The Meaning of Matthew

Excerpt

When the man on the other end of the line announced who he was, an emergency room doctor from Ivinson Memorial Hospital in Laramie, I went numb.

I don't remember what he said, or what I did next. I'm not sure whether it was the ringing phone or my subsequent gasp that startled the still-sleeping Dennis. Whatever it was that woke him, Dennis took the phone from me and then, after a seemingly endless silence, made a noise-a sort of helpless
and mournful groan-that I'd never heard before and haven't heard since. Coming as it did from my husband, a man whose reserved manner is as typically masculine and western as his Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots, the moan confirmed my worst fears.

Matt had been attacked. He had sustained injuries to his head that were so critical his chances for survival were nearly impossible.

"In fact," Dr. Cantway told Dennis, "Matt's wounds are so severe that he had to be transported forty miles south of Laramie, to a hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado, that was better equipped to deal with head injuries."

As short as the call was-not more than five minutes-it was long enough, not only to turn our world upside down, but to send it spinning forever in the opposite direction. As I remember it, neither Dennis nor I had much to say to the doctor-or to each other. But we were dizzy with questions:
Who? Where? Why? What? And most important, how was Matt? But Dr. Cantway couldn't answer anything we asked-other than to say that things didn't look good and that the only piece of information the police had found so far was Matt's University of Wyoming ID card. Thankfully, that card led them to his emergency contact, Matt's godmother, who worked as a nurse at Ivinson and had our contact information. The hospital called us immediately after getting our Saudi Arabian
telephone number.

The rest of that morning was a blur. I do remember thinking, "If I come apart now, I'm never going to make it." Dennis and I were in shock and sort of went into autopilot, knowing there were things we needed to accomplish before we could give in to our fears.

Like all parents, our first instinct was to run to our son's side. Unfortunately, we happened to be eight thousand miles away. The flight to Denver, by way of Amsterdam and Minneapolis, didn't leave for nineteen hours. To add to the already surreal situation, we still had to deal with the bureaucracy of Saudi Arabia and get the proper documentation to leave. Dennis and I were forced to wait almost an entire day before we could even begin our trip to be with Matt. We used that time to call a few relatives in the States to let them know what was happening and to make sure Matt wouldn't be alone in Fort Collins. None of us knew what we'd find or would have to do once we reached Colorado.

Reprinted by arrangement with Hudson Street Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from THE MEANING OF MATTHEW by Judy Shepard.

Copyright (c) 2009 by Judy Shepard