Almost a year

As the 4th of October creeps closer and closer, I can’t seem to stop the tears or fend off the anxiety that creeps in at any given time. I try to keep myself busy, and I try not to think about it, but it sits in the forefront of my mind like a gigantic neon sign. I try to appear normal through the day, whatever that is suppose to look like, so by the time the evening comes around, I can let down my guard because now I know that it is okay “to feel.”

Almost a year, and as I lay my head down at night, and say my goodnight to Noah, I always have the same conversation with him. I tell him I miss him more than he will ever know. I tell him that I know he doesn’t want to see me sad. I tell him that I will try tomorrow to not cry. I tell him I love him and I just want him back. It must seem so strange to some people that I have these nightly rituals, but I feel like if I continue to do them, then maybe he will hear me, and come visit me in my dreams. I haven’t seen him yet and I wonder why? Why haven’t you come and told me you are okay? What are you waiting for? I tell him that it has been almost a year since I have heard his voice telling me he loves me. Almost a year of not hearing his infectious giggle Almost a year of not having his big arms around me and making me feel so very loved when he hugged me. All the things that we take for granted when they are in this living world, all the things we never think we won’t have every day, yet in an instant they are never more.

Almost a year, and some days it still doesn’t seem real. As I sit here with tears streaming down my face and such an immense ache in my heart, it is still so very difficult to accept the fact that he is gone. I truly am trying to move forward, but I almost feel like if I do, then I am leaving him behind. I had a conversation with a work colleague the other day, and I was trying to explain how some days I feel like I am walking around with a piece of me actually physically missing. I can’t explain it, but it is a horrible feeling, and you feel so exposed. At the same time, you are wearing “the face” because you want people to think you are alright. When you are grieving the loss of a child, being “alright” is physically and mentally exhausting. I can usually do it for a couple of weeks, and then I am just done. I can’t wear the “face” anymore. I have to say that I am so very blessed to have the amazing people that I am surrounded by daily in my job. They get it, and they allow me the space and time to grieve.

Almost a year, and someone very close to me tells me that they choose to be grateful and celebrate the fact that they got to have Noah in their life for 22 years. I guess I am selfish, because 22 years wasn’t long enough for me. It was suppose to be until I died, not him. I understand this way of thinking and I am grateful that this person loved my boy so very much, and that he chooses to celebrate him.

Almost a year, and now we worry that people will forget him. Everyone has moved on with their lives, of course, but that is hard to do when you lose a child. That child was our lives. All of us in our family. As we started to plan the 2nd annual fundraiser in Noah’s memory, Rick and I were worried that we wouldn’t be able to sell all the tickets. We knew the first one was at a time that Noah’s death was fresh in everyone’s minds, but now it is almost a year. Would they all still want to celebrate him with us? Do they still talk about him and miss him? Logically, I know they do, but as a parent you are always their protector and you don’t want that love to die.

Almost a year, and I will still cry if I am talking about him to you. I don’t know if that will lessen with time? I have a mom at my work that lost her son 3 years ago, and she still cries. She also stops in at my office when I am there, and tells me she is there for her hug, from one grieving mom to another. I was the first person that was able to look her in the eyes and say “I know how you feel” and she knew I meant it.

Almost a year, and I don’t know what we are going to do on that day, except that we will be away. Away from the four walls that we sat and stared at for hours and hours on that horrible night. I know that I will make it through because I will have my best friend at my side, reliving it with me, and just quietly supporting me, as he always does and I will do the same for him. I will also take a minute to quietly thank the first responders that tried so hard that night to bring our boy back. I know they all hugged their children a little tighter that night.

My friends, it is almost a year so I ask that you all keep us in your thoughts on October 4th alongside our beautiful boy, Noah. We will be strong together. xo