Matty died in our arms, surrounded by family, including his loving, 2-year-old
brother, Brendan. Despite his tubes and IVs and surgical dressing covering his
head, he looked to me like a little prince.

Since that day our lives are completely altered. Our hearts are heavy every day
with the most excruciating pain.

How can we make sense of any of this? How can we go on? Can we be happy again?

I get flashbacks of what I envision happened to my innocent, defenseless, baby
Matthew. I am sickened to think he was crying for help but was instead beaten by hands that were supposed to have been caring for him.

She didn't look scary to me. She didn't seem like a child abuser, or a monster
or a murderer. We had no idea that she would harm our kids.

I'm scared now when I hear an ambulance. I have nightmares. I'm afraid to answer the phone or door. We are not safe.

The unthinkable has happened, and now anything can happen. My assumptions about life are now my goals: that my children will be safe; my marriage intact; and our lives, one day, happy again.