It's a difficult dilemma, to try and come to terms with life without Matt, and still live our lives out each day with a sense of purpose. especially when his birthday comes around. I have not died of a broken heart ... I am learning to live with one.

If he were here in skin, we would have celebrated, with joy, the anniversary of his birth. But we are caught in a tension of loss, and desire to commemorate what will always be a precious day for us.

We visited his grave today. Not because he's there, but because it sometimes helps our finite minds to have a tangible focus.

A chubby, confident robin approached us as we got out of the car, and when we verbally acknowledged him, instead of flying off, he hopped closer. He even stayed to eat some nuts and fruit Mark retrieved from the car, seemingly unafraid of us. He followed us to the graveside, just watching, as we arranged the roses and cards. He even grabbed a huge worm from under Mark's shoe,  and stayed with us, posing for photos, for our whole visit.

Mattie's robin, I thought -  how amazing was that! In some inexplicable way, I know it happened to give us a sense of peace, of wonder - to know that Mattie is free, and safe, yet joined with us in spirit - and we can know joy at the simple, and extraordinary action of a wild bird.  The robin did not fly away until we left the graveside.

I sat silently looking out of the window of the car on the journey home and a very distinct 'heart' shape caused by the condensation on the glass, caught my eye. As we drove along in the early evening, the reflection of the street lights along the motorway made the heart seem as if it pulsated, as if it were beating. 

I don't know how old my son is, or if age is relevant where he is. But I do know he is alive, and I will see him again one day. Until then, on December 30th each year, we will celebrate the gift that he was to us, for too short a time, and embrace the sadness at his absence.

Love you Matt, infinity and beyond...

Mum and Dad

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