It’s been way too long…….

Wow! It has been almost a year since I have done any writing at all. It feels good to be back at it!

I started taking an anti-depression / anxiety medication almost a year ago. The original dosage had me feeling like a zombie, correction, had me feeling like I was completely dead inside. I didn’t like that. Yes, I could function, but I wasn’t FEELING. What a shock to the system to go from dealing with every emotion, to dealing with no emotion at all. Every time I would think about writing, I just felt empty, no words, no desire……..nothing.

I approached my doctor and asked her if I could cut the dosage back a bit, and she agreed. So here I am, medicated and still not really having emotions like I did before. Some may think this a good thing, but I am not so sure. Maybe it makes it easier for others to be around me, because I don’t break down and cry, or feel like I just need to leave. But here is the thing………I am done worrying about how others feel around me. My son died. Life is not the same anymore, nor do I expect it to ever be. Believe me when I tell you that I am trying. He is my last thought at night before I fight to go to sleep, and he is my waking thought in the morning.

Many have said things like “Noah would want you to live” or “Noah wouldn’t want you to be sad” or “Noah would expect you to live your life to the fullest.” I know that all these people mean well, and I am not ungrateful, but losing a child is the most gut-wrenching thing a parent can go through, and we are not created to deal with that level or depth of pain. I can’t help but sometimes think that perhaps people say those things because it would make me easier to be around. Then we don’t have to talk about the “elephant in the room.” Learning to deal with grief reminds me of when I became a mom. I had no clue what I was doing or whether I could do it, but somehow I figured it out. I am figuring out grief in the same manner. Day by day. I may not be doing it right, I don’t know. But I am doing the best that I can.

I have to say that the one thing I never thought would happen through losing Noah was that I would lose people that were close to me. This is not said for pity, but rather a very honest observation. I am okay with it though, because I need people in my life that can sit with me in the darkest of days and the brightest of days. I never want to be the one to make others feel uncomfortable around me because my son died. Through his death, I believe I have become more intuitive.

I have learned that what you see on the outside, may not be what is happening on the inside for many. People are so very good at putting on a face, and presenting themselves as they expect people need or want to see them. Let’s face it, many people are uncomfortable, and looking for the first exit when they see someone visibly upset or silently crying. What I have learned is that those are the people that need you to sit with them in that pain. You don’t need to say anything, you just need to be there. I have learned how important it is to check in on people that I know are silently suffering. Even if it is just a quick message saying “I am thinking of you and I am here.” I use to get that, and so appreciated. I don’t get it as much now. I don’t want to be one of those “in the moment” friends to anyone. If I am your friend, I am there through thick and thin, laughter and tears. I would rather have a handful of “anytime” friends, than a dozen “sometimes” friends.

I have learned that our actions speak to others and that they are truly appreciated. I have connected with others, some that have lost children, and some who now value their children even more. People say they have learned from us. I am so grateful for that, because then living the life we are living now, at least has some meaning.

I have learned to be more grateful. Grateful for those that knew Noah and loved him and still continue to connect with us. Many of those people were Noah’s friends. They are all such amazing human beings. He chose well. I am grateful that I can spend a few dollars and pay it forward in the coffee line up, and that when I have done that, it really touched someone else and perhaps even brightened their day. I am acutely aware that there is much to be grateful for in life.

Those that know us well, know that if we didn’t have bad luck, we would have no luck at all. We have been thrown many curveballs in our life, but we are still here, still fighting, still standing, and still grieving………as a family. In the end, that is what matters most because we are doing it together, and together we are stronger.

Brothers First. Family First.

I am hopeful. Hopeful that by finally getting back to the keyboard, that I can continue to do this. If my honesty and openness can help just one person, then I know I am making Noah proud, and that means more to me than anything else in this world.

This Journey is Different

This past week, I have been struggling. Struggling with a very deep sadness and flashbacks and every other emotion that comes along with me on this journey. I think I knew it was coming last weekend, when I told my husband that I was grumpy. He said “Grumpy? What have you got to be grumpy about?” I then changed my description from grumpy to just “blah.” When I am blah, I know more is coming.

I would imagine that some would say that my “blah” is depression, and they could very well be right. I own the fact that I can have depression episodes, however now they come with the grief. It is such a funk that you get into, and some days it is hard to imagine there is a way out. The one thing that keeps me pushing through these dark times is that I have a husband that loves me and supports me unconditionally, and a son that loves me and needs me still. I would never do anything to harm myself for I know that would bring such sorrow to those that I love, and I would never want to be the bearer of that for them.

When I say that this “Journey is Different,” I mean in terms of the overall effect the loss of Noah has had on me. I have lost my dad, my grandparents and a sister, as well as a very special brother in law and other aunts and uncles. Each of those losses hurt me to the core at the time of their passing. However, over time, I have been able to move forward and be grateful for the relationships I had with all of them and am truly thankful that they were a part of my life. But losing a child, that is a whole different level. I can’t even equate the feelings and emotions around losing him to the feelings I have had around other losses in my life.

I said to someone recently that I look around me and everyone is just carrying on with their lives, like Noah is just a memory. Now I know that isn’t true because he touched many lives and was so very loved, so logically I know that they miss him too, but it is like I am sitting on the fringe looking in and everything is so different. I sometimes feel like I am still living life “with Noah” and have the expectations I would when he was alive, like he will call me on my way home, or come bounding through the front door like he always did. I was told that I needed to carry on with my life now. Dammit, I am trying! Do people not see that? If you call me and ask me how I am, I tell you I am fine. If you need advice or help, I give it. If you need someone to listen, I listen. I don’t dump on people all my sorrow and woes. I carry on like everyone else, except that it hurts. It hurts to carry on living when your child has died. I have a social media presence that, for the most part, makes it look like my life is back to normal. My life isn’t normal, but I also don’t want to burden people. I don’t want to sound like a broken record and have people thinking that I “just need to get on with life.”

This past week, I ended up breaking down at work on the Monday, and ended up taking the week off. Not my best moment as I feel like I just left my team to fend for themselves, and I am suppose to be the example. That being said, my “team” are the most supportive crew I know. I feel like it still takes effort to do the regular things and I am mentally tired. I had been doing quite well, if I do say so myself, but it eventually became too much and I couldn’t carry it anymore. I have spent this week shedding tears and having memories flood me. For example, I decided to do some baking, and as I am mixing the batter, I start crying because I remembered baking with Noah and doing “shots” while we baked. (He was of legal age!) We had so much fun and so much laughter. I realize that this a great memory, but I am not at the point yet where I can laugh and smile about the memory because my heart still hurts. I am hopeful that the day will come when I can. I look forward to that day.

I am probably sounding like a song on repeat, and I would imagine that people have their own thoughts and notions about what this journey should be, but unless you have lost a child, you honestly couldn’t imagine, and for that everyone should be grateful. I have many blessings in my life and I am indebted to all of those that continue to walk this walk with me. I am sure it can be hard on you as well to see someone you love struggle, but know that without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today which is on my way to healing. If you want to help, speak his name, share stories. Bringing him up in conversation makes my heart sing. I want to talk about him, share him, hear about him. I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me when things will get easier but I don’t, so I will continue carrying on this journey until I am healed, and I hope you will continue to walk beside me.

Let’s Talk Mental Health

For years, talking about one’s mental health was taboo. People would label you as “crazy” or “nuts.” If someone was suffering with mental health issues, they kept it to themselves, or they were the ones that were self medicating and no one felt they had the right to ask if they needed help. Perhaps that is because if you did, you were looked at as interfering or perhaps you didn’t ask because maybe you didn’t know what to do to help. Thankfully, we have come a very long way since then, but there is still work to do.

I will start with full disclosure. I have lived with depression for the better part of my life. It typically surfaced once a month, and I could tell when it was creeping in. For the most part, I could battle my way through it, partly because I was cognizant of the fact that it was rearing its ugly head. It would last for about 4 or 5 days, and then I would feel “normal” again. I know that dealing with it the way I did was not, by any stretch of the imagination, “normal” but I felt it worked for me, so I would just keep doing what I was doing. Looking back, I managed my depression this way for about 40 years. I never discussed it with my doctor and I never tried to get any outside help. I thought I was actually moving along really well, until Noah died.

Before October 4th, 2018, I never knew how debilitating mental health could be. Like I said, I was managing, coping. Even right after his death, I thought I was doing okay, all things considered. Hell, I gave a TV interview about him and his accident, the day after he died! I must have been coping. I was anything but coping, but I was surviving. The next couple of weeks are honestly a blur in my memory now. There are some memories of that time that are vivid, but other times and events, I don’t remember.

I remember a few days after he passed, my husband and I decided to try to get out of the house, just for a bit. He needed a haircut and I needed a bangs trim, so out we go. As I am sitting here now, I can vividly recall how vulnerable I felt, and I was sure that everyone was looking at me and thinking “that is the lady who’s son just died playing hockey.” I felt like they were seeing right into my soul. I had my first anxiety attack.

The feeling of that attack was frightening! My hands were sweaty, my heart was pounding out of my chest, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was going to pass out. I needed to get home. I needed to be inside my 4 walls, where I felt safe and sheltered. That was my first attack, but it certainly was not my last. They could happen anytime, anywhere. I suffered these attacks for the better part of the first year after Noah passed.

Along with the anxiety attacks, I was suffering from flashbacks. Not unlike the anxiety attacks, flashbacks could and would come at any time. They typically involved any period of time between when Matthew first received the text that Noah was unconscious on the ice to when I saw him lifeless on the bed in the emergency ward, and they announced his time of death, 12:34am on October 4th, 2018. So many snippets of moments that can flash before your eyes, and you can’t “unsee” them. They haunted me for at least the entire first year after he died. I was told it I was suffering from PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder.)

So here I was. A grieving mother with depression, anxiety and now PTSD. It was much too much for me to carry on my own. Lord knows I tried, but eventually the mental health trauma I was dealing with was taking over. I needed help. I reached out to my family doctor, and she prescribed medications for all the above. I take medication daily to help me cope. Do I feel like I am a less valued individual because I take medication for mental health? No I don’t. Many people ask if I have “seen” anyone yet. That is a polite way to ask if I am seeing a therapist. So far, I haven’t but maybe one day I will. I am still at a point in my grief that I feel like talking with someone who hasn’t lost a child, just won’t understand. Honestly, I am just not there yet, but today I feel like a survivor.

It is now just over 2 years since my boy died. Not a second of a day goes by that he is not in my thoughts. He is my first conversation in the morning and the last one before I go to sleep. I do have these conversations in my head, with myself, but I am not crazy. I am a mom who’s son died, and I am doing my best everyday to cope with the loss. If that means having conversations with myself, then so be it. It seems to be working to keep me sane.

This is just my story of mental health, but I know that I am not alone. I know of many people within my circle of family and friends that also struggle daily with mental health. I see the pain it causes them. I see them trying to cope on their own. I often hear “I am okay”, when I can see in their eyes that they are not. I am at a point where I will come out and ask someone if their mental health is causing them health issues. As a society, we need to continue to have the conversations. Sometimes we need to ask those we love, the really hard questions and we need to let them know that it comes from a place of love, concern and caring. None of us have the right to judge others, but we all have the ability to help and support. It may be a simple act of kindness, like bringing that mom a few prepared meals so she can breathe a bit, or asking your buddy if he wants to go shoot some hoops or go fishing. You don’t have to carry the load, but you could easily lighten it, and that one act could make all the difference in that persons day, or even their life. Let people know you care, that you love them, that you support them, and that you want to help them get healthy. Isn’t that what every person deserves? Be that person.

Blog Therapy, Therapy, Therapy Blog, Blogging Therapy, Therapy,..

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.

Grief and Social Media

When Noah died, I decided to search out grief groups on social media. I was not surprised that there were many to choose from. Some were groups based on how people died. There are groups for people who have lost loved ones by suicide or murder or SIDS, or a drunk driver. Then there are groups that are geared just to grieving mothers, or grieving fathers as well as groups that are for anyone grieving the loss of a loved one.

The number of people in these groups is staggering. I felt safe joining a few because I was just one person in groups made up of people from all over the world, so the odds of anyone knowing me personally were small. To this day, I haven’t posted Noah’s story, but I have sent much love to many people. In the beginning, I would read the stories about other people’s loved ones and I could so feel their pain and their despair. The people in these groups are so transparent and they share everything, because they just want to feel like someone is listening. Strange as it may sound, I felt like I belonged.

When I first joined these groups, I have to be honest and say that I had to scroll past some of the posts. Not because of the post itself, but because of the pictures that accompanied them. There are photos of preemie babies that have passed away, and pictures of people’s children in caskets. I couldn’t bear to look at them and I wondered, how they could post such pictures? Does this bring them peace? What is the point?

It took me a long time to be able to actually stop and look at these photos, and once I did I got the answers to my questions. You see, when you lose a loved one, your whole thought process changes. For these families, the photos are their memories, their loved one, the person they lost. For the mom who is cradling her preemie that passed away, that is her child. She loved that child before she met him, and this is the memory of meeting him for the first time. For the parent that posts the picture of their child in the casket, perhaps that is part of their closure. Who are we to judge? Who are we to question how these families grieve?

Child loss is the most traumatic experience a parent can endure. So many of these parents in these groups feel lost, alone, broken. I read more often than not that they just wish God would take them away and let them be with their child. Now for someone who has not lost a child, that may sound foolish or ridiculous, but to parents of child loss, the feeling is real. They believe that their pain will be gone if they can just be with their child. They question how they are suppose to continue on in this life, and does it get “better.” Grief doesn’t get “better,” it just changes.

I am learning that grief walks beside us every day. Some days we have a lighter step to our walk, and other days we feel like we are dragging cement blocks around our ankles. Some days our mind is quite clear and we feel high functioning, and other days it takes all the effort you have to take a shower and get dressed. Some days we can talk about our loved ones easily and fluidly, and other days as soon as we mention their name, the tears are coming.

I have learned that grief is now a part of me, and I am figuring out how to live along side it rather than in it. It has changed who I am, how I interact with others, and who I choose to have in my circle. I am trying everyday to live how Noah would want me to, but I am not going to lie, it is hard. All I can hope for is that over time, it gets better, easier. I do know that now when I read these people’s stories, I read them with compassion and love, because I too am a grieving parent and they are counting on me to just be there. The next time someone you know loses a loved one, remember that it doesn’t matter whether it was a child, aunt, uncle, grandma, parent, spouse or friend, the grief is real and it is raw. Be kind, and just be there in the wings, ready for when they need you, because they will.

“The Day”

The emotional rollercoaster of grief is exhausting. I am 2 weeks away from “the day” and I am all over the map with my emotions. I drove home from my trailer today, which is an hour and a half drive, and I cried all the way. Silent, warm tears just falling from my eyes.

I would imagine that many people would think that by now, almost 2 years, that I should be moving on with my life. 2 years is a long time, but when you lose a child, it is like time stands still. You replay that moment over and over in your mind. I get flashbacks still of seeing Noah in the hospital, lifeless, and hearing his brother letting out guttural cries on the floor beside his bed. I remember asking “what do we do now?” I remember victim services sitting with us, and all of it seeming so surreal. Then, we went home. Home without Noah.

Although there are days when you feel like your heart is shattered and the tears won’t stop, there are good days too. I have a job that I love, and I am surrounded by amazing people that I work with. The strength and love that I get from them is more than I deserve. They lift me up when I have fallen, and will wrap their arms around me without a second thought. I know that I wouldn’t be where I am on this journey without them, and for that, I am eternally grateful. My place of work is a safe place for me to feel everything, without judgement.

I have also realized on this journey of grief and loss, that I have tended to shelter myself away from people. I believe it is a protective mechanism, and it is one that I can control. I now realize that I don’t have to open my life to everyone, and I don’t have to apologize for that. My life was quite different before Noah died. There has been a shift in my relationships, and I allow myself to choose which relationships I am going to have. I wasn’t very good at that before. I have people that have been by my side from the day Noah died, and they still continue to walk this walk with me. I have others that have slowly faded away, and that is okay. I am sure I am not the best company for some, and perhaps those are the ones that feel I should move on, or perhaps they are uncomfortable around me because my child died. Believe me when I say this, I am trying to move on. Everyday that I wake up, is another day that I have lived without him and I am still here, surviving.

As “the day” approaches, I do worry that people will forget him. It is now my job on this earth to ensure that they don’t. Last year, I did a “Random Act of Kindness” day in Noah’s memory. I am going to do it again this year, because that is what he would want everyone to do. Those that knew him, would agree that Noah would give the shirt off his back to a stranger if they needed it.

As October 4, 2020 approaches, I ask that everyone keep my family in their hearts that day. We will continue to do what we do, which is keep his legacy and memory alive. I hope that everyone will join us, and do a random act of kindness in his memory. He loved life, and he loved people, so doing this is the best way to honor him.

Life takes Effort

October 4th, 2020 with be 2 years since Noah died. I try not to think of it in number of days, because the number is so large. It also brings to the forefront in my mind that the number keeps growing, even though I wish it would just disappear.

I have to confess that I really do try to put on a brave face each and every day, which is more for the people around me than me. I can’t help but feel that I am “stuck” in this continuous cycle of grief and as much as I try to break free, it has a hold on me. I am known to be a very logical person, and that side of me knows with every fiber of my being that Noah would not want me to feel the way I am feeling. He would feel guilty because he would never want me to hurt the way I do.

As I was driving today, I realized that I wasn’t really aware of where I was. I was like a machine, just doing a job. I had to get from point A to point B. This is not the first time this has happened, and so I know that when I am in this place, my mind is going to flashback to that horrible night. I replay it over and over and I see his lifeless body being aided by machines, and I feel so helpless. Why couldn’t I have done something! I am his mom. My job is to protect him at all costs. I feel like I failed him, although logically I know I didn’t, but in my heart I can’t help but feel this way. I would have traded places with him in a heartbeat.

Unless you have lost a child, you cannot begin to know the daily heaviness that a grieving parent carries. You get up, you go to work, you do your job, and you come home. You don’t really want to be around people because that takes effort. Everything feels like it takes effort. My house needs cleaning, the laundry needs doing, the meals need to be prepared, just like in every other household. However, these daily mundane tasks, that I did so easily before, now take effort. Life takes effort.

Some days, I sit back and just watch people, especially when I am at my trailer. I see families laughing, getting ready to go to the lake, chatting around a campfire. Such joy and happiness they are sharing. Here is where the mind does its own thing. My mind and heart get such a heaviness and sadness, because we use to do those things as a family too. Many would be thinking, “well you still can.” Yes we can, but when we do those things, you feel the massive void where our boy would be. It takes effort now to do those things, but we do try to do them because Noah would want us to. It is strange living a life “doing things” because someone who is no longer here would want you to.

This year has been a difficult year for many, especially with Covid-19 being everywhere. Businesses shut down, schools shut down, borders shut down, and people getting sick and dying. Those are the negatives of this crazy year, but it has also brought positives. People are being kind to others, doing for others, spending more time with their families, and checking in on others. We can all learn from the pandemic. If you know someone who is on their own, take the time to check in on them. They may seem like they choose to be alone, but they don’t, really. Those people are very vulnerable during this time. If they don’t respond, try again. Your act of kindness and compassion could save that person, and I am positive it would be appreciated. I know that those people that have been there for me, even it it is just a text saying “i am thinking of you,” have certainly made a mark on my life. Some days, those texts have made the difference between a good day and a bad one. It is the one thing that takes very little effort.

A letter to my husband

25 years ago today, in the Justice of the Peace office in Las Vegas, we stood hand in hand, wearing shorts, tank tops and sandals and said “I do.” Little did we know what our lives together would bring.

We both had come from previous relationships that weren’t good for us. They certainly didn’t form in our minds what a healthy relationship should be. Thankfully, we were both open to perhaps finding “our person.” From the day we met, we have never been apart, except for your fishing trips. I recall being told that there was nothing that would ever stop you from going to the Trulsen Fishing Trip. Some may say that being that way is selfish, but to me, it showed the depth of your love for family and that family was important to you. We had dreams and visions of what we wanted in life, and we were both on the same page. The biggest decision we made, was to have children.

November 16, 1995, we welcomed our beautiful boy Noah into our world. He was perfect. He had the eyes of an old soul and the rolls of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. We were so happy and blessed. As he grew, we were constantly amazed at the kindness of his heart and his effervescent personality. We figured we had done so well the first time, why not have another!

March 12, 1999, we welcomed a baby brother for Noah. Matthew truly was a gift. Early on in the pregnancy, we were told they thought he may have Downs Syndrome. We had a conversation that no one prepares you for, but it was one that we had to have. Again, we were on the same page and we decided that whatever we are dealt, we will figure out. I never thought about it again through the pregnancy, but I know you did. I know you quietly worried. Worried for him and worried for us. If he has Downs Syndrome, we will have so much to learn, but you knew that we were a strong unit, and we would be able to do it, together. Matthew came into this world, as I like to say, “like a penguin on a waterslide” and he has never slowed down. He was tiny, and he too was perfect. He didn’t know it then, but his big brother would become his best friend and such an amazing role model for him. Brothers First.

As the years rolled on, we became taxi drivers for sports, volunteers at the school, managers for teams. Our children were our priority, and we knew what our role was. We were to be the best parents we could be and hopefully raise amazing young men. We knew we needed to give them a strong foundation of how to be a good humans. The line “treat others as you want to be treated” was a mantra that we referred to often. It wasn’t always easy, but together, I think we did a hell of a job.

Looking back, we were so very lucky. We had children that made parenting easy. They both excelled at whatever they chose to do. Neither of them ever lacked confidence! Hell, we put them in French Immersion, and we didn’t know French! Yet, both managed and managed well. Honor roll for both all through school, with no help from us, that’s for sure. Neither one ever gave us a reason to not trust them, and we always knew they would make the right choices. Blessed.

We made it through the school years! Noah decided to go to BCIT to become an electrician. His work ethic was top notch, and again he excelled in the hands on training and the schooling. He started working full time the day after he graduated. He loved being an electrician and he knew how very proud we were of him.

October 4, 2018, our world was shattered. Matthew got a text that Noah was unconscious on the ice and we better come. He then got another text telling him that they had the defibrillator on him. I remember Matthew looking at me and saying “he is okay mom, they have the defibrillator on him.” I looked at you and said “I don’t think he knows what that is……………” That night is etched clearly in our minds, and I know it will always be. We follow the ambulance to the hospital, only to find out that Noah has died. I looked at you and said “what do we do now????” Little did we know what the following weeks would bring. We said goodbye to Noah on October 20th, 2018 along with over 800 people that his passing had touched. Through his death we found community, and love. So much love for us.

Life as we knew it, would never be the same. The only thing that didn’t change was our deep love for each other. So many couples end up divorcing after the loss of a child, yet our connection deepened. We wept together, got angry together, and sat in silence together. We had been through some tough times in our years together, but nothing, nothing like this. I knew we would make it, and we have.

A year later, Matthew is now heading off to college. Another big change, within a year. We went from having 4 of us in the house, to you and I within a year. It was good for Matthew to go to school, make new friends, have a fresh start. It has been nothing but amazing for him. However, here we were with another change in our dynamic. We had come full circle. We started out as the two of us, filled 23 years with loving chaos, and now we were back to us.

Looking back over the 25 years, there are obviously things I would change, or request a “do over,” but the one thing I wouldn’t is us. For better, for worse, through sickness and in health were the words we exchanged on our wedding day. We have certainly have had the better, the worse, along with sickness and better health. With every step along the way, you have been my rock. Through my ugly times, you let me be ugly, and through my beautiful times, you helped me shine. You understand me like no one else, and you accept everything about me. Never have you ever spoken an ugly word to me, or made me feel like I am not worthy. You are an amazing father who would die for his children. You are loved and respected by so many, and deservedly so. I am so proud to call you my husband.

Marriage is not easy. It is a fluid relationship that changes like the seasons. For us, I think we have always considered each other as the other part of our individual teams. The respect and love that we share runs deep. Our journey has not been an easy one, and we have certainly had our struggles, yet every time something would happen you would look at me and say “we will figure it out.” You were always right. We have always figured it out, and we have figured it out together.

Rick, I am so grateful every day that you chose me, and I chose you. I have no doubt that you are my soulmate, and I look forward to the next 25 years with you.

Happy 25th Anniversary. I love you. xo

Lorraine

Connections

So usually I don’t do the games and the sharing of games on Facebook, but just recently I did. I thought it would give people something different to do besides share conspiracies about Covid. This game was one of those math quizzes, that are done with pictures of different items and each item has a worth. If you answer the question correctly, then I send you a private message telling you that you got it right, and now you have to post it. What I didn’t think through was that many people would probably get it right, and I would be doing a lot of private messaging. Anyway, one of the people that responded to my post was truly one of my best friends in high school.

I checked her answer, and she was correct, so I had to private message her the instructions of what she was to do. Shortly after I sent it, I get a message back from her asking how my family is doing during this time. She then shares about having a teenage daughter and the trials and tribulations that go with that, and how it made her think of when she was that age. She ended it with “sending hugs (with the emoji.)

After reading her message, I started to cry. It took me back to those days. The days of being a teenager and how I could relate to what she was saying about her daughter, and herself at that age. When I was a teenager, everything mattered. Did I fit in, did people like me, was I too fat, would I have a boyfriend, did the “cool” kids accept me, and on and on. It seems so trivial now, but my gosh, back then, that was all that mattered. The answers to those questions would make you measure your self worth. I realize now that I spent a lot of time trying to fit in. I had this friend, and that was the one thing I was absolutely sure of.

Her home was my second home, and her parents welcomed me with open arms. We would get to go to her parents parties in the “dungeon” as it was called, and would spend hours in her room listening to Kenny Rogers and Lionel Richie. These were the times that I was my genuine self, and I was accepted. I didn’t need to impress or be someone that I wasn’t. These were the best times of my teenage years.

After reading her message, I just felt something inside of me that made me feel a need to thank her. Thank her for being a really great best friend at a time, looking back now, that I really needed one. My parents had split up and I was between homes, trying to figure out where home was. She was always kind and patient, and giving, and forgiving.

Now that I am older, and hopefully a bit wiser, I realize that the high school years were such a small part of my overall existence. I have never gone to any reunions since we graduated. I will admit that was because I felt anxious and nervous about seeing these people that I had felt I had to work hard at being accepted by in the first place. Stupid really, but real.

The one thing I think about now, in regards to people that I went to high school with, is that it is those people, the ones that I struggled to feel accepted by, that every once in a while reach out to me, and just check in on me. They send me little messages telling me that they are thinking about me. I don’t think any of them know just how much that touches my heart. I am sure every one of them has thought that they would hate to be in my shoes now, since Noah died, and I wouldn’t want any of them to be. I think his passing probably made people cherish what they have even more than they did before, because they know me, so it hits close to home. I am sure many of them hug their children more, and express their love for them even more, because he died.

My point is, that throughout life, we make connections with different people, at different stages of our lives. Some of those connections stand the test of time, some are brief, and some are longer. I believe that every person that comes into our lives has a purpose. Our job is to realize what the purpose is. I don’t see anyone that I went to high school with, and actually I hadn’t seen anyone until shortly after Noah died. I met up with an old high school friend for lunch. 39 years after we had graduated. It was a comforting visit, and I still felt connected.

It is important to value each connection that we make on our journey called life. I have had connections that were so very important to me at one time, just end. Those are painful because in life, just as in death, you sometimes need closure on those ones, and you may never get it. So your only option then, is to let it go and be grateful for the joy they brought you, and hopefully the other person remembers the same. Value the connections you have today. We are in such an unprecedented time, and we are learning the value of connection even more, because we are being made to disconnect from people in order for all to be safe. We have so many outlets available now to maintain the connections with those we value. Do everything you can to keep those connections alive, and know that one day you will get to physically connect again.

My friend replied to my reply, and she thanked me too for my friendship. She acknowledged the pain that I live with, and how she couldn’t imagine what she would do or where she would turn. I broke into tears. I immediately felt that childhood connection. She was validating all that I feel, and I truly needed that. Although I haven’t seen her in over 35 years, in that moment, I remembered my high school best friend so very clearly, as she was still the same person. The one that I connected with so long ago.

To my friend, I just want to say thank you for today, and for connecting with me. It was exactly what I needed. She sent me this at the end of our conversation. I cried. I cried because even after all these years, someone that I trusted with my being and confided in for years, sent me something that absolutely touched my heart. Thank you Cori.

A Different Type of Easter

This Easter, families will be celebrating the holiday in a way they never have before. Covid-19 has us all staying home, and having a meal with only those that we live with. It got me to thinking that people will probably really feel the void of not having their family and loved ones over to share a meal. The fortunate part of that, is that this too shall pass. One day, we will get back to a normal way of living, and really, it is just one holiday. You will be able to see them again and break bread like you have before. As you sit down tonight with your closest love ones, please think of those that now have an empty chair at their table. The way you feel today, is how they feel every holiday. Perhaps the pain is not as deep because you know that this won’t be forever, but for those people, it is.

As someone that has lost a loved one, this Easter is filled with a sadness that is two fold. I am always acutely aware that Noah is absent on holidays, but I am also really feeling the loss of feeding my family. Easter is the one holiday that I have my siblings and my parents come for dinner. I always look forward to it. I am kept busy throughout the day, prepping food, setting the table and tidying the house. It is a way to keep our family connected and to check up on everyone. I will truly miss it this year.

Even though we cannot all gather, I am grateful that Matthew is home with us. I will cook an Easter dinner for the three of us, with Noah on my mind. He loved to eat, and he really loved my cooking. I know that as I prepare the ham for tonight, I will have tears. Sounds crazy right? We don’t realize what connects us to loved one, quite often until they are gone. Ham has always been one of his most favorite foods from the time he was very small. His eyes would literally light up when he heard I was making a ham. Those that have shared a ham dinner with him will attest to the fact that he would fill his plate with ham, and a little bit of the side dishes, and when done, return for more! The boy had a hollow leg, I swear!

Another void that hits you during the holidays is when you are buying the treats. I have always been the one to do that in our family, and this year was no different, except I bought for two people instead of three. While on my anxiety filled shopping trip, I found myself standing in front of all the Easter goodies, frozen for a few minutes. In that time, it is like I have a film that runs through my brain of Easter’s past and I can see Noah’s face and hear his infectious laugh. It is so calming and beautiful, yet painful all at the same time. I look at each item and talk to myself. “Noah loved those” or “I remember when I bought him that.”

I am sure people are thinking that I should be past all of these “moments,” but they haven’t lost a child. That I am sure of. The holidays hit the hardest, perhaps because they hold so many memories. In a typical day you get snippets of memories brought on by a trigger, but during the holidays, you get a continuous stream of them. Holidays are the memory making times that we all, as families, create together. Year after year you gather with your loved ones and build on the last one. We create a photo album in our mind of times that we spend together. My photo album is now different.

This Easter will be one that families will not forget. Next year, when you are going through your photo album of memories, you will see that your gathering was missing people. Those that you cannot share a meal with this year, or give a hug to. Perhaps it will make people more cognizant of the importance and value of relationships. You are all getting a glimpse of what it feels like to not have someone that you love, with you this Easter. The beauty of that is that maybe, just maybe, it will make us all better people in our own lives and in our relationships with those we love. You may not be able to physically be with them, for now, but you can pick up a phone and call them or Facetime with them and let them know you miss them and love them. Soak up the beauty of their voice and the love in their words. We all have the gift of speech, which is a powerful tool and the most impactful one we have during this unprecedented time. Use it, and let your family know that you love them. Create memories in a different manner than we are use to, so you don’t have regrets. Life is short, so make the most of the time you are given, even if it is a “different” life right now.

Happy Easter Everyone