Five Years Without You- A Letter to Matt

Tomorrow, Christmas Eve will mark five years since Matt left this earth. Five years of grief, change, and learning to exist in a world I never imagined. So much has changed, and yet, so much remains. About a month after Matt died, I penned a letter to him. It seems fitting to do the same, five years later. Five years feels like five minutes and five lifetimes. The initial sting of acute grief has dissipated, but new faces of grief emerge. The fear that accompanies time and distance. As I hold onto Matt’s memory and legacy, will other people? Will they remember his presence as vividly as I do? Even more so, it’s confirmation that a world without Matt exists. That it keeps spinning and time keeps moving and we keep growing and evolving, even when there was a time when it felt like everything stood still. It’s inevitable, necessary, and scary all at the same time.

I believe in the deepest parts of my soul that Matt is still, so very much, here with us. And today, in the early morning hours, I wrote a letter to him. I’m sharing it here, with all of you, as I have so much of this journey of love and loss and all the intricacies that go along with these parts of the human experience. If anything, I hope this is a little reminder of a life worth remembering and the concept that love transcends all bounds of mortality. Tomorrow, while you gather together on, ironically, Matt’s favorite holiday of the year, I hope you save a little space in your heart and mind for him.

Five Years Later…

Dear Matt,

I don’t know where to begin– so many updates, so many questions, and so many thoughts running through my head as we enter five years of existence on different sides of the universe. I’d like to believe you know so much of this already; that you’re with us, every step of the way, cheering us on, laughing with us, crying with us, evolving with us. Applauding your son and nephew for their epic Axel and Slash costumes. I know I talk to you often– I’d like to believe you’re listening. Even if I don’t hear a response back, I can feel it. So, if I’m a little repetitive in here, I apologize. Getting it down on paper makes it feel more real.

Five years ago, you reminded me, as you faded in and out of consciousness, that I was the love of your life and the best thing to ever happen to you. It hurts and heals thinking about those moments. We never asked for the hand we were dealt. Our time, your time, was cut far too short. But being the person who walked this life with you, who stood by you through the tragic moments, who you reveled with during some of the greatest moments, who you’ve entrusted with all parts of you, your legacy, and your love, is one of the greatest honors of my life. I love you.

And while you’re not physically here with us anymore, I feel you in so many moments, big and small. I’m reminded of all the little ways you’ve left your imprint on all of us. While the big moments, like holidays and milestones, seem like the most obvious times, the little moments stick with me the most. They’re part of my every day. I feel you every time I bust a move at a wedding (or in the living room), sit by the fire at a family gathering, see an episode of The Office or How I Met Your Mother, and walk through the grocery store aisles (I still remember our list). Yes, every time I order Nespresso pods, I can also feel your disdain. Maybe one day I’ll revert to your jerry-rigged, reusable pod format.

I hear you when Guns n Roses, Queen, and Oasis come on the radio– which reminds me, did you see Liam and Noel Gallagher are TOURING together again? You would have gotten us all on a plane to London to witness the unthinkable. This year, we came across a few old videos of you, including your impersonation of Elmo. Hearing your voice, and watching Bryson hear your voice, conjures up such an array of emotions. Nostalgia, sadness, but mostly, happiness. I’m so glad we have those videos; that Bryson’s vision of you won’t simply exist in voiceless photos.

Speaking of which, I see you in Bryson, constantly. He has those same beautiful green eyes I fell in love with, and when he smiles and laughs– he means it, just like you. People can feel it and are drawn to him. He has a way of making everyone feel special; like they matter. His heart is so big and he can’t wait to let more people in. He also has supreme FOMO when fun things happen without him– I wonder where he gets that from? His heart is only rivaled by his brain; he shares our mutual love of history, travel, and, occasionally, showing off his intelligence. He’s even picked up on trolling Uncle Kris– I blame you for that. I know you are so proud of him– of the little man he is becoming. He’s curious, kind, and so full of life. We talk about you often as we look at pictures, and share stories. I make sure to remind him how much you love him. He will always know his dad was a man of strength and integrity, someone who loved him fiercely and unconditionally even when experiencing the dreadfully hard. He’ll also know how hilarious, and slightly quirky, you were. Because it all made you, you. And there will only ever be one Matt Sgambato.

Grief is a strange thing– at first, it felt like a wave threatening to drown me, relentless and overpowering. Or a fire, burning everything down. Over time, I’ve learned how to let it ebb and flow, to let it coexist with happiness and the love I’ve found again. I’ve learned there is so much love in grief. You taught me so much about how deep that love can transcend, about courage in the face of the unthinkable, and about facing life’s challenges. Those lessons stayed with me when everything felt impossible. When gratitude felt so out of reach, I’d remember how much you would kill to have the moments I was still having– with our son, with our friends, and with our family. There’s a sense of guilt accompanying it all, but there’s also a desire not to waste that gift. Every moment matters.

Which leads me to today– and to Paul. I firmly believe you had a hand in selecting who we would walk this next chapter with. Someone who accepts that you will always be a part of who we are and embraces it. Someone who has patience with me, with my anxieties and fears, but also enjoys making the most of the moments we have here on earth. A man who lights me up in a way only you could. A man who supports even my wildest of dreams. Can you imagine if I introduced some lame person to HsigmaO? I would have most definitely received a “Shane talk.” Kris even gives him crap– so you know he’s a good guy. He is also the most wonderful dad to Bryson. It’s not easy stepping into the role he did, but he never shied away or gave up, even when a salty three-year-old repeatedly asked him to leave. The bond he has with Bryson is special and something I know puts your soul at ease. In a way, I think he feels you too.

And now, we’re expecting a little girl! I know Bryson will be an amazing big brother– and Auntie Lia can prepare us with any insights on Sgambato brother…qualities. Gianna will grow up knowing you, too, through the stories we tell and the memories we keep alive. She has a lot of people who love her on all sides of our big, blended family. I am forever grateful for that.

I want you to know that building this new chapter doesn’t mean I’ve left you behind– I think you know that. Your love is a cornerstone of who I am and the foundation through which I’ve been able to rebuild and open up my heart. You are with me in every decision, in every act of love and kindness. You are a part of me.

I hope you’re having one hell of a time up there– that you’re conjuring up a little mischief while also being the kindest soul you have always been. I hope you gave Charlie a big hug for me and constantly tell him how much of a good boy he is. And so handsome. I hope you’re finally playing that game of fetch you’ve been waiting for, and that for every tear I shed for him, even as I write this, you’re giving him extra cuddles. I still can’t bring myself to move his bed, but I know how this works and give myself that grace.

I hope you see how much you’re still loved and deeply missed down here; and how your legacy lives on in so many ways, big and small. Not just for me, but for so many. Thank you for everything you continue to give me through your spirit, your love for life, every damn day. Don’t be a stranger. Pop in when you can.

I love you, always.

Your bat cat,

Christina