I didn't write yesterday. Though I made a promise to come to this table, at this computer, every morning ... or afternoon, evening, if the day gets away from me ... , I didn't write. I poured grace over myself and gave myself permission to turn toward something else. I didn't have to write on the six month anniversary of my son's death.
It doesn't really matter to me what day it is. I miss my son. It is never more or less; it simply is. The grief companion abides with me. She is sometimes closer and sometimes further away and maybe that alters my perception of her, the perspective changes whether I think she is huge or she is small. Hmmmm. Maybe she is walking a spiral around me. You know the nature of a spiral or of a labyrinth. The path takes you closer and then away and then closer and then away but always you are on the path. It is strangely comforting to think of my grief companion walking that way around me. It feels protective. I don't want her to go away. I think it is one of the things I fear most ... that the pain will go away. I don't want to hurt anymore but more than that I don't want to not hurt. Walk on grief companion ... walk on.
Maybe I should name her since she will be with me for a lifetime. We are becoming more and more familiar with each other so it might be appropriate to move past that formalities. If I name her, I can welcome her more easily I think.
The six month mark came and went. According to the calendar, that means something. I am not sure that yesterday meant anything more than any other day without him. Now we are counting forward to the year mark. There will be stops along the way but ultimately, the next big date will be August 17th. and I just don't want it to be a big date. I don't want to remember that date. I don't want to commemorate that date. Why would I want anything special to be about the day that Noah left this earth? No. I want to push past that date as if it didn't exist.
The only date that matters to me is the day I met him ... July 20th, 1997. That was the day he came into this world. Tinged with blue, a little stressed, but within moments he was breathing fine ... we were all breathing fine ... relieved that he was here and OK. My Noah was here. I knew he was coming before he was ever conceived. We briefly considered not having any more children after the seventh. My words in the midst of that conversation, "But then I won't have my Noah." I knew he was coming. A gift, to us, to the world. Part of me wants to tell you so much about him ... and I will ... but not y et. Right now, I am gathering up all that I remember and know about him and holding it all close to my heart. These are my treasures.