrowed racoon trap, we finally found the lost kitten in the attic. I told you we couldn’t keep it and it had to go. And as I walked away I overheard you say, “but I think I can make it love me”. It broke my heart to hear you say that. The cat is now older and fatter and she is very well taken care of for you at home.
I wish you would have believed you never had to make anyone love you. You were loved so much more than you realized. I hope you can see us here today and everyone who has come out to share how much they loved you.
