5 Months Later

5 months = 152 days = 3648 hours = 218,880 minutes = 13,132,800 seconds. That is how long my boy has been gone.
I am sure it seems strange to many that I would even take the time to do the math, but to me it isn’t. You see, I miss him every single second, every single minute, every single hour and every single day. My heart just never stops aching, and the tears continue to flow. They come at the most random times, and sometimes at the “not so convenient” times. Those times when you are trying so damn hard to “put on that face” so that people think you are okay. That takes quite a bit of effort and energy. Those that are close to me know that I am not always okay, and I know they would do anything they could to take away this pain that envelops me. 
I have been so emotional this past week and not able to control it. I now get what seems to be panic attacks. My heart is racing, I feel light headed and it feels difficult to breath. Just another part of trying to figure out how I am suppose to carry on without Noah. Matthew and I were talking the other day about missing Noah and I said to him “I carried both of you. Noah was my first. He TAUGHT ME how to be a parent. He went through all the firsts with me.” He made being his mom an easy task. His easy loving ways, his huge heart, his ability to forgive. His way of finding the positive in a negative situation. 
This past week, we were honored to attend the B.C.I.T. convocation ceremony. The one that Noah should have been a part of. I cried because I felt angry. Angry that he wasn’t there to walk across that stage. I cried because I felt so overwhelmingly sad. Sad that he wasn’t there to walk across that stage. Two emotions for the same action. Rick and I sat there just as proud as all the other parents who were able to clap, cheer and yell out their child’s name in pride. I quietly whispered “I am so proud of you.”
I think one of the hardest pieces of grief to wrap your brain around is the constant wondering. Wondering who would have been our daughter in law. Wondering how many children he would have had. Wondering if he would have walked in to our house at 30 or 40 or 50 years old, and still given me one of his amazing hugs and a “hook.” Wondering if he would carry on the “hook” tradition with his own kids.
I can tell you with certainty that this thing called grief is painful, but I do believe it is only this painful because I love him with all my being. I miss you my boy, more than words can say. My life is forever changed in a way that I wouldn’t want anyone else to have to know, but I accept this because it means I loved, and loved well. ❤️