A Mom's Journey Through Grief and Life

Angel Moms Gone too Soon

This past week has been hard. Medical tests, questions, more questions, doctor appointments, headache after headache, teeth clenching all the time, and tired. I point all these out because this is part of my grief. I just said to my mom today “I just want to feel normal. I don’t really know what that is anymore.”

If you haven’t walked this walk, one of losing a child, be thankful. Be thankful every single day. The pain that people feel when losing a child is truly indescribable.

After a very long day, I come home to a husband that loves me and a dog that runs circles because he is so happy to see me. I get settled in my living room, and log on to my computer. I am scrolling through Facebook, catching up on everyone else’s lives, when I come across a grief group that is for angel moms that I belong to.

There is a post that stopped me in my tracks……

“I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

I started to cry. Now, I have never had the thought, even for a second, to end my life so I could join Noah. He would want me to be here for his dad and his brothers and as a family we chose to honor him in everything we do while we are still on this earth. However, I immediately felt this mommas’ pain and I cried for her. It is all too real, the depth of the pain and the despair that one can feel. I understood how she probably thought that this was the answer to make the pain go away. I felt her loneliness. I felt the ache in her heart.

The next posts over the hours were all about people trying to reach her, (people in this group are from all over the world), and how so many angel moms were trying to help, but feeling helpless. Prayers were being sent from all over the world for this one momma, who just couldn’t see herself living another minute of another day without her child. I understand. Posts continued to update saying that they found out where she lived, and that they sent police to check on her. These are all strangers, but so intertwined because they all share the same loss. They reported that she was alive. The relief I felt was overwhelming. I don’t know this person, but I felt like I did. We have a connection, child loss.

All seemed well, but as I scrolled further, I see a post saying that she is now with her son. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t hang on for another day. Maybe if she did, she would have been in a better place tomorrow. Maybe not. I just sat and stared at the post, feeling devastated for her, and for the family she left behind. As I finally start to scroll again………….I see another mom was found deceased. Unbelievable, yet so easily believable.

Let’s be real, Grief is a bitch. It can lay dormant and you feel like you are coping and you will be alright, then out of nowhere, it jumps out and suckerpunches you right in the heart. I ask that you think about these mommas when you feel “uncomfortable” around someone whose child has died. Instead of being awkward or trying to avoid them because of how you feel in that moment, be open, be welcoming, be loving, just BE. You never know if in that moment you may have just saved a life. These stories are much too common to people who have experienced child loss. Sadly, this really does show the depth of pain that parents feel when they lose a child. So although someone looks “okay” to you, please assume that they aren’t and just share a minute of your time with them. They may thank you one day. As for me, I will continue to live and cope with the symptoms that come from my grief and know they are with me because I lost Noah, but I loved him fiercely.

RIP Mommas.

Grief Is My “Frenemy”

grief [ɡrēf] NOUN : deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone’s death. “She was overcome with grief” synonyms:sorrow · misery · sadness · anguish · pain · distress · agony · torment · affliction · suffering · heartache · heartbreak · broken-heartedness · heaviness of heart· woe · desolation · despondency · dejection · despair · angst · mortification · mourning · mournfulness · bereavement · lamentation · lament · remorse · regret · pining · blues · dolor · dole

I thought it would be wise to look up the definition of the word “Grief” since it is my new found frenemy. Although I believed I knew the meaning, I was struck by the number of synonyms for it, and as I read through them, I realized that are all so very accurate.

Grief is so encompassing and it could drown you if you let it. I refer to it as my “frenemy” because it has taught me things like a friend would, and it has brought me to my knees as an enemy would. As the enemy, Grief has made me feel emotions that I have never had to face before, to the degree that I do now.

Sadness: It literally starts in your heart, the core of you, and you can feel it seeping through your veins. It has a coldness to it, that makes you feel like you have ice under your skin. It can bring you to tears in an instant and leave you short of breath, or worse, it can make your entire being heave with sobs and you can’t catch your breath. It makes your eyes cry so many tears, more than you knew you were physically capable of, and makes them heavy to the point you appear to have aged. It is a weight that you carry with you every day. A weight that makes it difficult for one to do the most simplest of tasks.
Desolation: The feeling of being lonely or alone, when really you aren’t. Being a parent that has lost a child can make you feel like you are at the wrong venue. You can be in a group, and on the outside appear to belong there, but inside you feel like you are completely alone. It is true when they say that unless you have walked this walk, no one can begin to fathom the pain and loneliness that we as parents of loss feel.
Anger: The anger seems to just continuously sit deep down inside, and has a slow roll to it, like a pot of water that is just simmering. It doesn’t seem to grow, nor shrink and it doesn’t come to the surface. Not yet anyway, but you are always cognizant of the fact that it is there. I have seen a “grief” post where it says “before you tell a grieving parent to be thankful for the children they have, think about which one of yours you could live without.” Everytime I see this line, I feel the anger in it, and I understand. I think any parent that has lost a child will always have that pool of anger lingering inside of them. Anger can also bring an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion that is attached to you like another limb.
Pain: With grief comes pain. Sometimes a pain that is so excruciating that some people may feel they are better off joining their loved ones. I have never thought that, although I have endured much pain through this process. The way to be able to handle the pain that comes with grief, is to let yourself feel it, understand it, and accept it. Every time I feel the pain from the loss of Noah, I just remind myself that if I hadn’t loved him as much as I did, I may not feel the pain so deeply. That in itself makes the pain worthwhile.

As horrible as Grief is, it does have a piece to it that is like a friend. Sounds strange, doesn’t it? Grief has given me a different perspective in regards to daily interactions and life.

Kindness: In a society that is so technology driven, we tend to forget that behind every keyboard is a human that has a story. I have to admit that I never had kindness as a “goal” before, because I thought I was kind. What I have learned is that there are many forms of kindness, and I wasn’t really cognizant of them all. Through Noah’s death and hearing from others about him, I have learned that it takes very little effort to be kind and that one act of kindness to another can be life changing. Grief has made me be less judgemental and kinder.
Self care: Before Noah passed away, I really didn’t think about myself and what I need. Even though my boys were older, they were still my priority. The depth of grief can be like an abyss, something you could fall into and perhaps never climb your way out of. I have learned through this process that if I don’t take care of me, I won’t be any good for anyone else. I have had to make some hard choices in order for me to heal and find some peace, but ultimately I need to watch out for myself, because it is not acceptable to expect someone else to do it for you. The ultimate goal through self care is that I learn to love myself more for who I have become through loss.
Marriage: “In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, til death do us part.” Read that again. Those are not just flippant words. They are commitment to another. Next year, Rick and I will be married 25 years, and we have lived by that commitment on more than one occasion. Through every high and every low, we have stood together, strong. They say that when a couple loses a child, they either get stronger or the marriage ends. I am forever grateful to my husband for standing beside me, catching me when I am falling, and helping me to get back up. He supports me and loves me through every good time and every bad time. Losing Noah was the worst test for our marriage, but we never faltered. We both take that commitment to heart, and we have once again come out stronger than we were before.
Love: Love is an amazing thing. You see, love is what is so very much needed to be able to handle all the emotions from the enemy side of grief. With love, you can pass through the sadness, be pulled out of the desolation, and express the anger and frustration without fear. The love that our family has received through this tumultuous time has lifted us and carried us through some very dark days. It is so universal and healing and given freely. People that we didn’t even know reached out to us and sent us their love. It meant everything to us to know that people from around the world were keeping us in their thoughts. Others that dropped cards at our door or brought us a meal, that is love. Through this process, I have learned that it is important to tell people, not just your immediate family, that you love them. There are so many forms of love, and everyone deserves to be loved.

I am guessing that my “frenemy” and I will be together for a very long time, probably a lifetime. However, I am not going to let it rule my life, but rather I will try to live with it. If I let it take over me, then Grief has won. Since we will be together forever, I choose to continue to keep learning from it, embrace it, and love myself and my family through it. I don’t really see any other way.

Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom.

Thankful For My Son

This was our second Thanksgiving without Noah. I tried to be “normal.” I was so proud of myself that I could eat his favorite dessert and not break down. Trying to be my “old normal,” I have learned, is exhausting and not possible anymore. My normal has changed, and along with that, so have I.

My emotions are right at the surface, and with that comes a vulnerability that I didn’t have before. With that comes an acute sensitivity that I didn’t have before. I use to be able to mask my emotions quite well, not anymore.

I am a “Facebooker.” Every day you can see your memories from the year before. I noticed the gap. The gap between the Thanksgiving before Noah passed away, and then this year. There was no memory from this day last year. Not surprising really, because I am sure I didn’t want to memorialize that day. It was a tough day. Fast forward to this year, and I didn’t post anything again. That is not saying that my weekend wasn’t good, it was. We had some lovely meals with family and great friends, but there is such a void for me now. I feel it even more so when there are gatherings. Noah loved being with family. It was important to him, and I remember that every time we gather. I miss his presence, and his laugh, and seeing him converse with adults one minute, and then turn around and play with the kids.

This year was different. I realized today that he wasn’t really spoken about all weekend. There were no memories of him talked about or shared. There is no blame, just sadness. I kept feeling like I just needed to be present, which I was in body but not in mind. I sat at my kitchen table, visiting with my sister, and more than once I had to ask her to repeat things. I was looking at her, but I wasn’t hearing her. I had this ongoing thought in my head that “maybe I am suppose to be done grieving now because it has been a year, or maybe people are worried about bringing him up around me.” There is nothing further from the truth, because talking about him keeps him alive in our hearts and let’s us know you haven’t forgotten him. As for “being done grieving”……..I don’t know if that will ever happen, because to me grief is love.

Because we are suppose to give thanks this weekend, I feel like I need to give thanks to the one person that is no longer here, my son Noah.

Thank you for helping me learn how to be a mom.
Thank you for loving unconditionally.
Thank you for calling me every day and telling me you loved me.
Thank you for knowing when I needed your hugs.
Thank you for being kind.
Thank you for standing up for the underdog.
Thank you for being such a compassionate human.
Thank you for never losing your giggle.
Thank you for putting a note in my lunch.
Thank you for watching all the Hunger Games with me.
Thank you for your sense of humor.
Thank you for your loyalty.
Thank you for having such a big heart.
Thank you for being a true friend to so many.
Thank you for caring for me when I couldn’t care for myself.
Thank you for being such a fantastic brother.
Thank you for your humanity.
Thank you for your generosity.
Thank you for your willingness to help whoever and whenever needed.
Thank you making me feel important.
Thank you for being my boy.

We all have so many things in our life to be thankful for, but I wonder how often we stop to really think what those things are. The world is so much hustle and bustle, and not enough peace and solitude. In a world where there is so much strife for others, don’t you think we could all afford a few minutes to really give thanks for all that we have? To let the people in your life that you are thankful for, be told that they matter and they are important. Every day that you have with your loved ones is a gift, one that everyone should ultimately be most thankful for.

I received this message at the end of my Thanksgiving weekend:

“Keep close those you love. Maintain relationships that are healthy and loving and kind. The rest is wasted energy. You are blessed with a loving husband and a family that adores you, needs you.”

I needed that today.

12:34am

It has taken me a while to come back here and be able to write about the one year anniversary of Noah passing away. I still can’t bring myself to say “he died.” Passing away sounds gentler in my mind, and anything to do with him needs to be gentle.

I anticipated this day for what seemed to be 364 days, but the last 30 were the worst. When we hit the 11 month Angelversary of Noah, I immediately started to stress about the 1 year coming up. How would I feel, where would my emotions take me, would I have flashbacks to that night?

I didn’t anticipate the day to go as it did, and actually it was October 3rd that was the hardest for Rick and I. You see, that is the night it all started, the nightmare that would forever change our lives. It just reached it’s finality when the doctor pronounced Noah’s death at 12:34am on October 4th, 2018. We thought that going out of town would be a good idea, which I believe it was. We didn’t want to be staring at the 4 walls that we stared at for hours that night. I was acutely aware that it didn’t really matter where I was, because the nightmare follows you wherever you go. We were both “aware” of the night, but not really talking about it. I think I mentioned something on the drive out of town about how I was scared of what could be coming, although I didn’t know what it was. As the evening crept on, I felt myself tensing. I noticed the headache that I had since morning was still with me, and I was clenching my teeth so badly all night that I am sure I was just making the headache worse.

As the clock ticked on, minute by minute, I did start to see that evening before my eyes. As I was reliving every single moment of that night, I noticed that it was 12:30am, October 4th. I sat there and the tears started rolling. I grabbed my phone, found Matthew’s name in Messenger, and got a text ready to send. “I love you my boy.” I hit send. By this time, my tears are cascading and I feel like I did the first time I went out after Noah’s death. So exposed, like I was wearing a scarlet letter, everyone noticing me and staring. The moment had come, 12:34am.

Along with the dread about this day coming, was an overwhelming heavy sadness that a year had already gone by. A year of firsts, and more nights than I want to count crying myself to sleep. A memorial service that oozed love for Noah and our family. 364 discussions in my head with my beautiful boy, fundraisers in his name, stickers emblazoned on as many vehicles as we can possibly get them on.

As a parent who has lost a child, the biggest fear you have is that people will forget your child. Life carries on for everyone around us, yet at times we feel stuck. I remember when the memorial was over, and we came home and I was hit with the knowledge that now “it was over.” Our house had been busy and full of people helping and checking up on us, and we were so very grateful. We still are today. If it wasn’t for the people that lifted us up and carried us through this year, I am not sure where we would be. We always told the boys that it is better to have a few amazing friends, than many acquaintances. Through this tragedy, our circle grew.

I have learned much through this year, but the one thing that always comes back to me is that none of us know how much time we have. As a society, we need to remember this. Do all that you can to live and love life. It doesn’t take a lot of money to do this, it just takes human connection, friends and family. So sing at the top of your lungs, dance in the rain, make snapchat videos with your kids, take pictures, lots of pictures. Speak your truth, and be willing to listen to others. Don’t hold grudges and learn to forgive. Last, but certainly not least, make sure that the ones you love, know it. Tell them……..

Every. Single. Day. Because life is short.

I miss you my boy, and I will love you forever. Love mom

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

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.

Silent Tears

After a highly emotional day, that was fraught with tears, I climb into bed, kiss my Noah pendant and say goodnight to my boy. As I lay in the silence, I start to speak to Noah in my head, like I do every night, only this night, the tears start coming. My eyes are closed and I feel one tear cascade down across my nose and onto my pillow. As I lay in the stillness, there is another, and then another, and then another. My mind is racing and my breathing is no longer even breaths. I can feel the emotion building inside me, slowly gaining ground and making me gasp. The tears are no longer one slowly after the other, they are now a continuous stream. Through all this I am talking to Noah in my head, and trying so hard to have him hear me. I need him to hear me! I tell him that I feel broken, and that I can’t even explain to him how much I miss him, and how my heart literally aches. I tell him I just want one more hug, one more “I love you,” one more date night, one more text, one more anything.

Why doesn’t he answer? Why doesn’t he yell back at me, “so do I mom, so do I.” Every night I ask him to come see me in my dreams, and yet he doesn’t. Why? Is it because I am still so sad? Do I need to feel differently or be happier for him to come? I wish I knew the answer because I would do it in a heartbeat…..if only I knew.

In my mind and through my tears, I am yelling and cursing at God too. I was brought up to believe in a higher power, yet so many times in my life, I feel like I have asked “Why me?” Why have I been the one that gets tested time and time again? Why am I the mother that was chosen on October 4, 2018 to lose her son? Why do you think you deserve to have him more than me? Why do you think you need him more than I do? Why do I have to feel such pain over and over? Why did you have to be so selfish and take one of the loves of my life? I honestly don’t know what I believe anymore, because I was taught that God is good. In my mind, I tell him that I don’t feel that way. I yell at Him and tell Him that I hate Him, and I am angry! I am angry at God for turning my life upside down and ripping my heart out of my chest. You took my child! If there is a God, I don’t know that I will ever forgive Him.

I cried silent tears for a very long time that night. My pillow, wet from the waterfall, was proof of that. I sat up in my bed, looking into the darkness, hoping I could see my boy there. All there was, was the darkness of my room.

I truly hope that I am done being tested, because I don’t think I could handle another one, and I have been given the biggest test of all, losing my boy. I have cried enough tears to last me a lifetime.

11 Months

A dear old friend of mine sent me the photo below, on the eve of Noah’s 11 month angelversary. He said it made him think of me. That touched me, to know he is thinking of me, as we haven’t seen each other for many years. At the time that I received the message, I was feeling just as the photo portrays, heavy with grief.

“Angelversary” is a word I have learned through grief groups. It is a word that is used to mark the anniversary date of a loved one passing. Many say that our children became angels on that day. To me, Noah was an angel, long before he passed away.

As I sit here and reflect on the past 11 months without Noah, I truly can’t decide which is worse, looking back or looking forward. Honestly, I believe we are still in a state of “shock.” We must be, otherwise how does a parent carry on without one of their children? We have endured such grief, sadness, heartbreak and the endless feeling of loss for the past 11 months. When I think about looking back or looking forward, it reminds me of looking in a mirror. It is exactly the same.

I can’t explain the feeling I had on October 4, 2018. I think that is because there are no words to describe it, but I remember it so vividly. As that date draws near, I am reliving it in my mind, and expecting to feel it all over again, only this time, I will likely feel it through every nerve in my body and be so acutely aware of why.

When I reflect back, I realize that there has been over 300 days that I have not heard my boys’ voice or infectious laugh, or had him come through the front door, or send me a text, or wrap me in one of his enveloping hugs, or tell me that he loves me. I look forward, and I realize it is the same as looking back. I will never have those in my future either. Neither direction provides one ounce of comfort at this point in my journey through grief.

As we near the one year mark, I pause to reflect on how others may view someone in my shoes. Do they look at me and think that it has been almost a year, shouldn’t she be “moving on or getting on with life” (whatever the hell that is), or “be grateful I had 22 years with him”, or “just know that God needed him more.” (I don’t even want to discuss that one, but it would be a good idea for people to know that I don’t buy that.) All I will say to that is, when you lose a child, you definitely question your Faith. Last, but not least, I wonder if people are thinking that “Noah would want you to not be sad, or crying, but rather he wants you to be happy.” In my heart, I know that the final point is probably true, but in grief, it is almost like an addiction some days, and it just controls you, overtakes you and almost smothers you. I am aware that grief makes others uncomfortable. Hell, it makes me uncomfortable. Some don’t know what to say, so they say something that they hope helps you feel better. I get it. I am the first person in my life that I know personally that has lost a child. I wouldn’t want others to have to start their day with the painful reminder that their child is gone. It is like the movie Groundhog Day. It just repeats and repeats and repeats. I know my son, and I am sure that he understands why I am sad, and crying and burdened. I also recognize that he knows me well enough to know I will survive, as I have through so many other challenges in my life.

The 11 month angelversary is probably one of the worst ones yet. It is like the “countdown anniversary” because now it is 30 days to that horrifying angelversary, and I am sure I will be extremely cognizant of the date each day. Whether looking back over the past 11 months, or looking forward to all the coming months and years, the only thing that is a welcome constant, is that my love for Noah is forever and I will continue to try to honor him every day, in all that I do.

I miss you Noah, more than you will ever know, and I love you to the moon and back. Love Mom xo

Friendships

I remember when I was growing up on Chamberlain Drive, we had many neighborhood friends, and they were always more than ready to climb the tree by the big stump, play kick the can, ride bikes or just hang out. It is true that we would be outside until it got dark or your parents called you in. I still remember them fondly, but none of them became life long friends.

Then came the elementary and high school years. I had many friends, in elementary school and we all went to high school together as well. I had a few close girlfriends through elementary school and into high school, that I thought would be a part of my life forever. I found friendships in high school more difficult, because the friendships were always changing. I was also the lone girl in a group of wonderful guys. They called themselves “The Men of Adventure.” Of all the groups I hung around with, this one was the easiest. They just accepted me for who I was, and I never felt “out of place” or judged. I knew they had my back and would protect me, should I ever need it. I truly loved them. Sadly, I didn’t stay connected with them either.

Fast forward to the age of 22, and I get married. I realize now that I got married for all the wrong reasons, but I do believe that if you learn from mistakes, then not a minute was time wasted. I am fortunate to still have a connection from that marriage. She was my step daughter, but now I call her my friend. During the few years of my marriage, I lost the few friends that I still had from school. Everyone went on with their lives, and I retreated into mine. The friends that I thought I would have forever, I no longer had contact with. I am sure that much of that was my doing, as I wasn’t in a good place and I didn’t want people to know that.

After the divorce, I had to learn about myself again. I had lost the person I once was, and I knew that finding “me” had to be a priority. I finally got a job that I knew I was going to enjoy. What I didn’t know, was that I would be given the chance to work with an amazing group of women, who I still consider my friends today.

In the childcare field, we open our doors to students all the time. While working at this job, I had a student come join us for a practicum. Her name was Stephanie. I am trying to remember the exact year, but I am guessing it was around 1992. Little did I know that when this person walked into my world, she was never leaving.

Over the course of my life, I have had many friends. Some were for a short time, some longer. I believe that the people that come into our lives, have a purpose for being there for whatever that time span is. I would always tell my boys that it is better to have a few close friends, than to have many acquaintances. It is about quality, not quantity. Stephanie, also known as Auntie Steph, is my quality.

Steph is the gift of friendship that everyone should have. She has been there for the highest of highs in my life, and the lowest of lows. She has celebrated victories with me, and held me tight through losses. She was there when we celebrated the birth of our children, and she was there when Noah had a medical scare and when they informed us that Matthew may have had Downs Syndrome. She listened and she calmed me.

Steph is my “vault.” I can share anything with her, and I know it will not leave her lips to anyone else. I can count on her to be honest to a fault with me, and tell me if I am wrong. She is the one person, outside of immediate family, that has always been there for me, NO MATTER WHAT.

It is no wonder that she was chosen as Noah’s godmother. The relationship she shared with him was like no other. When he was little, she would take him overnight and spoil him. As he got older, she made sure that he knew she was there. Never did she miss a birthday, or a milestone in his life. She was so wonderful at celebrating him, and he loved her. His auntie Steph was like his “other mom.” He could talk to her, confide in her, and know that she always had his best interests at heart. He knew how lucky he was to have her.

Auntie Steph is the one person in Noah’s world that can say she loved him like he was her own. From the minute he entered this world, she became a part of his. When Steph and I sit and chat, and inevitably the conversation comes around to Noah, I can see the pain in her eyes and feel the ache in her heart. She is crying for him, not for me. That is a true example of love. When I talk to her about how I am feeling, or what I am questioning, or sharing my anger, I know there is no judgement. She makes me feel safe. She did the same for him.

If you or your children don’t have someone like this in their lives, then my wish for you is that you find one. In this world of technology, and automation, it is important that humans feel connected to another human. Life is stressful, and sometimes really hard. Knowing that you have someone in your corner that you can always count on is priceless.

So to our Auntie Steph, I say thank you and I love you. I think everyone could use an Auntie Steph in their lives, don’t you?

What’s in your toolbox?

I remember so very clearly the day our son Matthew was born. It was a typical day, nothing out of the ordinary. I didn’t feel all that great, but I figured that was normal being 8 1/2 months pregnant. I thought it may be a good idea to take a bath, try to relax and perhaps these nagging little cramps would go away. That was around 7:30am on March 12, 1999. At 10:10am, he entered the world and made my life complete.

I vividly remember holding him and thinking about what was to come. I thought of all the typical baby milestones and how wonderful it will be to watch him attain them. I quickly realized he was quite different from his brother! There was a personality in this young boy that was vivacious and gregarious. He was a mover and a shaker, one who went from being on the floor to walking, then to running. There was no crawling stage. Looking at Matthew now, I realize that he never changed the person he was from the time he filled my heart to now.

Fast forward 20 years, and here he is heading off to college! College! I still can’t believe it, or maybe I don’t want to believe it because along with his life changing, so is mine. As a mom, you try to raise your children to be independent, but who’s kidding who. We all tend to do way to much for them, and I am just as guilty as the next one. It is just another way for us to love them, and they certainly don’t complain when we do it.

He has been gone for a few days now, which normally wouldn’t bother me because I know he would be coming home in the next couple of days. But this time, it is different. For the first time ever, I am counting the months, not the days, and it feels like an eternity. I honestly don’t think the reality will hit me until I come home after work, and he doesn’t come through the door. I don’t get to tell the dog that Matthew is home. I don’t get “my time” with him to just sit and chat about our days. I won’t be able to do funny Snapchats with him. To some, it may sound mundane, but to me, it is “us.” That is what we did.

If all of this was a year ago, I would probably feel quite different. Different because Noah would be around and would help to fill the void. The reality is, the void is twice the size. Let’s face it, adjusting to Noah never walking through the door again, will never be. I feel that every single day. Logically, I know that this void is different, temporary, yet it is still another first in this year of firsts. When Noah died, I knew I had to be there for Matthew. I thought I had to be his rock, to be there whenever he needed me, because he was bound to, wasn’t he? The irony is that the vivacious and gregarious little boy that once stood in front of me, was now standing in front of me as a man. A strong, caring, compassionate human being, who ended up being my rock. He just knew when I needed a hug, or a hand to hold, or a shoulder to fall into and just cry. He just knew.

We raise our children with the hope that when they venture out on their own, that they have all the tools they need. He can take care of himself extremely well. He can make personal connections easily. He can be the best “best friend” anyone would want to have. He is compassionate, and caring, and kind, and funny, and personable, and athletic and smart. He has all the tools he needs. Sadly though, my toolbox is not so full……..

My toolbox is full of things for others. Moms, I think, forget to build a toolbox for themselves while they are parenting. They are so busy meeting the needs of others that they forget about themselves. There is always later, right? Well, here I am at the “later” part and I am not ready! All this time, I was helping Matthew build his, so that when the time came to cut the apron strings, he would transition easily, and so far he has. Over the course of the years, I thought I was doing the same, but I wasn’t. As much as I know that I need to cut them, and let him go, it is not as easy as one would think. When they move on, a part of you moves as well, but not in the same direction. You move to the “what now” stage. What am I suppose to do, where am I suppose to go, how am I suppose to be? For the past 23 years, I have been a mom and a wife first. Anything to do with “me” was never as important as being present for others. Now, all of a sudden, I need to be present for me, and I don’t know how to do that! I don’t know how to make myself MY priority. I feel like now I need to get to know myself, and with that means taking better care of me. They say that after a parent loses a child, they need to reinvent themselves. I haven’t even started that process, and now I need to learn how to adapt to my other son being away. My advice to all moms would be to start filling your toolbox now. Find interests for yourself, volunteer, surround yourself with friends. I don’t know that I am emotionally ready to take on ME, but I do know that I have lots of time now to focus on creating the new me. Baby steps……….