Writing for Fun
September 2017
Letting Go - Maureen Rampersaud
I don't think I'd be here today if it wasn't for Matt. He was such a sunny, gurgly, cuddly baby and whenever I was at my lowest ebb, he seemed to sense it and demanded my attention. I could have left the world behind . . . but not my beautiful boy.
I was eight months pregnant when they knocked on my door, an older, male officer and a young policewoman. I noticed her hands were shaking when she handed me the cup of tea. It was too sweet and she'd overdone the milk. No doubt someone had told her that sweet, milky tea was just the thing after you've been told that your husband had been killed in a car crash.
Matt was my whole world from then on . . . even before he was born. However, I loved him enough to ensure he didn't depend on me totally. I put on a brave face when I left him at Preschool for the first time, even though he cried and clung to me. I anxiously inquired from the other mums coming out if he was alright.
'Oh, he's fine, playing trains with the others,' was the reply.
Matt and I were good friends. As he grew up I suppose I relied on him too much ... he was always wise beyond his years . . . logical and sensible when I talked anything over with him. He was clever at school too. That's why I'm in this state now.
I'm driving him to Bristol. We're both fairly quiet. Matt's fiddling with the radio and I'm fighting back the tears, praying he finds a station with happy songs. When we arrive, I'm quite pleased with myself for holding it together. It helps that we have so many practical things to negotiate, finding his Halls, his room and unpacking all his stuff . . . when did my boy get so strong? Seeing his muscles bulging while carrying impossibly heavy boxes forces me to realize that he's a grown man, for the very first time.
We stop and look at each other. The sharp knives of grief stab me like a psycho killer. How can I stop these tears before the floodgate opens and I drown in misery, taking my precious son with me.
Two boys knock on the open door.
'Hi, do you want to come and try out the snooker table now you're done unpacking?'
Matt looks at me, searching my face for clues to tell him what to do.
'Go on, Matt, I think we're done here. I've got a long drive home.'
He hugs me tenderly, even with the boys there, then heads off. Matt and I don't need words.