People call, write, text and leave messages asking how I’m doing. I never know quite how to answer that question. I vacillate between watching movies and reading books, alternating distraction with trying to learn how im going to cope with this. Every moment that I am without him and try to accept the reality that he is no longer on this earth, the emotional and physical pain I feel is so intense – far beyond anything I ever have known.

I said in an earlier post that the shock was wearing off, but I don’t think that is entirely true. I think the shock is like a protective tide that recedes from the shore of my pain, allowing little “glimpses” of the horror that festers underneath. I feel it building inside me during my waking hours and though I try to allow my feelings to come, to deal with them as they arise, I still feel like a ticking time bomb ready to explode with this anguish at any moment.

Can this really be my reality? I feel like im going crazy most of the time. That this can’t be happening. I’m incapable of any type of decision. I leave things places, wander into rooms I don’t remember needing to visit…I count on others to tell me what to do and guide me through it. I’m just kind of floating through this life like a zombie now, collapsing when the sadness seeps in.

I have this internal struggle going on all the time; wishing for my Noah and missing him. Hoping this is just a bad dream, even though I know it has been almost a month (choke) and that farce is wearing thin. But I know that I have to face this – the only way through it is THROUGH it, right? “If you’re going through hell, keep going” right? So I try to pull myself out of the delusion, past the denial.

The book I’m reading now: The Worst Loss, How Families Heal from the Death of a Child, by Barbara D. Rosof may be something I’m not quite ready for yet. It seems to says things like, “your child has died” over and over and I cringe every time. According to this book and the one before it, it may take years (YEARS!!) to ever develop or feel any kind of normalcy again.

Damn, why did this have to happen? Why did this unlikely accident befall MY innocent, little 6-year-old son?

And I cannot fully express the horrifying images that haunt my mind. How much did he suffer? He must have hoped I would save him. That’s what Moms do, right? We swoop in and make things better. And I did that all his life: with his lactose intolerance, his Celiac disease, his shyness…everything. But not this time. How long did he struggle, how long did he writhe in pain, with me so close by…yet so helpless to help him? I feel this enormous fear that in his last moments, his mommy disappointed him. No matter how impossible that may have been. All he knew was that he was in big trouble, tremendous pain, drowning and Mommy wasn’t there.

How do I even begin to try to live with that? And how is it in ANY way fair that I am even allowed to try? Everything seems like an insult to him: moving into a 2 bedroom place instead of a 3 bedroom. Splitting his ashes so Jason has some and I have some. Sometimes even breathing in and out seems like a gift I didn’t earn. A gift NOAH didn’t have the luxury of at the tragic end of his short life.

My soul feels tormented with this struggle. Between just making it through the day; the hour; the minute. And the agony of this strange, awful reality always there. Waiting for the tide to go out again so that I can experience the awful, ugly, horrific truth: That Noah Davis is gone. Noah Davis exists here on earth no more. The photos and videos of him are all that we will ever have. Ever. No more little hand in mine. No more sweet Noah Michael Davis, my little angel-boy with the gorgeous eyes and sweet smile.