Strong vs Strength

Over the past 10 months, I have heard: “you are so strong” or “how do you find the strength to carry on?” When I hear these sayings, I usually find myself thinking “I don’t feel strong, but I must be portraying that somehow,” or “some days, I don’t know where the strength comes from.”

Although each of these words have multiple definitions, in the life that I am living now, the following would be the context in which I would see these words. The definition of strong is:
“able to perform a specified action well and powerfully .” The definition of strength is: “in a difficult situation, it is their confidence or courage”.

Just the other day, I said to my husband that I wished people didn’t tell me I am so strong. He asked me, why would you say that? My response was “because I feel like I have to wear this face all the time so I look like I am doing fine.” Now for those of you that have said this to me, and there are many, please don’t feel or think that you said something inappropriate to me, because you didn’t. I know that it has been said with love and respect. It was meant as a compliment, and that is exactly how I have heard it. Here’s the thing though, many days I do not feel strong. The one place I would expect me to be “strong” as per the definition, is at work, and most days I am not. When I reflect back on my life before Noah passed, I think I was sharper, quicker, able to multitask, able to remember (that is a big one), able to follow through, able to be the leader that my team needed. Fast forward to today, and many days I come home tired. I am tired because I am trying to be “strong” and that is physically draining. Tasks that use to be second nature seem to take much more time. Focusing is mentally draining, along with listening and processing. I can be in my office and realize I need to go into one of the program rooms for something. I get up, I walk into the other room, and I completely forget why I was going there. That is taxing on the brain, and so very frustrating.

Then there is strength. Do I have strength? I know I do, but strength isn’t something I just magically get on my own. I have a husband that gives me the strength to get up every day and try to be the best person I can be. I have my son Matthew, who gives me strength by telling me every single day just how much he loves me. I have my parents, siblings and my extended family that give me strength by quietly being at the ready, should I need them. I have co-workers that understand that tasks are harder for me to complete, yet their patience is never-ending. I have families in my programs that thank me for what I do, and appreciate it. I have friends from all different walks of my life that check in on me, or send me beautiful “I am thinking of you” texts, or call just to let me know that they are there for me. And last but certainly not least, I have my angel Noah, who is watching over me 24 hours a day, making sure that the grief that I am living with, doesn’t crush me.

When I look at strong versus strength, I realize that being strong is a hell of a lot of work, so it is no wonder I am tired. However, having strength is so much easier, because all the people in my circle provide it to me. I don’t have to work hard to have strength, it is given to me freely, openly and lovingly.

As we move through this life, perhaps we could all be more aware of how the little things we do provide strength to others. Most times we probably don’t even realize that someone is needing strength to muddle through or process whatever they are dealing with, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we as humans can all fuel each other to make it through, whatever we are having to face. Make the time to be cognizant of the people around you, say hello, ask about their day, compliment them, or offer your help. Your one little act of kindness could just be the fuel for strength they needed that day.

To my son, Matthew

Where has the time gone? One minute you were a tiny newborn, and now here you are a young man, about to set out on an adventure that will shape your life.

I knew from the second you were born, that you would be a strong, determined individual. The pregnancy was not an easy one, but it was worth every appointment, every consultation, every ultrasound. The pregnancy was also one of the first lessons in life that made your dad and I realize that we could come together, share our thoughts and opinions, and come out united. You see, the doctor’s thought that you may have Downs Syndrome. We quickly realized that this was not a conversation a young couple would consider having before they started a family, but now here we were. We both knew that no matter what, we were having you because we already loved you, and would continue to love you. I remember thinking that regardless of whether you had Downs or not, you were going to be the luckiest brother around, because you would have Noah by your side as your big brother, your protector. He didn’t disappoint.

Noah was just shy of three and a half years old when he became a big brother to you. Oh how he loved you! He immediately took to the role and made sure you knew how much he loved you. He was always kissing you on the forehead. Even as a young boy, he cared deeply and loved fiercely and he knew his job was to watch over you. He was so very proud to have you as a brother. The bond was immediate………..Brothers First.

There was never a time in your lives together, that you weren’t close. Even with the age difference, you were still each other’s best friend. As you got older and started to participate in sports, Noah was your number one cheerleader. Any sport you tried, you excelled in. One would think there would be some form of rivalry or jealousy, but there truly wasn’t. All he ever wanted for you was for you to do your best and be successful. He would let people know how talented you were, or if you won an award, or if you were selected for something special. Noah was so very, very proud of you and your accomplishments. He could have chosen to just not be a part of it, to not attend your games, to not be there for you, but he didn’t. He was honoring you and celebrating you every step of the way. There was never jealousy from him towards you, only pride and so much love.

When Noah passed away, my heart was broken, not just for us as a family, but especially for you. That day, you lost not only a brother, but your best friend. The one “solid” you knew you had in your corner for life. I was worried it may change you. I wondered if you would turn bitter and angry, but you didn’t. Instead, you made a conscious choice to honor Noah in everything you do. I know you often ask yourself “what would Noah do?” or “what advice would Noah give me?” and you get the answers you are looking for. I know this, because I have watched you over the past 10 months, and I see you being the person he would expect you to be. He knows that you are continuing to love him every day.

Now here we are, getting ready for you to venture off to college, away from home. I am truly excited for you, to see what this adventure in your life brings. The idea that you get to play two sports that you love, hockey and baseball, and start on your educational journey is amazing! I know that you will excel in all aspects because you expect nothing less of yourself. You have taken on challenges before, and I have seen you work hard to conquer them. You are a strong, confident, compassionate, kind and loving young man and you have your destiny in your own hands now.

Letting go of you, and watching you spread your wings, is probably one of the toughest things as your mom, that I will ever have to do. All I can hope for is that your dad and I did a good enough job raising you and preparing you for this next chapter in your life. We are so very proud of you and of the amazing young man you have grown up to be. We will be there in spirit, cheering you on at every game, and so will Noah. He wouldn’t miss them for the world. Enjoy the journey, my boy.

Love Mom. xoxo

Angels Among Us

Those first days after Noah passed away are basically a blur. I believe your body just knows to keep on moving, but it doesn’t know where to move to. I recall spending hours on end just sitting in my living room, feeling so numb. Slowly the house started filling with family, and then the media started calling. I remember taking a call and being so calm, and telling them that it was fine to come over. It was fine, because we wanted to share about our son. We wanted people to know who he was, and how we had just lost a piece of our family. We didn’t sleep for almost 48 hours. I don’t believe any of us knew what was coming, or how much we had to do.

When someone dies, you almost morph into that person, and carry on completing tasks for them that they would otherwise be doing if they were here. You look at their typical day in order to figure out who you need to contact. Then, lists start being made of companies you need to call and cancel parts of their life. I recall waiting days to make those phone calls because then I would have to say those words, “my son passed away.”

In the craziness of those first days, we had so many questions, but didn’t know the answers, and we didn’t know where to turn to find them out either. In our fog and confusion, a few angels appeared. One of them was a very best friend of our son, one was her mom, and other was the best friend’s other dad. They loved him so deeply and wanted to do whatever they could to help us make the most important decisions…… how we could best honor and celebrate Noah. The bestie, we will call her “T”, was the list maker and note taker, (thank goodness because I couldn’t remember anything from one minute to the next). The mom, we will call her “S”, was the organized and bossy one, (lovingly so, of course) and the dad, we will call him “K”, was our knight in shining armor. Their patience with us was never-ending. We would sit and stare at them, and S would say “Okay, we need to find a venue.” Then she would give suggestions, and then make calls, then get back to us, always lovingly telling us to “just let her know and she will take care of it.” And that is what they did, T and S, they took care of it and held our hands all the way through it.

Now, K was truly a gift sent to us. You see, his job is doing cremations of loved ones. (Just another reality in this swirl of grief). He respectfully asked us if he could “take care of Noah” for us. Imagine how relieved we were to know that someone that loved our boy would go in on his day off, and ensure that he was with our son. You see, when a parent loses a child, they think of things like “my child is just going to be a number in a line to these people.” Our son wasn’t a number. He was taken care of and loved.

There were so many angels among us on the day of Noah’s celebration. We had coffee donated by friends of our son, we had hockey moms and baseball moms creating platters of food. My husband’s employer provided flowers, and we had a friend playing piano for all to enjoy. My brother Rick did Noah’s eulogy, and it was beautiful. I could have listened to him talk about him for hours. We also had a community stand behind us, and carry us through that day. Hockey players, all wearing their jerseys, lined the roadway in for us to the church. Players handing me flowers , and another angel lovingly took them for me and made sure they were all together for me to take home after. Strangers, who had heard Noah’s story came that day to support us. A community came together, and grieved not for us, but with us. Our community lost someone special that day, and we all felt it.

In this day and age of people being busy, and not as cognizant of others as they probably should be, it is important for all of us to take some time out of each day, and look around at the people that surround us. Every one of us has angels in our lives, we just need to slow down and take notice, and be grateful.

We lost our angel in the early hours of October 4, 2018, and that pain and sorrow will resonate forever, but I will also remember that through that loss, we gained so many angels in our lives. Those angels will continue to be a part of us forever, and I am sure Noah is happy and smiling about that.

10 Months

You have been gone for 10 months, which is over 300 days. 300 days and nights of kissing my fingerprint pendant goodnight, telling you that I love you and wishing you were here. As I lay my head down at night and close my eyes, tears start to escape from the corners. It seems that it happens so regularly that often I don’t even notice right away. Those tears come as I silently ask you to come to me in my dreams so I can hug you and hear your voice, and see your beautiful smile, just one more time.

During the first few months of you being gone, we were busy. Not what I would refer to as a typical good busy, but our busy had a purpose. It was all about you. Funeral home meetings, church meetings, discussions of arrangements and who would best speak to the person you were. Your celebration of life was the most beautiful one I have ever been too. The love that permeated the room was never ending. Your uncle Rick spoke so eloquently and lovingly about the person you were, and still are in our hearts. A community poured it’s love into your family and supported us and helped us through the worst time of our lives. We made it through it. I still don’t know how, but we did. Then, we were busy planning fundraisers in your memory. We wanted to honor you and create a scholarship that embodies who you were. Again, people stepped up and helped out and made each fundraiser a success. We made it through those because we kept the focus on you, and you deserved every minute of it. I believe we did you proud by the scholarships that are now out there in your name.

The past 10 months have had so many “firsts” in them. We anticipated each one with dread because we knew it was going to be painful. Every one of them was heart wrenching and left a mark on our hearts that will be there forever. You have to know that on every one of those firsts, we did our very best to honor you in ways that you would have appreciated.

Once all the busyness was done, it felt so final. It created a form of anxiety, because it felt like everyone else has just carried on with their lives, and here we were looking at each other asking “what now?” The answer, now you can grieve. Now you can open your heart to the aches and pains, and sadness and memories, and all else that comes along. The problem with this is, we had a set goal with all the busyness. It was to honor you and do you proud. How do we do that now? I don’t know that it is possible to “set goals” because the grief from losing you will be with us until the day that we die. I know the ache in my heart will be there forever because the piece that was taken when you died, is the piece I need back to stop the ache. I hope that in time, the ache dulls a little, and perhaps won’t give me the anxiety attacks or the deep, heavy sobbing that can sneak up on me at any time. I do know that one day I will get that piece back, and I know you are loving it and taking care of it for me, until I see you again.

Rest Stops and Traffic Jams

As we travel this road of grief, there are rest stops, which are the signs of beauty and love, and then there are traffic jams, which are the anxiety attacks or an overwhelming sadness that completely overtakes you. The worst though, is when you end up with a traffic jam in a rest stop…….

My son Matthew, he is a rest stop. He made a conscious decision to honor Noah in everything he does and every decision that he makes. He always lived by “Brothers First” while Noah was alive, and he has done the same in his death. He has proven time and time again that he is true to his word. He is an amazing brother, son and friend. He is beauty and love.

The ice arena, for the most part, was always a happy place for us. We grew up as a family at the rink, we made some of our best relationships and friendships at the rink, and we celebrated each other at the rink. But now, the idea of going to a rink turns that rest stop into a traffic jam. Even though it brought us so many wonderful times and creating life long memories, it brings anxiety, and sadness and tears. Noah died doing something he loved, but the memory for me is that it was at the rink.

My relationship with food and Noah was an absolute rest stop. He loved food, and he would gush all over me when I made his favorites. Ham, perogies, pot stickers, lasagna, any type of casserole, shepherd’s pie, but mostly his aunt Priscilla’s “striped delight” dessert. The list is actually endless, because Noah just loved food. Sadly, food has become, in some cases, a traffic jam in a rest stop. I can still prepare all his favorites and remember times that I made them for him, but it has brought me to tears on more than one occasion because I miss being able to cook for him. I miss him loving on me for filling his belly.

An ambulance. An ambulance, I just realized very recently, is a traffic jam. I guess until I had one driving right beside me, I hadn’t had it trigger me. It wasn’t beside me for long, but it took me back to that night at the rink, when Noah went in an ambulance……..alone. I didn’t go in it with him. By the time he was put in there, I had barely even seen him because I was being shielded from seeing exactly what was going on. He went with the medical crew, and we followed behind. That ambulance made me apologize out loud to him in my car. I apologized for not going with him. In that moment I felt like the worst mom ever. I felt like I had abandoned him at the most fragile time of his life. When he needed me most, I wasn’t there. I asked him to forgive me.

The sky used to not really have any impact on me at all, except for deciding what to wear that day. It may be clear blue, or cloudy, or raining. It just was what it was. I guess it was a rest stop although I didn’t know that until after Noah passed. The difference now is that the sky is a traffic jam in a rest stop. I can see the beauty in the clear blue now, or the clouds or the rain but I also feel such deep sadness when I look at the sky. People who have lost loved ones quite often say that they look to the sky for them. Perhaps that I why I end up in a traffic jam. I think I am typically looking for Noah in the beauty that is the sky, yet I don’t find him, or at least I haven’t yet.

My husband Rick, now he is a permanent rest stop for me. The depth of caring and love that I get from him on a daily basis is what keeps me going. He so beautifully understands and reminisces with me when I am at a rest stop, and he just as quickly takes the wheel when I am in a traffic jam. He talks to me, he allows me the tears, or joins me in the tears. When I apologize, which I do quite often, he reminds me that I have nothing to apologize for. He is my guide when I am in a traffic jam in a rest stop. He helps me navigate through it until I can steer clear of it. I am so very grateful to have him by my side. We all need a Rick in our lives.

For all of us, it is important to be able to recognize when we are at a rest stop. Take the time to absorb it, rejoice in it, or share it. When we are in a traffic jam, one must allow themselves the time to figure out how they got there or why they are there. Remember that when in a traffic jam, you are typically moving quite slow, so there is time to figure out what wrong turn did we make. Finally, when we end up in a traffic jam while in a rest stop, it is important that we be kind to ourselves, allow time to process it all, so that perhaps the traffic jam will open and we can just rest, at our rest stop.

Walk a Mile In Their Shoes

In this day and age when technology is all around us and basically a part of everything we do, do we really stop and think about people? Do we remember that there is a human spirit in all of us, and we all still have feelings, and emotions?

Wednesday was an extremely emotional, as well as physically and mentally draining day. We spent over 5 hours with a doctor and his team at St. Pauls Hospital. The entire time there, we were focused on Noah, Matthew, Rick and I. We relived Noah’s death, we shared stories with them about what an amazing young man he was, much too young to die, and we discussed life now without Noah. To say that we were “spent” is an understatement.

I came home, sat down, and started scrolling through Facebook. I belong to a number of groups on there and honestly, since Noah died my mind is more mush than solid many times throughout the day. Anyway, there is a group that I am in, which is a “pay it forward” group. The purpose of this group is to offer things for free to people who may need them or you can ask for things you may need. It seems to work well.

A member in the group had posted that she was looking for a blow dryer. She stated that it is the only sound her infant will fall asleep to, and the one they had quit on them. Well, I immediately think that I could offer some guidance, so I ask if she had looked at Value Village, as then tend to have many there on most days. The writer of the post stated that she had looked there, and had no luck. I left it at that.

A while later, I see that someone has mentioned me in a reply on that particular post, so I click on the tab to open it. Another person in the group decided to rip a strip off of me because “how could I be so stupid to suggest she go look somewhere to buy one, when obviously this is a pay it forward group and she probably doesn’t have any money. Some people!” She then followed it with a picture, which I am still not sure what it was symbolizing, but my first thought was that it was an empty soul.

I started to cry and I was crying for a few reasons. The first one was that I immediately felt horrible, because in that moment that I had replied, I was thinking I was in a different group. The second one was because I felt what she said was cruel and unnecessary, and the third was because I had just spent a day being emotionally drained, and the tank was on empty.

I replied to this person. I said something along the lines of “I apologize for posting that suggestion as I now realize that I thought I was in a different group, where they were looking for suggestions. Also, if you knew what I have been going through, and what I endured today, perhaps you would have been a bit kinder. We can all stand to be a bit kinder.”

In that second, I felt like I wasn’t a human being to this person that replied. I was just some face behind a keyboard to her. It also made me recognize that being in a technical world isn’t all it is cracked up to be. Just look what it has done to mankind. It has made all of us distant, disengaged and at many times ignorant. There is something to be said for that “old days” feeling where if you were angry with someone, you would use the telephone and tell them to meet you at the tree fort. Once there, you would have a true face to face, where emotions are shared and shown either on our faces or in our body language. (There may have been some fists too…..)

What came of this interaction was more a lesson for myself, than for the invisible person that posted the reply. Immediately I reflected on the fact that this person has absolutely no idea who I am or what my family has been through. But then I thought, “does that really matter?” The answer to that is “No it doesn’t.” You see, whether she knows me or not, or whether she knows my situation, doesn’t give her the right to be rude or condescending, but in this age of technology, it seems to be the way much of the human race is going. My story is just one example of this, but I see it regularly on social media. People hide behind the keyboard, thinking that this behavior is okay because they “don’t know the person anyway.”

As a society, we need to be cognizant of the fact that everyone has a story. We have all suffered some form of grief or trauma in our lives, and as I have learned, we don’t get over it but rather learn to live with it and we do the very best that we can to cope each and every day. I thought about this after that interaction and wondered what her story is. I am sure she has one.

After I had replied to her, another member of the group posted that famous line “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” I am sure we have all had those words pour out of our mouths at some point in our lives. It then made me remember this one from my childhood, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Think about that for a minute. It is a defense reply, but one that is so untrue. We tend to heal better from injuries caused by sticks and stones, than we do words. Words are so powerful. They can just as quickly hurt a person or make a person feel loved and wanted.

So, the next time you are going to reply to a fellow human being, whether it be via social media, text message, or e-mail, take a minute to walk in someone else’s shoes and remind yourself that we all have a story and some aren’t as pretty as others. Some stories have changed who that person is today. In our house, we always told our children to treat others as you want to be treated. Besides, don’t you think we could all be a bit kinder to others? I do.

A different view on life

There is life before Noah passed away, and then there is life after. The one before is full of memories, laughter, light, and love that all encompassed him. The life after is so different.

Memories are the life before. We don’t really reflect back on them as much as we should while all is good in our world. We go through our days making memories, but we aren’t thinking “we need to make memories, really good memories” so that if one of us should die, those people left behind will have so many happy thoughts of our time together. We just live, and while living we celebrate birthdays, holidays, weddings, family reunions, friendships. We all need these events in our lives because they keep us connected to those we love.

But what is the after called? You will still be making memories, but they have a void in every one of them. You try to do the right thing and live as you believe that person would want you to, but that is not always an easy task. You now cling to those memories, and hope you never forget them because that is all that you have left of that person. You talk about them constantly because you don’t want them to ever be forgotten and this is the only way you feel like you can keep their memory alive. You want to hear others say their name so that you know that they haven’t forgotten them either. In the “after” times, I find myself saying “Noah would have loved this” or “remember when Noah did _____.” Honestly, sometimes I find myself looking for him during the “after” because he should be here with me, making memories.

In the “after,” his birthdays are a harsh reminder now that he has died. Holidays are a harsh reminder he has died. Family reunions are a harsh reminder he has died. Dates on a calendar that I would have looked forward to are now so ominous and looming. I don’t get to make memories with him ever again. We try to celebrate him on these occasions, which is all that we can do, but it hurts like hell. We try to change these dates up, by altering our usual actions or activities because it doesn’t seem right without him to carry on as usual.

In everything we do as a family, we do our very best to honor him and have him remembered somehow. I try my hardest to put on the face and carry on because I still have people here that are counting on me. Sometimes, I would rather sit behind my blind-covered windows and just hide. It is exhausting living without someone you love. The emotions are right at the surface all the time. I find myself apologizing more now when I am telling someone something, and the tears start to flow. Why do I apologize? I am his mom, and the day he died, a part of me went with him forever. There is no way that I couldn’t have allowed that. I believe with all my heart that he needed that part of me, because no matter how old your child is, they will always be your baby and they will always need you, whether it is here on Earth or in Heaven.

As I move forward through this year of firsts without him, I have to remember to allow myself to grieve, and to cry, and to speak his name, and to reminisce with those that knew him and loved him. In reality, that is what I have left and I will keep him alive in everyone’s hearts by speaking his name.

Noah Lane Trulsen, you are so very loved and missed every single day, but you will live on forever in my heart.

Flashbacks

I get flashbacks of that night, or rather the early morning of October 4, 2018.  I am sharing that night’s events because it is such a major part of our grief. Grief doesn’t start at the moment the person dies. It is a timeline of all the events and emotions that surround the death.

It all started with a text.   Matthew was sent a text by the team that Noah was sparing for.  He wasn’t supposed to be playing.  He had been studying for days for his final electrical exam and just thought he would take the night off and go have some fun.  The text said, “Noah is unconscious on the ice.”  Matthew came running downstairs to me at around 10:45pm and told me.  “Do we get dad?” he asked.  Rick had just gone up to bed about 15 minutes before.  “YES” I replied as I rushed to grab my purse and put on my shoes.  Matthew went to tell his dad and then came back downstairs and told me he received another text.  “He is doing okay mom; they have the defibrillator on him.”  I replied with “that is not good Matthew.”  I don’t think he knew what that machine was for. 

We all jumped in the truck and did 140 kilometres an hour all the way from our house in Maple Ridge, to Twin Rinks in Langley, slowing at intersections but not stopping.  As we approach the rink, we see 2 ambulances, a fire truck and 3 police cars.  I am sure my heart stopped in that instant.  Someone, I have no idea who, met us just inside the doors and said, “they have him on a stretcher and are working on him.”  Working on him?  What does that mean?  As we entered the rink, Rick turned to whoever had me along with Matthew and told them not to let me see what was happening.  I did see that someone was doing compressions.  My boy is a healthy 22-year-old.  Why are they doing compressions??  As they wheel him by me on the stretcher, someone is sitting on him continuing to do CPR.  They tell us to meet them at Langley Memorial.

Back in the truck, we race to the hospital in silence.  Each of us with our own thoughts.  Please don’t let this be what it looks like!  Please don’t let my boy die!

We arrive at the hospital and we go into the emergency room.  There is my boy, lifeless, with a tube down his throat and now a machine is continuing to do CPR.  I don’t remember a word they said except that he was gone, we should say our good-byes, and it is 12:34am, October 4th.  Looking back, I realize I was probably in shock.  I can still hear the guttural cries coming from Matthew as he is on his knees on the floor, holding Noah’s hand.  That is a sound I will never forget. I stood there and remembered the last 22 years with my son.  I leaned over his head, brushed his hair back, kissed his forehead and told him over and over that I loved him more than life itself.  I did that a few times, and then we were escorted to a room where victim services were going to meet with us.  Victim services?  Are we victims here?  Yes, we were.  We were now the victims of Grief.

I remember trying to get hold of my family members.  No one was answering, why weren’t they picking up the phone??  I felt so helpless.  We must have been at the hospital for over an hour, just wandering in circles.  Eventually, it was decided that we should head home.  I remember thinking, “We can’t leave him there, he is all alone.”  While driving home, I remember saying to Rick “What do we do now…….”  The pain in my chest was unbearable.  I was suffering from a shattered heart.

Today, I cope the best that I know how, and some days are better than others.  But on those bad days, I have vivid flashes in front of my face of Noah laying in that hospital with the machine trying to start his big, beautiful heart.  Then I hear a voice saying, “Noah is dead.”  When that happens, I get this immediate empty pit feeling in my stomach and I go cold and the tears flow.  It happens at the most random of times, and when I least expect it.  I don’t know that it will ever go away.  I also can hear Matthew’s cries from that night.  No mother should ever have to hear that sound coming from her child.  I am sure that night is etched in his mind, as clearly as it is in mine.  My heart breaks for Matthew every day.  He not only lost his brother, but he lost his best friend.  Our decision to instill in our boys that it is “Family First, Brothers First” has proven to be both a blessing and a curse, in a way.  They truly lived by it together, always being there for each other, over anyone else, and Noah passed away knowing we would continue to live by those words.

Marriage

I remember the day I met him.  I was finally comfortable being on my own, and then BAM!  There he was, this handsome guy with a mullet.  We have been together basically since the day we met.  Something clicked, something felt right.  In just over a year of meeting, we were pregnant and married.

A family was something we both wanted, and we loved being parents.  As a new mom, I was hopeful that my Early Childhood background would help me along the way.  I think it did, I hope it did.  We dove in with both feet and welcomed Noah into our world, November 16, 1995. 

They say a parent’s love for a child is different from any other.  No truer words.  I clearly remember the first day I felt him move, it was July 6th, 1995.  I fell in love with him then and knew I would do anything for that little being.  The day he was born, I fell in love with him even more.  I remember my heart aching.  Aching from the amount of love I had in there for my boy.  Now I love my husband, but this truly was different.  I wasn’t prepared for that, not at all, but I loved the feeling.

This little man was my world.  I loved everything about being a mom.  I had to sleep in the living room for the first 5 months of his life because he nursed every 2 hours around the clock.  Sleep deprivation was not my friend, but I was a mom now and this little boy was counting on me.   He was my priority.

You see, Noah taught me so much.  I went through all the parenting “firsts” with him.  I didn’t know the first thing about being a parent, yet each time he met a milestone, I met it with him and celebrated him.  From a young age, Noah was the exact same little person as he was as an adult.  He was so loving, kind, patient, funny.  I remember when Greg Moore passed away.  We were going to go down to the makeshift memorial that had been set up in Maple Ridge.  Before we left, Noah went upstairs to his playroom to grab something.  He came back down and handed his dad a race car.  My husband asked him what that was for and Noah’s reply was “so he has something to play with in Heaven.”  So kind and gentle.

Fast forward to 2018.  He is now an adult, but in my heart still my baby boy.  During those years of raising children, your marriage is supposed to come first.  I can honestly say that ours didn’t.  That doesn’t mean that we ever stopped loving each other, but in our hearts, we knew that this was our job.  We wanted to be good, well not good, but great at it and so we did work very hard at being the best parents we could be, and we succeeded.  We raised boys that are the whole package, so to speak.  They are genuine, gentle, kind, compassionate, loving, funny, giving and forgiving.  I had no concerns that they wouldn’t be great spouses or parents.  Our job was done successfully.

However, now we need to get to know each other again as partners.  We have been through many trials and tribulations together, so the core of who my husband is was very clear to me.  He is a proud man who wants to take care of his family and be a great husband.  Never in our 25 years together has he judged me or criticized me or spoken harshly to me.  In a nutshell, he loves me for who I am, and I know that I have been lucky.

So, why all the backfill of our marriage and family life?  Well, our family was fractured by the death of Noah.  I say fractured instead of shattered because a fracture can heal, but something shattered really can’t be put back together.  In those first of darkest days, neither of us pulled away from each other.  Just like other times throughout our life, we stood strong together and held each other up.  He was so selfless and was so concerned about me and was always checking in to make sure I was okay.

It is said that a death of a child can break a marriage apart.  I absolutely believe that is true and I can also clearly understand the “how” and “why.”  Noah’s death has brought us closer than ever.  We cry openly, we talk, we share, we laugh, and we still check in on each other.  We spend most of our down time together and there is comfort that comes from that.  You see, I am spending time with someone that I love, and someone who “gets it.”  He has all the same feelings and questions as I do.  It is such a safe feeling to be spending time with a reflection of yourself.  I think we are kinder, gentler and more compassionate towards each other now than we were before when our focus was shifted.

I believe that what we share now is a deeper love than either of us probably thought about.  We all go through our lives telling people that we love them, and we are genuine when we do that.  However, the love I feel for my husband now is different than before.  It is deep, and it is comfortable.  I think we share the kind of love that many people hope for in their lives.  I am forever grateful to my husband for being the man he is.  He is the exact man that Noah was growing up to be.

A Few Hours of Peace

Today, my better half convinced me to go fishing with him. We are on our summer holidays and each day is long and slow, just how it should be. I thought I should try this fishing thing, since it had been a very, very long time. I believe I have gone once before with my husband, but beyond that the only memory I have of fishing was with my dad. It was “our time” together when I would go to visit him. We would fill a thermos with coffee and head out onto the lake in the early hours. Those are some of my fondest memories of my dad’s later years.

I am told that the lake isn’t very far, which was true, but he didn’t tell me it was a gravel road kind of ride. I held on to my Starbucks, trying not to lose a drop! We get to Silver Lake and I do my best to be helpful and not look like I don’t know what I am doing (which I didn’t.) We launch the boat, I not so gracefully climb in, and we are off. My husband gets a rod ready for me and we start trolling, (I think that is what it is called), around the lake. It is a beautiful sunny day, and only a few light clouds in the sky. I have taken to looking at the sky quite often as it makes me think of Noah. The colors around the lake are so vibrant, and the water is acting as a mirror for the beauty around it, reflecting the array of colors right back at me. I look around and it makes my mind flash to one of my favorite photos of my boys……

That one brief flash brings on a panic attack. My heart is racing, I feel light headed and it is hard to catch my breath. I close my eyes and try to deep breathe. That isn’t working, I still have the racing. I think to myself, “maybe if I tell my husband, maybe if I acknowledge it, it will go away.” Nope. I find myself chatting, trying to pretend it isn’t there, explaining why I think it is happening, like that will make it stop. Nothing is working, nothing is making it go away. In that moment, I give in, and let the attack run its course. I know I am not able to will it to stop, but I can continue to carry on. So I did. I have no idea how long it lasted, it felt like a long time, but it did eventually go away. I feel like I have won! I have survived another panic attack.

An acceptance came over me today. I accepted the fact that I truly cannot control when grief is going to raise its ugly head and perhaps ruin a moment, if I let it. I made the conscious choice to just let it happen. I took in the beauty, when it was hard to breathe. I felt the tranquility all around me, and I was in awe of this little lake, set perfectly in nature. I let the tears flow as I remembered that photo and how happy the boys were when they were together.

Death can tear you apart as a family and as a couple. I am grateful every day for the husband that I have. Although our son’s death has altered his very being, he is still there for me in my “moments.” He understands the attacks, the overwhelming sadness and that a piece of my heart is gone forever, and yet he continues to steer the boat, both while fishing and in our lives. He truly is one of my greatest blessings.