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.

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Noah’s treasures

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I am meeting Noah’s kidney recipient on Saturday and have so much hope and fear around this. Part of my son, the life that formed inside me, the life I nurtured for 7 years, is in this woman. Literally. Stop and think about that for just a minute. Part of Noah is literally living and working inside someone else. I am excited to meet her because I hate that she is a stranger. I need to know who she is – her family, her story. Perhaps I am looking for a reason somewhere: a reason why Noah had to leave this earth. And I know I will not find it in just one place, but I look for the big pieces to give me strength. I know that the moment his consciousness left his body, the focus of energy that made up his potential in this life was dispersed into the far-flung corners of all reality. I wonder if the legacy, the ripples he has created by touching the lives of so many others, is bigger now because his body is gone. Had he lived, would he just be another kid in his class? Another citizen of the world and the universe of billions of beings? Another schmo just trying to make his way in this life?

Of course, I would have rather had him grow up, struggle like the rest of us, be just another face you might see on the street. But that’s just my selfishness asserting itself, because I’m thinking of my own pain. If Noah had the choice, which I believe that on some level he did, he would have wanted to be bigger; to create the biggest possible positive change at whatever the cost. Even if it made Mommy sad, the payoff would be so much bigger. And Mommy would eventually see that.

So, the rest of my life, or at least a part of it, is a kind of treasure hunt. It’s a bunny that sits in the backyard staring at me as I watch him from across the lawn for an hour. It’s a mother, daughter, sister and friend who is now healthy because a part of my son has replenished her very existence. It is all the nurses who so lovingly cared for Noah, then went home to hug and spoil their own children. It is all the tears, the sadness of everyone: Noah’s family, teachers, friends, parents of friends, doctors, nurses, specialists, surgeons, fellow officers, readers / listeners of the story of his life and the transformation that that continually manifests in those people.

It is every time I say his name: Noah Michael Davis. I honor him.

The knowledge that my little boy has created so much positive change in the world in such a small amount of time is so powerful that it’s overwhelming sometimes. I don’t know where to put all of it. The emotions and reactions surrounding this knowledge ebb and flow and fight each other inside of me at all times. I’m proud that he found a way to be such a positive force in so many lives, but I’m angry and miserable that I had to say goodbye to “my baby.” I’m jealous that he has done all of this when, after 36 years on this earth, I am still just trying to begin to understand how I might create what he has so easily accomplished. My humanity and motherhood just wants to hold him again. Watch him grow. But my soul, my heart, knows that he is working and fulfilling his purpose. He’s not gone. Just gone from my sight and my arms. This is another battle that is constantly underway within me. I know the sides that I WANT to win in these little constant wars within but when the guilt starts to bubble up, I hold fast to my Mothers’ Heart and I cannot let him go.

These little battles are what make it so hard to get out of bed some days. To care about paying bills, making dinner, going to work or even just going on with any kind of life can be so difficult. So I try to remember that his soul is still doing it’s work and mine needs to continue in my work, whatever that is or means. And maybe he’s given me the gift of a purpose within all of this. Maybe not. But I cannot ignore the possibility, so I continue searching for Noah’s treasures in the world and within me.

so it has been a while…

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…and I really can’t say why. it’s just been a roller coaster.

some days i am my normal self. some days not so much. but lately i have done a lot better than usual. i really have to thank Cuky Choquette-Harvey for the major steps in my recovery from this profound grief. Yes, my Buddhist faith has been a major source of strength. And, no doubt, I have been nothing short of DESPERATE for ANYTHING that might ease the pain or lessen the grief that has become a part of me. But nothing has come close to the relief that has been afforded me through the comfort of Lomi Lomi and through Cuky.

I know. It seems a bit strange: aligning chakras, hot stones, spiritual cleansing and what may seem like voodoo crazy new-age weirdness. But I have to say: it has been the most healing, profound experience of my life. And I have only had two sessions with Cuky. Cuky is not only a Lomi healer; she is an empath. Every visit with her is like a visit with not only my true spirit and self, but a visit with my mother and with my son. She knows things and unlocks things deep inside me that no one but me would know or realize.

So I have been a bit reticent about posting about it here, but that is the truth. I practice Nichiren Buddhism. I believe that my mother and my son are well taken care of in a spiritual realm that I can only dream of. And somehow, some way…this connects me with the absolute that are the loved ones that I so dearly miss. Noah dances in my peripheral vision, my sweet mother whispers in my ear as I go about my daily life. And I realize, yet have always known, their voices whispering in my ear. What they would say, do or think. Those of you who came to visit Noah in the hospital with me know what I mean. A mother knows what her child would say, do or think in any given situation. Just because his body is no longer something we can sense doesn’t mean that intuition is lost.

My cord and my ties to him transcend earthy, tangible metaphors. I live for him; through him. He, and all of those who have transcended their earthly bodies, do not cease to exist. Not really. They continue with us. Through us. And even if Noah was 6 and my mother wasn’t event 60, they continue with us and through us. Not just in our memories and hearts, but for real. Their love; their connection with us is real. Never doubt that. They are always at our sides: loving, laughing, growing with us. It is this that sustains me and keeps me alive in this incarnation at this time. It is this truth – not belief but actual truth and proof – that brings a real comfort to me.

XOXO

Bunny Rabbits

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The bunny / rabbit significance to me is complex. When I was little and would sit and draw, I always wanted my mother to draw bunnies for me. Later in life, she confessed that she really couldn’t draw, but she did her best when I asked her. She would always try to draw little Beatrix Potter-esque bunnies for me. A couple of years ago when I took her for her chemotherapy, an art therapist came around and invited us to make some art. I was all for it but Mom wasn’t really into it. I begged her to, once again, draw a bunny for me. She obliged me once more…I think my dad has this drawing tucked away someplace.

Noah always loved bunnies. His favorite books, when he was old enough to pick them out, were Pat the Bunny, Runaway Bunny, The Velveteen Rabbit, Guess How Much I Love You and Goodnight Moon; all featuring bunnies. When he was three, we went camping and when Noah and I went on a little nature walk, Noah discovered a nest of baby bunnies. The mother rabbit was close by and I was amazed when she allowed him to get a closer look. Of course I insisted that we keep a good enough distance for him to not touch. Later, Zoe and I went looking for the bunnies again…but we soon discovered that they could only be found when Noah was around.

A little over a year later, during a particularly bitter Missouri winter, I pulled into our driveway after picking up the kids from school, per usual. When I got out of the car, I noticed something scamper into the bushes in front of our house. After looking around a bit, Noah saw that it was a white rabbit! That rabbit greeted us almost every evening when we got home and Noah would leave carrots out on the front porch for him.

Noah also loved Zoe’s Webkinz stuffed animals and “borrowed” them from her, often giving them new names! So when I was out shopping one day and saw one that was a white bunny, I had to get it for him. Suzy the bunny quickly became Noah’s “lovey” and he slept with her every night from then on. Once, he commented to me that he thought she seemed “naked” and asked me to make a little shirt for her. So he picked out the fabric and I made a funky little shirt with a ribbon and button closure for Suzy. He was thrilled. 24 hours before Noah’s accident, as I was reading Curious George to him and tucking him into bed, he said that he thought Suzy might like a different shirt to wear. I promised him that we would look at fabric that weekend, which of course, we never had the chance to do.

 

Wherever we went, if Noah was there, so were “his” bunny rabbits. He was always the first to see them and they always seemed to let him get closer than I thought they would. We would often comment that the bunny was definitely Noah’s “spirit animal.” He loved them and they seemed to really love him back.

Since his passing, I have seen several bunnies at moments when I have felt the worst. They peek out at me or dart across my path. My closest friend, while out walking with her Great Dane, came face to face with a bunny just feet away from her giant dog. Instead of scampering away, the bunny just looked at Duke and rather than try to give chase, Duke just stood there looking. They stared at each other for a long time, neither of them moving, and Isabella said it was as if Noah was visiting them once more. Noah LOVED playing with Duke when we would go visit Izzy and he helped me dogsit Duke a few times also.

So for these reasons, I need a bunny tattoo. I knew it right away and said so to many people in the hospital while first facing the prospect of letting Noah go. I would have liked to design it myself, but I just lack so much motivation in all aspects of my life right now I haven’t been able to sit down and actually do it. I did do a little oil painting in the weeks after the funeral, but cannot seem to find / think of a suitable tattoo design.

Helloooo Anger / the Dream

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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.

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

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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.