A Conversation on Repeat

Sleep evaded me last night. I went to bed tired, so I thought it would come easily. I followed my usual routine of the last two years. Every night I kiss my ash pendant goodnight and tell Noah that I love him. I then lay down, close my eyes, and have a mental conversation with him.

Last night was no different. I tell him I love him, I miss him, and I ask him to come and visit me in my dreams. I literally do this over and over until I fall asleep, only last night I didn’t fall asleep. This time, the conversation didn’t end there. My mind started to go everywhere! Why you, why us? I ask him, if there is a God, why did he choose you? Didn’t he realize the pain it would cause everyone left behind? Can you tell him that I am angry at him, that he is slowly killing me inside with pain? Can you tell him that I want him to know that you weren’t his to take?

As I am having this conversation, slowly, so slowly, a tear escapes from my closed eyes and runs across my nose and into the other eye. Then another, then another. All the while the conversation continues on repeat. I explain to Noah that out of all the anniversary dates, his birthday seems to hit me the hardest. For the few days before, I feel the emotions just sitting right at the surface, and a weight that I can’t shake. It makes sense to me. His birthday was not only the day he came into the world, but it was the day that made me a mom. It seems strange that I feel like I have “lost” that moment along with losing him. Logically I know that I will always be his mom, but that moment when he entered the world, changed me forever. The day he died, changed me forever.

Eventually I end up giving up trying to sleep. I open my eyes, hoping that I will see him, but of course I don’t. Heartache again. I just laid there for what seemed like forever, waiting. Waiting for what, I have no idea. A miracle perhaps? A sign? A smell……..something……..just give me something! But, like every other night, nothing.

I must sound like a nut job to some. But trust me when I tell you, when you lose a child you will ask for things you never thought you would, and you hope and pray harder than you ever have before. I now realize that the lack of answers or whatever it is I am hoping for, just adds to the exhaustion. Every night you close your eyes, have the conversation, and hope for something different from the night before. Eventually you fall asleep, and in the morning you realize that it was exactly as the night before, no different.

People talk about how they can “feel” their loved ones around them. This too is part of my conversation with Noah. I ask him why he doesn’t come around me, because if he was around me, then I should be able to feel that, shouldn’t I? I don’t though. I just feel empty, and I think that if he was around, I should feel complete. Complete is far from what I feel. God knows I try every day to have a good day, and I do have them, but they feel different. I have not had a day where I feel “light.”

I know that this journey is lifelong and that honestly scares me some days, because the days still take effort, and effort brings mental and physical exhaustion. All I can do is continue to have my conversations, and hopefully one day I will get answers. At least that is something, something to look forward to.