december reflections | biggest change in 2017

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear
— c. s. lewis
There are days when I feel so afraid I
Can hardly remember to breathe
When reality crashes is wave after wave
Pulling me farther beneath
So what’s the point in planning for a future
If it all can be stolen away?
It’s all I can do to hold on and survive
When the colors have faded to grey.
— all that matters, finding neverland

noah and me.jpg

There is only one thing that changed this year that matters. 

Noah is gone. 

In his place is emptiness and fear and confusion. I don't want there to be. I want to find meaning, I want to find hope, I want to know how to live, how to see, how to be. I am not who I was and I don't want to be different but I am. 

Noah is gone. Noah is gone. Noah is gone. 

Sometimes I have to remind myself, say it over and over again because it still doesn't feel real. Sometimes I wander through the day with this vague sense that something is missing, that life doesn't feel right, and then I remember. Sometimes, the hole left in the world swallows me

Two days ago, we went to a performance of School of Rock at our local cultural arts center. Suddenly, toward the end, I became overwhelmed with Noah's absence. All I could think about is how he will never go with us to another performance ... and his favorite, Phantom of the Opera, is coming up in February ... I don't know if I will be able to attend that one. All I could think about is that he will never walk the streets of downtown again, that he will never bound up and down the steps of our house. It's all over. Gone. Noah is gone. 

But it's not all over. Life goes on. It goes on without him. And that is what we are all figuring out. How do we breathe without Noah? How do we laugh without Noah? How do we go on without Noah? 

I don't want this to be my story but it is. Everything this year is colored and tainted by this one thing. It's difficult to remember and reflect on this year because on one hand, I can't think of anything else but on then again, I don't want to write about it ... because I don't want this to be my story. I don't want to be different. I don't want Noah to be gone. 

But ... 

this is my story.
I am different. 
Noah is gone.