Matthew, the first Christmas without you occurred just after your passing, and I frankly have no memory of it. It neatly fir into those days I endured, where I appeared and functioned but don't really remember..  This Christmas, is more difficult. I truly missed figuring out what to get you for Christmas.  Yes, I know that I didn't understand enough about your computer, your gaming, and things that were truly important to you, enough to get really great gifts for you, but please know I tried. I appreciated finding all the gifts I think I ever gave you all neatly stacked in the shelves in your California closet, most of them never used.  Thank you for not taking them back.  This year, I not only have to go through the motions of Christmas without your brother Daniel, but now without you also.
         I know that somehow I have to suck it up, and function, and still try to craft a good holiday for your remaining brothers, your sister, and the niece and nephews, but it's hard. So far, the closest I have come is putting up your Christmas stocking over the fireplace and blowing a kiss into it.   I don't have a clue as to how to cook those specialties you liked, the squash with the hot tomatoes over it, etc.  I am making the cheese ball and the chocolate dessert I think you liked.  I love you Matthew, and I would welcome you at the table beside me, with or without Daniel, or my Dad. I understand that you might have some pretty fabulous invitations for some events in Heaven by now.  I hope the animals with you are all well too.  I love you, Matt.

  Today is about the day in which you, one year ago, happily got an influenza vaccine so that your nephew would be protected from anyone who might become ill.  Since you saw him so much, we thought it made sense, and if I never told you, I appreciate how much you loved and looked out for your niece and nephews. I had no way of knowing when I asked this of you, that this would be the causation or the catalyst to your passing just a number of hours later.  Yet still, I feel awful.  My doctor says we "Did the right thing", but nothing that has taken you from the world could possibly have been the right thing.  Please know you are missed beyond measure, deeply loved and deeply missed.  I know that your strong faith allowed you to go straight to where you were to be, before we found you. Your spirit was so missing from your room.  We love you Matthew, very, very much.

   The first year since your passing is almost gone, and somehow we made it through your birthday at the beginning of the month. So much of your life was bittersweet. For some reason, particularly at this time of year, I replay in my head a particular conversation. We had this conversation in 2008, just after your grandfather, my dad, and just after your brother Daniel died.  I remember that in your grief,  you verbalized being frightened that some type of sudden death might happen to you someday.  Of course, after Daniel died, the entire family had a full cardiological work up to help ensure that none of us had signs of any type of arrhythmic disorder. We had hunted down whatever humanly could have been done, and this motivated my response to you that day. I remember telling you that God doesn't promise tomorrow to any of us, and that we have to plan as if we are going to be here on Earth a long time, and yet live as if nothing is left undone. I also told you that you'd had a clean work up and that there was no reason not to expect that you would live a normal if not long lifespan.  You seemed to accept this, though it was definitely a year before you or I looked anything but grief stricken after Daniel's passing. Still, inch by inch, we accepted that God had deliberately left us on Earth, and just as deliberately called Daniel home to Him.  I often think of our conversation that day, and wonder if I gave you good counsel. I absolutely thought that you had almost no genuine chance of dying suddenly, following an influenza vaccine or otherwise.  Now, in my grief I am occasionally tortured by wondering if I should have explored a bit better why you expressed this fear. Please know that you are loved and remembered, as is Daniel, and my Dad.  Not an hour goes by without my wondering what Heaven is like for you. You are truly loved, even now.

         It's so hard to believe that tomorrow will be your 33rd birthday, and the first one since your sudden passing almost a year ago.  It's hard to know what to do to commemorate such a pivotal day.  I tell myself that you are beyond the horizon and that I just cannot know what you are doing and what life in Heaven might be like. I do know that a lot of young people have passed in the year since your departure, and so there are likely lots of people from your era there now. I love you more than you will ever know, and I know that you, Matthew, Dad and our other ancestors are there with you. We love you so, and I hope you always knew how proud I am of you, for so many reasons.

In the last few years, Matt went to work in his father's business. He had computers set up downstairs and worked hard most mornings. At around noon or one on busy days, he would come up to the kitchen and cook a good lunch.We used to joke that he had to learn to cook because I am not a good cook.  Many times, he would get the wok and place some olive oil in it. Then he would cook some onions and a little bit of garlic while he was thinly slicing chicken breast into long strips.  Then he would place some brown rice in the rice cooker. It never ceased to amaze me as to the number of different stir fry lunches he could make, usually in just a few minutes. Some had shaved carrot, some had peas,some had snap peas, or other greens, and some had bean sprouts. Often, he could save some rice to make something similar, perhaps with shrimp, the next day. Once in a while, he inadvertently made extra and I would have some. He was a fantastic cook.  After he cooked, he would put the dishes, the cutting board, and sometimes the wok in soak. He planned to come back after the work day to wash the dishes, which would have been about another four hours.
            Usually, I just did the dishes. I had time, and he was usually working. There weren't enough dishes to run the dishwasher. Not once did I ever kid him about his having left me the dishes. I just did them and considered it an encouragement to him to keep cooking great food. Now that he has gone, I look back and I am so glad I supported him by simply doing the dishes while he cooked. I hope he knew how proud we were of him for all of the things he was doing, cooking, and for everything else also.