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Finally, I was alone with Matt. He looked like an alien—a shaved head with a tube-draining poison protruding from his skull. His body tethered to power sources that coursed through his veins and lungs, keeping him alive—for now. I was surrounded by a cacophony of sounds repeatedly reminding me that my son was in the throes of death. How I wanted to crawl into bed and cradle him in my arms—reassuring him through the warmth of my embrace that he was not alone. And to voice my despair that such a horrendous thing had happened to him. I thought of the future we had envisioned for Matt, and for us. College tenure, a respected professor, inspiring young minds. Healthy—his AVM no longer a threat. Happily married with children—loved. Our shared future was vanishing before my very eyes.
The person in this bed was but a shadow of my Matt. I tried to reclaim his persona, his vitality, and his love of life. Holding his hand through the bedrail my mind wandered to his childhood years. Matt had been a big baby at 9 lbs 4oz. He was born in 1983, on his father’s birthday—forever earning the honor of being the best birthday gift his father would ever receive. We were overwhelmed with love and protection for this new life. In the hospital nursery Matt dwarfed all of the other babies and family predictions forecasted that he would grow up to be tall like Mike at 6 foot 4 inches. As nice as it was to brag about having such a big, healthy baby there was a downside: he was darn heavy to carry around!
Like all babies, Matt had a way of filling every minute of the day: nursing, dirty diapers, and being amused. At the time, there was a wonderful For Better or Worse comic strip that aptly summed it up. The husband came home one day to find his exhausted wife sprawled out on the couch. When asked what she had done all day she informed him that she had gone grocery shopping. When asked what she planned to do the next day, she replied, “Put the food away!” The comic strip also portrayed naps as a mixed blessing—knowing all the while we were enjoying a moment of peace, our baby was recharging for the next go-around. Matt easily fell into a routine of morning and afternoon naps but to our dismay, his designated daily wake-up time was 6:00 am. This crack-of-dawn routine continued even to this day.
We took Matt everywhere we went: to church, the county fair, strolls in the neighborhood, for ice cream, and even cross-country skiing. He traveled well in the car during our many trips east to visit our family homes and summer cottages. We also added tent camping and sightseeing to our list of travels. From Ohio, we moved to Richmond, VA when he was two years old. There were plenty of sites to see and things to do. One time we camped at a beach on Chesapeake Bay and Matt adamantly refused to walk barefoot in the sand because he was afraid of the sidewinding crabs. When he was two, Mike and I took a vacation in Switzerland, and he stayed with his grandparents. Deeming this unacceptable behavior, for the next few months he was reluctant to let us out of his sight—not ready to trust us again.
Besides crabs, he didn’t and still doesn’t like dogs. We conjecture that a neighborhood dog must have come too close to his stroller and scared him. Over the years, Matt learned to tolerate his brother’s dog, Toga—but was never a fan—a lifelong fact that would be duly noted on dating apps in the future.
After a year with a babysitter in Ohio, Matt was enrolled in a full-day daycare program in Richmond. Matt wanted nothing to do with this arrangement and let us know by wailing, and carrying on whenever we dropped him off, making us feel like the worst parents ever. For the first three weeks, he refused to take off his sweatshirt, which was fine for the cool temps in the morning, but not for a steamy southern afternoon. Matt eventually had a change of heart and charmed the staff. He may have looked like all the other children, but he stood apart because he was able to hold an intelligible conversation. When he declined to take a nap, the staff gladly pulled him aside to talk. One time when the director was on the phone with her mother, she called Matt over to say hi, explaining that this was the child about whom she had been bragging.
Matt was both smart and coy. We offered to read him two books every night before bed, and he always selected the longest stories and would call us out if we tried to skip any of the words or pages. He could also hold a grudge. While Mike studied for his Master’s Degree, I was the sole breadwinner and primary caregiver for Matt. He must have assumed I was responsible for his father’s absence because on weekends when his dad was home Matt would cling to Mike saying, “No mommy, No mommy!” Ouch. I may have understood why, but it still hurt.
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