Weak Moments

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angel, beautiful son, blessing, child, comfort, cry, dead, death, dying, grief, grieving, grieving parent, heartbreak, heaven, insight, little boy, loss, loss of a child, love, memories, memory, Mental Health, missing my son, Noah, pain, sad, sadness, son, suffering, tragedy, writing

It’s funny how the mind works. In the early morning hours when the fog of sleep lifts ever so slightly and before the alarm reminds me of the tasks of the day…

Maybe it was Zoe’s short hair that set it off. Maybe it was the shooting at the Jewish Community Center where Noah went to preschool. Maybe it was just completely random. It’s hard to say.

This morning I was only half-awake as I was thinking. I thought of my children and how much I missed seeing Noah. It has been so long since I’ve seen Noah and I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why. Where was Noah? I have seen lots of Zoe lately, thank goodness, and always on schedule. But why hadn’t I seen Noah?

Jason must be keeping him, I thought. Why would he do that, though? Why would he share Zoe as planned but not Noah? As I thought harder to solve this mystery, I tried even harder to recall the last time I had seen them together and then something in my brain clicked on like a light switch.

Oh, I realized.

Noah is dead.

Dead. It’s such a harsh word that I have always made it a point of utmost importance to not let myself utter or even THINK that word. The self-protecting reflex on which I had grown so dependent was called upon once again. I tried so hard to collect myself and find an acceptable synonym. But it was too late.

Dead.

There it was. That word. That WORD describing my SON! It suffocated my heart.

With the cloud of sleep still weighing heavy on my body and mind, I could not seem to find a way to appropriately censor and filter my own thoughts, as I do when I am fully awake. Heartbroken and frustrated with myself, I tried to push it all from my head. A trip of conscience while the part of me that knows how to self-soothe was still sleeping. And the harsh truth of everyday language crept in on me like the sun creeping slowly from behind the curtains.

Luckily, I have other tools to fall back on. Tools like denial: making me able to force myself asleep (only sometimes) where I can pretend none of it happened. Just go back to sleep, I told myself. And somehow, my practiced intuition was able to forget the fact that almost two years later, there are still times that I believe Noah is alive. Out there somewhere but being kept from me; just out of reach.

When I realize the harsh truth, it’s as if I’m back in that hospital room again, saying goodbye to my only son as my heart, future, LIFE shatters right before my eyes.

My coping tools have grown strong, but these slip-ups still come. Even though, enduring and strong (strongER?), they live in me and haunt me for days. My head knows that my son is gone. My heart is still learning.

Cards

Somehow, and I have no idea how, some photos I had taken of the sympathy cards we received, made their way onto my iPhone camera roll. I honestly haven’t a clue how that happened.
So, I believe that perhaps these sentiments were meant to be shared. Maybe someone else who needs them will come across these words at just the right time. Even in the fog of pain and shock, these words and the love they describe brought comfort when it was most needed.

The Things I Cannot Do

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angel, beautiful son, blessing, boy, broken, child, crazy person, cry, dead, death, dying, faith, grief, grieving, heartbreak, insight, little boy, loss, love, memories, memory, Mental Health, Noah, pain, sad, sadness, son, son noah, suffering, tragedy, writing

Almost two years.

TWO.

Two years later. And there are still so many things I cannot do. I still cannot see or be near a swimming pool. I’m a renter now. And sometimes I look at homes for sale. But I somehow cannot bring myself to leave this place where I have landed.

I know that I need a new mattress. But the one that I sleep on now is the same one that I used to “throw” Noah onto and tickle him like crazy. The couch and chair are worn and tattered. But somehow, I cannot replace them. They are the same pieces of furniture on which I held my sweet son! I covered them with old, worn blankets when he was sick…just in case he threw up on them. My washer and dryer served their duties when he was sick or had accidents. So there is no “upgrading” for those items.

I recently invested in new pillows for my own bed and somehow, even that was difficult. The memories of HIM, snuggled up with me in the morning light, watching Sponge Bob Squarepants, still haunts me somehow. The old pillows are in Zoe’s room now…in the hopes that she might want them. Keep them, somehow, as I have for this past year or so. And I think of the brand NEW pillows that I got for him when I got his new big-boy loft bed. The one with the drawers hidden in the staircase leading to the bed, only 16 inches from the ceiling; the bookshelves and desk tucked in underneath like a secret clubhouse. And how I never saw that clubhouse, those drawers…ever again. Not after… I had removed the flower shaped drawer pulls; replaced them with regular knobs. Painted the pink cork board gray. And Noah said…nonchalantly…which was HIS way…how he preferred this color over the bright pink that it used to be. And my mind wanders, trips on the fact that this comment was a mere 2 days before he died. Before his accident. Before I never really saw HIM again.

And there is still so. SO. So. much that I cannot seem to let go of. SO much that I still cannot get past. Maybe someday I will. Maybe Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and the easter bunny and magic really does exist and I will magically find a way. And maybe not. Either way…I am ok with it. Because whatever it all turns out to be or mean…I will always love him. I felt HIM, inside me, the first stirrings of life. And I was there as his last few breaths escaped his little body. He was always – WILL ALWAYS – be a blessing in my life. Regardless of what a mother / son relationship should be, my little boy and my Zoe will always be the light of my life. My gift to the future:

http://www.katsandogz.com/onchildren.html

Love. Just Love. It’s ALL that Matters.

And my love is strong and transcends ALL. Even death.