[SA Chris]

Matt, can any of us make a donation to any charity or trust or anything set up on her behalf? I'd like to do more Han that for you but at least it's something.

[Duma]

So sorry Matt, heart goes out to you and your family.

[Oldmanmatt]

Matt, can any of us make a donation to any charity or trust or anything set up on her behalf? I'd like to do more Han that for you but at least it's something.

First off, thank you all for the thoughts and wishes.
Sorry, I didn't reply sooner; I have basically been in Zombie land for the last two weeks...

If anyone would like to donate something, rather than set up a specific trust/charity at this stage; could you send to:

Exmouth and Lympstone Hospiscare

High view gardens,
Exmouth,
EX8 2RJ

Or just donate to your local Hospice.

These organisations take over where the NHS leaves off and they provide a degree of care and assistance I would never have imagined, they made the last few months almost bearable (almost).

Thanks again.

[shark]

Donations can also be made online:

http://www.justgiving.com/exmouthlympstonehospiscare/Donate

[Oldmanmatt]

Donations can also be made online:

http://www.justgiving.com/exmouthlympstonehospiscare/Donate

See! Zombie.

Just beginning to wake up...

Now you can try:

http://www.justgiving.com/Lili-Glover

[SA Chris]

Will do. Hang in there mate.

[Bubba]

Will make a donation when I get paid on Friday.

Not surprised you're a zombie - I don't think I could even function in your situation, I'd be curled into a ball somewhere with a bottle for company.  You're awesome Matt, and long may it continue.

[nicboarder]

I have been reading your story for the last few hours Matt. I feel very privileged to read about this most personal and emotional part of your life. It is absolutely amazing you have found the strength to type these words with each installment. You are truly inspirational. I cannot begin to comprehend how you managed to find the strength to write about each event after actually having to be strong enough to get through it in one piece and strong for your kids.

I don't normally cruise the UKB site very much but I have found myself in the house without much to do since my Dad died suddenly on the 13th June after recovering from a heart problem at Christmas. How cheated I have been feeling at the loss of my Dad, taken far too young at 59, we had Dad and daughter stuff still left to do and planned for the future. He went for an afternoon snooze and then didn't wake up again. I felt robbed and totally lost.

But I have had to give myself a bit of a shake and a stern talking to. I cannot begin to imagine how hard the battle with cancer was that your wife and yourself and beautiful children have had to go through. I suppose from some small mercy I can thank God or whoever it is up there that my Dad just went to sleep and there were no hospitals, and pain, and treatments, and anxiety. That was all done last year, and they thought he was better so the last 6 months of his life were normal and happy and he felt better than he had for some time. And was at home with people near him. I must be thankful for this.

I have been very moved by your words. You have shown incredible strength and courage sharing this with such a large community. I will donate to the charity as soon as I get back to work and earning again (I was sacked 2 days before my Dad died...). It has also restored my faith in humanity the compassion and words of support from so many people on this site that are thinking of you. It reinforces why I got into and continue to climb. Such a great crowd.

I have found climbing has helped me deal with the grief and the emotional turmoil I am going through. In particular a recent day leading at the Quay in Exeter, my first session on ropes for quite some time. I find my mind empties and there is nothing there, no hurt, no tears, just me and chalky fingers and the rope and coloured resin holds. I only wish it would stop raining so I can get out on the rock. I usually boulder, but sport routes seems better for me at the moment, bouldering doesn't consume my mind for long enough to get me in that empty zone.

I feel very inspired by your strength and your story Matt. To stay strong for other members of my family. Thank you Matt for this most eloquent and heartfelt diary. I feel truly honoured to have come across your beautiful words.

I am so sorry for your loss, my thoughts are with you and your family.

Nic

[Oldmanmatt]

The world...                           11 July 2012

Is distant.


Muffled.


People speak, I watch their lips move.


The Voice tells me what they said, a few seconds later; like a bad phone connection.


I smile, at people; when they speak.


At least...


I turn up the corners of my mouth.


The local Round Table paid for the children and I to spend a week in Cyprus.

They all but frogmarched us onto the plane.


"Insisted" doesn't cover it.


We Snorkelled, played in the quiet bays in the National park north of Paphos.

Clear, warm, blue sea.

Darting fish and shimmering sand.

The susurrus of Cicadas.

The  chirruping of frogs, late into the night.

We ate Olives and cheese.


We laughed.


But I kept turning to talk to her.


To share.


Each time, a cold wind enveloped me.

A shiver.

A lump, in my throat.


And the world took another step away.



We returned.

To the cold and the wet.

To a pile of brown envelopes, just inside the front door.

To an empty house.



Suddenly, the world is back.

The sorrow sweeps in.

The tears, prickle the back of my eyes.

All day.

Every day.



She is gone.   

[SA Chris]

Hang in there matt.

[andy popp]

I remember those feelings all too horribly well. Just remember the love.

[Jaspersharpe]

*stops moaning about broken heel*

Stay strong mate.

[Oldmanmatt]

It was...                  29 July 2012


A little strange.


A little too easy.


Too comfortable.


The children played, argued, protested and generally did what children do.


The sun shone.


Birds sang.


Her little boy, scrabbled around and complained about the sand in his shoes.


Mine, kept calling for me to hold his hand as he jumped from boulder to mat.


My little girl climbed too high, again, and made me fret ( but she could see the whole world from the top of the Agglestone and she wasn't coming down without a fight ).


I forgot about climbing.


We sat on the mat and talked.


We lay on the picnic blanket, closer than I'd intended, and talked.


It is too soon.


Too complicated.


Too risky.


For both of us.


And them. Especially them.



But...


It was a moment of calm.


A moment of smiles.


A window in the loneliness.


A friend in need, is a...


Friend.

[systema_ian]

Hi Matt,

Hope things are improving.
I hope you don't mind me posting this here, as you were one of the first to sponsor me.

Hope to see you later in the year when I'm down that way.

http://www.justgiving.com/Ian-Holmes0
Monkey Feet against Cancer
I'm running Hell up North, "Barefoot" for Cancer Research UK because I hate cancer and they are trying to cure it.

[Oldmanmatt]

Ian, you have my whole hearted support and you know it!

If I get back into work before the run I'll up that donation.

Good luck mate!

Watching the training progress with admiration...

[systema_ian]

Well, race day tomorrow and just pucnhed through £1000.

Wish me luck
http://www.justgiving.com/Ian-Holmes0 http://www.justgiving.com/Ian-Holmes0
Monkey Feet against Cancer

[cjsheps]

Keep writing, stay strong.

[Oldmanmatt]

The song rises...                                         16th December 2012



Someone, one of us, starts to hum.



A foot taps...



The artificial family.



That feels so natural...



Glances are exchanged...



Smiles and grins...



The song erupts.



Our anthem.




When the bombs go off, I won't say cover!



Loud...



Louder still...


Keep one foot in front of the other!

Home is where I lay my head,
So under the stars I'll make my bed!





Artificial?



Look again...

[Oldmanmatt]

Untitled (2012-12-15 18:29:40) by oldmanmatt, on Flickr

When you have to feel your way through the Dark Light...

The more hands the better.

[Oldmanmatt]

Sitting.....                19 th March 2013



Waiting...



Another hospital...



A child.



A tonsillectomy.



I.



Hate.




Hospitals.

[Oldmanmatt]

His name...                                                           21 April 2013

His name, is Moses Peters.

The children call him "The Wizard Man".

He changes people's lives...



Moses makes people smile.

He can change an intimidating, oppressive day, into a little glimmer of hope.



He's probably never saved the world.

Never been a Schindler or a Mandela.

Never given a speech or roused the people in defence of their homes.

He's more important than that.



In his pale cream  smock, with his flowing grey beard.

He sits beside the road.

The sea at his back.

And waves.



He waves at everyone.

A broad smile, his staff raised.

He waves.



Drivers return his salute, with a tooted horn.

Children look for him and giggle and shout when he appears.

Adults smile.



And the smile lingers...

[ann kassem]

Matt thanks for letting me read this..... I was there at ur wedding.. I was there at the birth of Stacey... I am sorry I was not there at her passing..... I loved her I will always love her and will remember her with smiles... our lovely lovely Lilli...I am ................!!!!!

[Oldmanmatt]

Back in April, I wrote about Moses Peters.

I have never spoken to Moses.

I wouldn't know his voice.

A day or two ago, he suffered a bad stroke.

He was, I'm told, smiling and waving at the time.

He is critically ill.

Paralysis.

Pain.

It.

Is.

Shit.

I can't.

May never.

Speak to Moses.

But...


I can wave to you instead.



And smile...


Untitled (2013-06-22 07:46:57) by oldmanmatt, on Flickr

[Oldmanmatt]

I met a man last night...24 November 2013



I even know his name.


I held his hand.


His head.


Legs.


...


Blood.


I called him Mate.


Told him everything would be fine.


For an hour or more.


The children hid in the car, little faces, lit by the flashing orange of so many Hazard lights.







The Barns competition had been so lively.

Thumping music, vibrant, athletic youth and enthusiasm.

We chatted with Alice from the Barn and Paul from the Quay. It was, to be honest, a proud moment.
No longer just another couple of customers, now we were fellow climbing wall owners. Part of the community.


Perspective...


We'd felt a little hurt.


It had even seemed important.



We had three sponsored climbers in that competition and not one had bothered to wear the T-shirts we'd supplied them with. It had felt like a slap.

For a moment.


I lost perspective.


On a cold, dark road.


In blood and twisted limbs.




It came back.




There was a lady...


I think her name was Kerry.



She put her hand through the shattered visor and held a a balaclava clear.

As blood poured, she held his shattered nostrils open.

Even when I'd gloved up and tried to send her to the nearby pub to wash, she refused to move.

Talking calmly to him.

Like a mother to a crying child.



Polly bustled.


Efficient.


Blankets procured.

Torches.

Messages relayed.


She calmed the excited lady, who'd been the first to key in 999 and kept the information flowing.

Polly was the first to go and check on the shocked but unhurt driver of the car.


Leaving him for a moment, I remember going to kill the ignition on the bike.

The stink of the fuel.


The bike.


Blue.


Barely recognisable as a bike.


A carpet of shards and fractured debris, spread across a country road, glistening in the torch light.


It seemed to take for ever.


Blue light.


The Cavalry arrived.


Some how, the arrival of the Paramedics didn't bring the relief I'd expected.


We rolled him onto his back.


Carefully.


He began to struggle.



There were Paramedics, Firemen, Policemen and even a orange overall clad Doctor.

And yet we were still in the midst of it.

Polly gently tried to restrain his arm, as the medics tried to cut away his jacket.

The horror as we realised the hand she held was attached to such a badly broken, twisted wrist.

I held his legs.

His knees so badly damaged by the handle bars.

We held the torches while the Doctor struggled to get a cannula in his unbroken arm.



The relief, as the struggles subsided.

As the Ketamine calmed his convulsions.



Gently placing the Scoop beneath him.

Strapping him in.

Lifting him to the trolley.




And then...




Cold.



Redundant.






We might never know.





Did he make it?





Good luck,

Kevin.

Good luck.

[SA Chris]

It's hard Matt. The feeling of helplessness. I'm sure you could find out how he did if you wanted to but maybe it's better not knowing?