The Countdown

17 days, 2hrs, 21 minutes. That is how long it is until the exact time that my boy passed away. Here I am thinking how gracefully we have made it through all the firsts, but this first is creating dread, and fear, and tears upon tears and anxiety that I just can’t seem to control.

I have learned in the past 11 months that so much is out of my control. Hell, I can’t even control my emotions like I use to. Every day I wake up and think about October 4th coming. October 4th, 2018 is a day that is burnt into my memory forever. Every moment, every sound, every smell. I even know what speed we were travelling at to get to the ice arena as quickly as we could. I can still feel the empty pit in my stomach as we raced across the bridge. The things I remember from that night are crystal clear, yet I can’t remember if I locked the front door when I leave for work. I can’t control my mind and what it chooses for me to remember and what it decides I can just forget. I am sure it is some sort of survival mechanism. I just haven’t decided if I appreciate it or not. I am sure people in my circle don’t because I seem to forget more of the every day stuff than most.

I think I am, no I know I am, as scared as hell about that day coming. Why? Because I don’t know what it will bring. I don’t think it will be like all the other firsts, because those were birthdays, holidays, shared events that all included Noah, and now we were doing them without him for the first time. This day is not like those days. Again, not having control over what emotions that day will bring is unnerving. Another thing about that day…….well it tells me that 1 whole year has gone by. My first year without my boy. I say my first, because I will be counting them every year.

I don’t ever want anyone else to live what we are living. I think about who I was before Noah passed, and who I am now. The shell is the same but the make up of me is not. I truly feel the void, the hole, the missing piece of me, every single day. I literally walk around feeling like something is gone. It is so hard to explain, yet so clearly felt.

Perhaps I am fearing that day, because for a few minutes, I may see the old me. The mom I was before 12:34am, the mom that had hope, that laughed, that was feeling okay about herself. I honestly never thought that the text we received that night, that started the chaos, would lead me to where I am today. Yet here I am, trying to make sense of it all one year later. I don’t know that I ever will and trying to is really quite exhausting. It isn’t something that just turns off. It is always on, 24/7. Grief is exhausting. Living without one of my children is excruciatingly painful and exhausting. Most days I look like I have aged 10 years in one year. That is what happens when you cry yourself to sleep more often than not. That is the price you pay for continuing to love someone so completely, yet they aren’t here to receive it, and every ounce of your being is acutely aware of their absence every minute of every day. That is the price of a mother’s love.