a year in review

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I have had trouble writing lately. There just seems to be so much: feelings battling with other feelings, thoughts confronting and shaping beliefs, depression clouds moving in and coloring all of it at times. It’s hard to get any of it into words and these last few months have been more about distraction as a coping tool.

Tomorrow, July 5, will be what some refer to as Noah’s “Heaven Date.” The anniversary of the day he was officially pronounced to have died. But for me, it isn’t really about that specific day, but the process spanning several days that culminated in the finality of my son’s existence. I find myself obsessively reviewing the journal from Noah’s caringbridge website (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/noahdavis), comparing the dates and times of the updates with the times now. I don’t really know why. Maybe a part of me wants to honor his process; remember with a clearer head what was so traumatic and shocking at the time, that it has become this nightmarish blur; the details of which I strain to recall.

Over this year, this painful alternate reality, I have tried my very best to cope. Desperate for comfort, I have leaned on friends, family and sometimes complete strangers to see me through.

Even without his actual presence tangible beside me, his Spirit, now one with the Universe, reaches across all boundaries:

• The parents I know watch their children like hawks when they go swimming now.
• They would never let their child swim in a pool where it is too dirty to see the bottom.
• When I am missing him most, Noah leaves me little signs like a wild rose on the ground where there are no rose bushes or wild rabbits making a home under my best friend’s porch across the street from me.
• While searching for something else on the day after Mother’s day, I came across a recordable Hallmark card from last Mother’s Day. Opening it, I was delighted and crushed to hear Noah’s bright voice “Happy Mudders Day!”
• I was invited to create a Dia de los Muertos altar in honor of Noah last fall, where I got the opportunity to share Noah’s story with countless others who visited The Mattie Rhodes Center during First Fridays, local school field trips and a beautiful celebration honoring the Day of the Dead.
• I have cultivated a relationship with one of Noah’s kidney recipients and look forward to exchanging information and hopefully meeting her someday. She is a lovely, very grateful woman who needed a very specific match for a successful transplant. Noah’s kidney was her perfect match.
• Chief of Police Larry Larimore, upon learning of Noah’s fondest wish to be a police officer when he grew up, was a catalyst for making Noah’s dream a reality. On August 27, 2012, what would have been Noah’s 7^th birthday, Noah was sworn in as an honorary member of the Shawnee Police Department and awarded the Medal of Valor for the lives he saved through organ donation. (P.S. Watch the full ceremony here but fast forward to about 20:00 to get to the actual ceremony)
• Noah’s story, especially his swearing-in as an honorary Police Officer and awarding of the Medal of Valor, was shared through countless local news stations and newspapers.
• Officer Amanda Pandolfi of the York Regional Police in Ontario, Canada has a photo of Noah posted on the inside of her locker. She says, “I see him every morning when I report for duty and every night before I go home to my own kids.”
• My dear friend Alyson, who happened to be going through a rough patch in her own life, somehow managed to take all the clothes that Noah had at my house and create three beautiful quilts; each one a work of art and loving testament to Noah. Zoe and I cried when we saw them, remembering his favorite shirts, the ones he always tried to wear backwards and the little pockets where he would stash his matchbox cars.
• While in the hospital last year, Zoe made a friendship bracelet for Noah and tied it around his ankle. She made matching bracelets for all the family and friends who visited us and for anyone who wanted one. Noah was cremated wearing it.
• While Zoe and I were in Italy, we were in awe of the beauty and love around us and were accepted immediately as part of Isabella’s family. It wasn’t until my bracelet broke – the one Zoe made to match Noah’s – that I cried. I realized later that it was the longest amount of time that I had gone without crying in over a year and a half.
• Zoe promised to make me another one. 🙂
• After Noah’s accident at the apartment swimming pool, the City of Overland Park, Kansas required them to have a certified Pool Maintenance Technician on staff. (Shouldn’t they all? From what I understand, semi-private swimming pools – apartment pools, hotel pools and the like – are not required to have a swimming pool maintenance specialist on staff.)

I’ve had some changing to do this year also. When I first moved into my new place, it took a long time to come to terms with the fact that this is my life now. Sometimes I still struggle with that.

I had lots of help from co-workers and close friends who moved me from the apartment across from that horrifying swimming pool (which I never had to go back to) to my new home and helped me organize my things. It’s an enormous understatement to say that I had too many loving caretakers around me to count.

Still, I feel like I have yet to “settle in” completely, which I suppose is an expected metaphor for my life. Noah’s toys and books still sit in unopened boxes, too painful to approach for now. Someday when I need him, I will open and savor each little item; slowly, one by one.

For a long time, my new home was more like a shrine. Photos, toys and memorabilia everyplace I looked. It was comforting and I felt like it kept him close to me. But over the last month or so, as this week has crept closer and closer, I’ve had to tuck some things away. It’s just become too sad. I still display his photos here and there along with Zoe’s, his ashes on the bookshelf with his Suzy bunny and the shadowbox with his police badges. I know that no matter how hard it is to accept sometimes, Noah’s Mom is not the only role I have to play in life. I’m Zoe’s Mom too. Ben’s Sister. Dan’s Daughter. Employee. Friend. Confidante. Noah would want me to be the best I can be in these roles and I work to make him proud.

I also feel compelled, on mornings like this one when I feel strong, to create positive change in the world from my loss. Perhaps that means advocating for stricter, more enforceable regulations for semi-private swimming pools, education on pool safety or perhaps matchbox cars for pediatric patients. Maybe all of the above. When I am stronger and the grief-bursts subside a little I will know.

No doubt my grief is raw again now as I look at the calendar disbelieving that it has been a year since I’ve seen Noah, heard his laugh or held his hand. Over the last year, I have struggled to comprehend the traumatic events that I witnessed in rapid succession: his limp body jolted by CPR compressions, his cold blue fingers, toes and lips, the way the oscillator blew up his little body like a balloon because his lungs were too damaged to contain the air pumping into them, watching the team of doctors and surgeons try to revive him during the three times that his heart stopped, the last sponge bath I gave him one year ago today, talking to him and then finally kissing him goodbye that next day.

I have tried very hard to replace these horrific memories with good ones: Christmas mornings, knock-knock jokes, snuggle time, bedtime stories and songs. But recalling the events of “one year ago at this time…” is hard to escape.

I will always struggle. I will always miss Noah. I will always love Noah. Although I can no longer say that I have no regrets in life (the what-if’s can be awful), I can move forward. I can experience joy, laughter and love. I can remember him with a smile. I’m not always strong and I still break down. But I know that it is possible to move forward knowing that his little hand is always on my shoulder.

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not writing

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angel, beautiful son, blessing, boy, cancer, cancer sucks, child, crocodile tears, cry, daughter, dead, death, dreaming, dying, family, grandmother, grief, grieving, heartbreak, heaven, home, little boy, little poem, loss, love, memories, mom, mother, Noah, pain, poem, poetry, sad, sadness, sleep, son, suffering, tragedy, writing

I’ve not been writing at all lately. Mainly because I’m afraid of it. Sometimes it just makes me feel worse to write.

I did, however, pen this little poem after seeing a photo of my lovely daughter, taken when it was all still fresh:

I wake up…

her forehead pressed to my chin

a comfort fleeting

as it all comes rushing back.

I gently break contact

so I can see my features

in her dreaming face.

Her calm breathing

tells me she’s still in that place

still, safe and warm.

Contentedly dreaming

of thick green meadows…

love, laughter, joy.

Where grandmothers bake cookies

and give warm, soft hugs

Instead of losing hair,

strength, legs, mind…

Where little brothers

giggle and play

Instead of silently dying

before her innocent eyes.

And the mother bird in me

realizes the lie

of my own protective powers.

And as her eyelids flutter

like a sparrow’s wings,

it’s time to be strong again…

(another lost cause)

I wrap my arms around her

“Five more minutes, ok…?”

Helloooo Anger / the Dream

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angel, beautiful son, blessing, boy, broken, Buddhism, child, comfort, crazy person, cry, daughter, dead, death, Dream, dying, faith, family, friends, god, grief, grieving, heartbreak, heaven, honor, insight, little boy, loss, love, memories, memory, Mental Health, Noah, pain, sad, sadness, smile, son, son noah, suffering, tragedy, universal, universe, visit, writing

I’ve been to the grocery store a dozen times since Noah’s death. I’ve battled the reflex to grab his favorite gluten-free foods. In the beginning, it was so painful that I had to abandon half-full carts and run out crying. I’m stronger now and it’s been a while since those days. But something tripped me up Friday night when I went to restock my kitchen. Something about the Ian’s chicken nuggets next to the gluten-free waffles that Noah loved so much, made me….just absolutely and completely furious. It was as if a switch had been thrown inside me and I could see red.

I recomposed myself and continued shopping, all the time thinking about what this feeling was and where it came from. It wasn’t until I was pushing my cart out the door and the tears came that I realized I was angry. I was angry! I don’t get to buy Noah’s favorite foods anymore. I don’t get to make him dinner, balance his meals, bribe him with cookies in exchange for a clean plate. No longer do I have this joyful, bouncing little ball of energy with whom I can witness and share in the joy of childhood.

Of all the people in the world, all of the terrible people…murders, child molesters, prisoners on death row who are slated to die quickly and painlessly. Drug traffickers, rapists, abusers and pedophiles. Of all the people in this world who might, by whatever standard, “deserve” to meet their end…it is my lively, quirky, funny, joyful, innocent little 6-year-old boy who had to die that day. And at the bottom of a filthy swimming pool.

Yesterday evening, I was explaining all this to my therapist. I said, “you know how there are all those stages of grief? I think I’m experiencing anger now.” Her response was “Well it’s about time!” HAH! I love her. I was already having a bad day, crying off and on all day and my depression was really showing. Yes, I have my beliefs about what happens after death. But what if it’s all B.S.? What if I will never actually get to see him again? What if all these occurrences and dreams that I think are glimpses from him and the universe are just my mind trying to reconcile this horrific truth? That he’s gone means he’s gone and all the things I’m looking forward to after my own death is for nothing? I can’t handle that! I left my session with the advice to try to realize that it’s just my depression talking and not really what I believe and what has been proven to me through my experiences.

Then, as if to further underscore that, I had a vivid and amazing dream last night. I woke up bursting with it. Sometimes dreams are difficult to put into words or lay down on a timeline, but I knew I had to get this one down before I forgot. As I type these words, I have been writing for two hours trying to get this dream, and then this blog post, down in words. I had to bullet-point it, then go back and put it into order. I hope this recount of my dream speaks to you as loudly as it did to me:

• a memorial was being held for Noah at my old apartment to commemorate a foundation or something that had been established, possibly by the MTN or the company I work for. He was saving more lives through this foundation or project and through it, he was creating a legacy of sorts, the details of which were very fuzzy to me in the dream.
• it was somewhere in the mountains
• I had to drive around a bit to find the right building – I almost didn’t remember where I had lived. It was a completely different apartment complex from the actual one in real life but in the dream it felt familiar and I knew when I was at the right place.
• Chris was Hurley from Lost
• at the memorial, Jason and I were planning to have a “divorce ceremony” to celebrate our divorce. this all felt very normal – like it was something everyone did when they divorced. the ceremony was to take place in the same manner as a wedding but shorter. the pastor who married us was there to perform the ceremony.
• when I got to the apartment, I fell apart. there was a small metal tub set into the floor of the front porch and in the dream I knew this to be the place where Noah had died. with the help of many others, and after collapsing many times wailing and tearful and crying, I made it inside. it felt like I had lived there but it also felt kind of foreign.
• I explored every room in the apartment painfully, crying. it hurt my heart so much to do so but I knew, and everyone around me knew, that I had to get through it. I was surrounded by friends and family: my mother’s friends from MTN, the emergency service workers who tried to save Noah, all the doctors and nurses, the Chief of Police, perhaps everyone I have ever known or met. They gently guided me through the rooms and memories. the lady who lived in the apartment had just moved in or out and there were boxes everywhere.
• in Noah’s old room (which was nothing like Noah’s actual old room), there was a crib where I imagined him laying peeking up at me with a silly grin on his face because he was too old for a crib.
• I kept finding things that were his: old shirts, a shoe, a toy. I would imagine him there with me in every room. I reviewed my memories of what happened in each room.
• Then we rehearsed the divorce ceremony, though Jason had not yet arrived. During rehearsal, I learned that they had planned not for an official divorce ceremony between Jason and I, but for an unofficial wedding for Chris and I. Instead of rings, we were to receive pins commemorating the foundation. Well I wasn’t about to marry anyone, unofficial or not, so I called the whole divorce / marriage ceremony thing off and decided to make it a slideshow memorial for Noah. It felt like that’s what it should have been all along.
• I hugged and kissed everyone afterwards as they left.
• The lady who lived in the apartment seemed eager for me to leave as more and more people were leaving. I was scared to leave because I would again have to walk by the front porch basin where he had died. it would be too painful and I didn’t know if I could handle it. I thought about going out the back door, but my dad gently encouraged me not to devalue all the work and progress I had made in coming there. I had to be brave and face it all right then and there. When I finally stepped out the front door, flanked on all sides by those closest to me, Noah was with me and I realized that he had been with me the whole time. I had just been so distracted and caught up in the event that I didn’t see him. The memories I had relived in each room were actually him, there with me. I was scared to touch him, or to acknowledge him to anyone around me – I didn’t want to make him leave. This time, I didn’t just walk past that metal basin in the floor. I crouched next to it, put my hands on it. I marveled to others that I thought I remembered it being deeper. I cried but not as hard this time – Noah was beside me, smiling and comforting me.
• When I got in my car to drive home, he was still with me. Finally alone with this apparition, I gushed about how much I love and miss him. At one point, I asked him if he were my angel and he just smiled and shook his head – not to say no in response to my question – but as if there was just so much I didn’t understand.
• driving home from the memorial, I could see Noah right next to me in the passenger seat. I was looking at him every chance I got and he was smiling: bright and joyful. when he reached his little hand out to take the steering wheel it made me nervous and I thought he was goofing around. until I realized that he had taken the wheel to swerve out of the way of a semi truck that had drifted into my lane. I looked at him after that, shocked, and he just smiled proudly.
• instead of going home, we decided to meet up with Zoe at some street festival. people were camped out in their tents and RVs, which we parked behind. Zoe hadn’t seen him yet, but I knew Noah was still there somewhere. I wanted her to see him but knew he had to do it in his own way. I told her all about seeing him and that he was there with us. While the other festival spectators were trying to get a view of whatever show or festivities were going on, we were straining to find Noah. Finally we saw him, but he was smaller, posing behind thistles and blades of grass…peeking between the blades mischievously. I pointed him out to Zoe and was thrilled that she saw him too. my instinct was to grab my phone to take photos; he was so cute!
• To my surprise, he allowed Zoe and I to take several photos of him. I realized almost immediately when I woke up, that he was being a bunny (Noah had a special connection with that animal and it always seemed like wherever he was, a bunny or rabbit wasn’t far away). Demonstrating, in a way. Then Zoe and I, realizing that it was ok, just shamelessly started taking photos of him against the backdrop of the mountains, telling him to smile, come back up the hill a little so he didn’t seem so small anymore.
• We all went home and continued to play with Noah and take photos the entire way. We learned that we could touch him, talk to him, interact with him and he was still there. He showed us things in our minds that I cannot remember now. We were overjoyed to be all together again.

This may not make sense to you, but to me, it speaks volumes. It reminds me of who I am, what I believe and why I believe it. To me, it is a message from Noah, reminding me who I am. Reminding me that he is here, guiding me. Protecting me.

The laws of physics tell us that energy cannot be created or destroyed. I hope – no – I believe and KNOW that Noah’s energy is still here. HE is still here. There is no die, no death, no finality. He holds me up, still, with his playful spirit. Just in a different way.

…and I’m still kind of pissed off. I’m only human, right?  🙂

holidays

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This week marked six months. Add the holiday season to that and I’m spent. I can hardly believe it has been half of a year since I saw my boy. I have taken advantage of all the grief support groups, workshops, celebrations and events that I possibly can. (P.S. Please light a candle for Noah tomorrow, Sun. 12/9 at 7:00pm wherever you are!) I have a file folder bursting with articles, brochures, worksheets, lists, prayers, poems and charts on grief and getting through the holidays. I have great friends, family and supporters who keep me busy and check in on me. I have books, music, companions. I have tools, distractions, hobbies and the goal to ease back into working from the office more. I have lists of things I want to do, things I need to do and things that are still taking shape in my head.

And sometimes I’m just not feeling it. Like Christmas. I see the decorations, commercials and TV specials. But all of it falls flat. I try to stay numb to it all: let it just roll past me. But it’s more than that. It’s painful and debilitating. This time of year is more than just the celebration of a religious holiday. It’s a time to look back on the year and reflect. To ponder all the changes and growing we’ve undergone since last year at this time.

I’m trying hard not to do that this year. Grief comes in waves and I feel my defensive instincts trying to hold it all back – push it away. Distract. I have lovely medications for when the tsunami starts brewing…because when the glimpses of pain seep into daily life, it takes my breath away.

And I know I can’t hide from what haunts me. I can’t hide from this new silence that is a life without his voice, his giggle, his presence. The past 6 months mean establishment of a permanence that is this strange life; without Noah. New silence. New routines. New sadness settling into my soul and unpacking its agony. But I digress…

As much as I try not to look back, the concepts of a year ago are still fresh: knowing that my time with Mom was running out. The pain of watching her lose such a long and arduous battle with cancer. I remember being mostly sad a year ago as Mom seemed to drift further from lucidity. I was devastated to lose her, honored to play a role in caring for her in her last few weeks…and any type of celebration or happiness felt forced. I spent as much time with her as possible, often at the expense of time with my kids. How could I have known…?

I knew then that 2012’s Christmas would look very different without her and that Jason and I would have separate homes and lives by this year. I was excited to start my new life. Little did I know the absolute destruction that 2012 would bring: financial complications, divorce, heartbreak and even the death of my own son. I know some good things have happened even in the face of all of this tragedy. It just seems to pale in comparison to all of the hurt.

So…for good or ill, that’s how the holidays are impacting me. I have not shopped (please don’t get me a gift: I will just feel guilty because I couldn’t brave the crowds to get you one too). No holiday movies or Christmas carols. No tree for me this year – Zoe and I made snowflakes instead. The pure, innocent joy of childhood is gone from my life and though I’m trying to believe that I can create joy again, it eludes me right now. I’m exhausted.

Sorry to have yet another depressing post. Here is my boy’s smiling face from last year to help cheer it up a bit.

Halloween

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beautiful son, blessing, boy, broken, child, clown, comfort, Costume, crazy person, crocodile tears, cry, daughter, dead, death, dying, family, friends, ghost, grief, halloween, little boy, loss, love, memories, memory, Noah, officer, pain, police officer, sad, scared, son, son noah, suffering, tragedy, trick-or-treat, walgreens, writing

Today, the lady at Walgreens who sold me cotton balls and chap stick was dressed like a clown. She was very friendly and talked about how she was NOT looking forward to taking her kids trick-or-treating tonight. My only response was to advise her not to take things like that for granted. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” she replied, rolling her eyes. And again my eyes leaked tears from behind my sunglasses as I walked back to my car. All of a sudden, something one might never perceive as possible, throws your whole train off the track.

I remembered dreading the hustle and bustle involved in this holiday. Getting both of my eager, energized children fed, in costumes and ready for the night’s festivities was always a whirlwind and often frustrating. But this year…it’s just painfully silent. Still. Painfully devoid of the animated enthusiasm that I had grown so accustomed to. No little race car driver or little officer Noah. No pumpkin patch, Spirits from the Past, visits to grandparents, trunk-or-treating. So much hustle and bustle now replaced with…just space.

I may not wear a costume but I feel like a ghost. Just floating through, scared and unsure of where I am or how I got here. Stumbling through the daylight, bewildered and wounded. Again bawling my eyes out like it just happened yesterday.

So Halloween, just like every other day since Noah left us, will be different and strange. Unexciting, painful and full of tears. Jason, Zoe and I are going to dinner and a movie to try to take our minds off of what we are so obviously missing this year.

happiness

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beautiful son, blessing, boy, child, comfort, crazy person, cry, daughter, death, faith, family, friends, god, grief, heaven, honor, insight, little boy, loss, love, memories, memory, Noah, smile, son, son noah, tragedy, writing

so how about something positive for a change? are we ready for that? a break from the pain and sorrow for a moment maybe? because i sure do need it.

This blog has just gotten to be too much of a downer. I never write when I’m feeling strong and I did not intend for this to be only an outlet for my depression. So, to keep a balance, I’d like to share some positive reflections for once. Try not to fall over.

I have been blessed lately with dreams of Noah almost every night. We laugh, play, go on adventures and I drink him in completely. I love to see his little smile. I think that’s why I’ve been waking up in a good mood. It usually wears off by the afternoon, but I love feeling strong in the mornings.

Last night I dreamed that Noah’s death was all a big mistake and he came back to us. I, of course, was overjoyed and couldn’t stop hugging him, kissing him, holding his hands…and true to Noah, he seemed to endure it. (Gosh mom, can I go play now??) I was so glad to have him back. We played cars, he beat Zoe and I at Sorry, we read books and cuddled with his Suzy Bunny (his lovie). Then I was helping him tie his shoes when I remembered that there was so much that went on while he was gone – things that I thought he would love. So I tried to remember all that stuff but all I could really think of was that Disney World had added this new attraction based on the Cars movie. I was so excited; I knew he would love it and I said so. Hah…and Noah being Noah, calmly asked “why?” I said, “Noah, they have built a whole town! They’ve built Radiator Springs!” He just replied with “Oh.” (those who have met or spent any time with Noah will be nodding right about now)

That was my boy. Calm, rational. Wanting all the details before he gets too excited or emotionally invested. The most excited I have ever seen him was last Christmas when he got the race track he so badly wanted Santa to bring for him. Here’s a pic. His face is priceless:

The happiest I have ever seen Noah, in spite of his badly chapped lips!

So I’ll sign off with a few other things that are giving me strength, comfort and happiness right now. Perhaps listing them will remind me that I have some things to be grateful for as well.

• I am developing a strong, deep and amazing relationship with my daughter. I could not be more THRILLED about this.
• I have amazing, loving, strong, patient and supportive friends, coworkers and family. Zoe, Dad, Ben, Chris, Isabella, Sinnamon, Lisa, Tiffany, Michelle: you all are my rocks! And I ❤ Rocks!
• I am learning and practicing Nichiren Buddhism, which is giving me a calm, peaceful space to center myself and to learn and grow.
• I have been painting, sewing and being creative when I can, which makes me happy.

Thanks for hanging in there with me – sending love to all of you!

death and meaning

Tags

afterlife, angel, angels, blessing, blessings, boy, child, comfort, confirmation, daughter, dead, death, death certificate, desperate, dying, elisabeth kubler-ross, faith, god, heaven, honor, humble, incarnation, insight, lesson, lessons, love, memories, memory, mystery, old soul, on children and death, on death and dying, pain, pure souls, reincarnation, sign, smile, son, spirit, spiritual, suffering, sylvia browne, teach, teaching, terminal, the other side, theologic, writing

Wikipedia:  Death is the cessation or permanent termination of all biological functions that sustain a living organism. Phenomena which commonly bring about death include old age, predation, malnutrition, disease, suicide, murder and accidents or trauma resulting in terminal injury. All known organisms inevitably experience death.^[1]

i have found it so difficult to write. between visiting my therapist, looking for a place to live, talking with friends and family, i find that i’m exhausted. a couple of days ago, we got his death certificate. i was not ready for that punch to the gut. cried for two hours just upon seeing it. the finality of it – its official title “CERTIFICATE OF DEATH” with my son’s name below it was so difficult to see. We are a society of official papers (license and registration, birth certificate, social security card) and this just sort of sealed it in reality.

there are three little books given to each of us by a kind soul, where Zoe, Jason and I can record our memories of Noah. such a great idea, lest we forget all the wonderful things he said, did and was a part of. i have been busy keeping up with that: how he loved car washes, thumbkin kisses and popping each others bubbles. it makes me smile to remember the things that made him smile.

i’m also reading a couple of books, with a couple more on stand-by. Lisa, a good friend and kindred spirit, gave me a Sylvia Browne book called The Other Side and Back, which she handed to me after Noah’s funeral. She said not to judge a book by its cover and that it helped her through some of her losses. It confirms a lot of what I already felt the afterlife / heaven to be. it provides an insight and comfort more specific to someone like me who seems to be constantly questioning faith and our human ability to comprehend a theology that is itself beyond human understanding.

the other book i am reading is by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, who wrote the famous book titled On Death and Dying.  i began reading it after my mother passed away on December 28, but set it aside in favor of this specific one, called On Children and Death. parts of it are more geared towards terminally ill children, but the sections on sudden death are good.

i scour my way through both books in search of whatever comfort I can possibly find. i am about halfway through both books and though it may seem odd, they are really good companion books. a lot of what is in Sylvia’s book is echoed in Elisabeth’s book: Children are pure souls. Jason and I have always thought that Noah was especially so. He was content to hang back in situations where there was some sort of draw or excitement. Even at his own birthday parties, we would often find him in his room happily playing by himself. In preschool, his classmates would play with the new toys and favorite games but Noah always loved that same familiar laptop computer toy. even as a baby, when we tried to teach him words for things, he would be teaching US HIS words. We always smile when we think of how I tried to teach him the word for music and he taught us his word: “geeker.” 🙂 I would say, “no, Noah, the word is MUSIC. Can you say MUSIC? M-M-M-MUSIC.” and he would answer, “M-M-M-GEEKER!”

Noah respected the lessons he learned at school and from those around him. and he was smart. but he had a wisdom that no one could quite place a finger on. Jason and I have often said that both of our children are old souls. Noah always knew when he was being asked a trick question. i remember laughing about that with his kindergarten teacher at our last parent-teacher conference. it felt like he was here with us, learning and interested, but that he had bigger plans as well.

so maybe this was Noah’s last incarnation. maybe there was a final task or lesson that he needed and that’s why he was here so briefly. or maybe there was a task or lesson for US that was vital to OUR spiritual evolution. maybe he was really an angel or a guide whose disguise was wearing thin and that’s why he had to go so soon. it’s a soothing thought and regardless of the mystery behind his brief time here, i feel blessed, honored and humbled to have had him come through me into existence.

it still hurts that he’s gone. i still struggle with the events of that horrible day. the what-if’s, if-only’s and why-didn’t-i’s haunt me constantly. i miss his voice, his giggle, his eyes, his hands, his singing, his nagging, his personality and everything else that told my brain that he was here. so i’m reaching desperately for some sort of sign or confirmation that he is indeed still with me. and even more desperately trying to make that be enough.