Close your eyes,
Have no fear,
The monster's gone,
He's on the run and your daddy's here
I still remember the day my son was born, our son was born.
It had been raining all day. Not even some great and thunderous storm that would be remembered for generations. But rather a grey and gloomy drizzle that lingered on long after it was truly spent, spattering the world with its half hearted raindrops and sending people scurrying this way and that with their heads bowed low.
It didn't seem right that such an important day should have such non-descript weather. It should have been glorious sunshine that poured joy into even the coldest hearts, or crashing thunderstorms that were powerful enough to make everyone gasp in amazement.
But the day our son came into the world wasn't like that. It was a nothing kind of day, and yet that day was everything, the start of everything.
I've never felt before like I did that day.
Waiting. I've never been good at waiting. Never been patient. I've always wanted everything NOW… but the boy refused to be rushed and his mother and I just waited until he decided it was time to come and meet us.
Karen smiled at me as I held her hand, our fingers laced together tightly as her contractions came stronger and more frequent. Her dark blonde hair was damp with sweat as the exertion of the birth exhausted her and her deep blue eyes grew dark and tired as the labour moved into its third hour.
I did all the things I was supposed to, all those things I'd been taught at the antenatal classes.
I breathed, I soothed, I encouraged. And I had my fingers crushed so hard I thought they would break.
And then he was born.
At 3.48 in the afternoon another small boy came into the world.
Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy
"Craig, do you want to hold your son?"
I don't think I've ever been asked such a stupid question before in my life, yet as the nurse handed me that tiny bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket I almost refused to take him. What if I dropped him? What if I hurt him? What if he didn't like me, or if I felt nothing for him?
And then he was in my arms and I'd never experienced anything like it in my life. Only once before had I loved so unconditionally and I felt hot tears washing my cheeks as I looked down on the new life that I knew I would always protect with my own.
"Are you OK?" Karen's soft voice asked, a warm hand resting lightly on my arm.
Forcing my eyes away from the boy and I turned and smiled at her. How could I ever thank that beautiful woman for the gift of a son?
"He's perfect," I breathed, my voice trembling with emotion as Karen smiled contentedly at me. "Do you want to hold him?" I asked, suddenly realising that I had yet to lay my son in the arms of his mother.
Karen smiled again and shook her head. "He's your son, not mine… I know he's safe."
I turned my gaze back to my boy. His eyes opened slowly and he seemed to observe me, to know me and I felt a love that I could never describe.
His eyes were of a brilliant blue that I had only ever seen once before, loved once before, and his soft dusting of hair was dark blonde that reminded me of hair I had once loved to stroke. Although his colouring was reminiscent of his mother in my heart I knew my son had truly inherited it from his father. His real father.
Because as much as I loved the baby lying peacefully in my arms, biologically we had no connection. His genes were not mine, his blood was not mine.
The small boy, less than twenty minutes old had already lost his father.
John Paul McQueen, the one and only love of my life, had died when Karen was only six months pregnant. He never got to meet the son that our dear friend had offered to bare for us. He never got to hold the baby that we had been so excited about, that we had planned for and dreamed of.
His death had been so senseless. An accident, a stupid slip, a fall and he was gone.
We had been decorating the nursery in a rather early anticipation of the new arrival when John Paul had over-reached and fallen from the ladder.
I knew he was gone before I got to him. Somehow I just knew I wasn't going to be given the happy ending, the perfect dream.
In the space of a heartbeat I had lost the only person who had been capable of keeping my world turning.
But now, in the beat of another heart, a new heart, I had a reason to carry on.
In the child in my arms I could see my love again and I knew he would never be gone from me.
It would have been easy to name the baby John Paul and I confess that I was tempted to do just that, but we had already agreed on a name and I planned to honour every decision I had made with my lover, my partner and my life.
"Welcome to the world Matthew Dean-Mcqueen," I said to the baby in my arms. My son.
Out on the ocean sailing away,
I can hardly wait,
To see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both,
Just have to be patient
I still remember the day my son was born, our son was born. Even though it was twenty-three years ago I can still recall every moment of it as if it were only yesterday.
The years flew by so quickly that I hardly had time to catch my breath and my little Matthew had grown from a boy into a man.
And I know that I had aged too. In the mirror I now saw a man with hair that was peppered silver and lines around his dark brown eyes. Laughter lines some people called them and our son had given me much cause for laughter, and tears, over the years.
Matthew was my pride, my heart and soul and my greatest accomplishment. I had raised a son that I knew John Paul would be proud of, that I was proud of, and I knew that I could ask for no more.
But I don't think I had ever felt more proud than the day Matthew came and asked me to be his best man. Not only was my little boy grown into a man but soon he would be a husband.
Before you cross the street,
Take my hand,
Life is just what happens to you,
While your busy making other plans
So here we are. At the wedding of my only child, my beautiful boy, my darling Matthew.
I can't keep the smile from my lips or the joy from my eyes as I stand beside the man I am proud to call my son and hear him vow to love his wife for the rest of his days.
It's times like these that I miss John Paul the most. The times we would have shared, the times we would have celebrated together, the times we would have remembered when we were old and grey and counting down to the end of our lives.
But it's also times like these that I feel him with me the most. I know he's never left my side for all these years and I know he never will, and he'll be there waiting till I'm ready to join him.
As my son seals his marriage to his beautiful bride with a kiss the church erupts in a chorus of cheers and applause and mine ring out the loudest of all.
But then I do have another reason to be cheering. Just before the wedding my son told me a secret. In six months time I'm going to be a grandfather.
And my John Paul will continue to live on.
But true love never dies.
Beautiful,
Beautiful, beautiful,
Beautiful Boy