It's august second, 11 weeks - 77 days since Noah passed away. Not one minute that has passed makes any of this any easier. The fact is - it's only getting harder.
I am not really sure why I have a desire to write this down, but at one point in our life Noah's blog was a place to get our thoughts out of our head and that was sometimes a feeling of relief. Sometimes writing something down and getting it out releases some pressure built up in my head. So here goes - the rants of a man who has been damaged by the loss of his son.
I said it's getting harder. It gets harder every day. Today I was in a retail store and walked by several Star Wars toys for the first time in 11 weeks. I stood in front of them and once again realized I will never purchase any toy for Noah again. There isn't a good word I can find to describe this feeling. It's like a black hole is suddenly created inside my heart and it immediately sucks out every happy thought I may have had that day. There is so much truth in that horrible phrase "You don't know what you've got until it's gone" but I don't feel that I didn't know what I had in Noah, I did. I had the greatest son a father could ever wish for. It seems like everything I see reminds me of what I will never have with him. He is gone. I will never get to do all of the things I dreamed of doing with him.
Today I saw a parent running beside their child riding a bike in our neighbor hood - it brought pain. I bought tickets to a movie (Brave) the other day that we wanted to take Noah to before he died - it brought pain. I sat in Ruby Tuesdays restaurant at lunch and there were no crayons on the table, no fries thrown on the floor and no real reason to order cake for desert - it brought pain.
The house we live in is such a bitter sweet environment. In one thought I am very glad to have such a nice place to sleep and in the next thought I can't stand to look at any part of it because just a short time ago He was here - He sat on this couch, he slept in that bed, he ate at that table, he bathed in that tub, he opened that fridge, he pushed that chair over to the counter, climbed on that counter and his hands grabbed that coffee mug. His hands turned on that coffee maker and he knew just how to fix my coffee. Every part of this house brings pain.
Making coffee now just feels like a hammer hitting my heart. There is no escape from this great pain. He will never come back to us and the reality of that statement gets worse with every step of my day.
I have kept myself very busy. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I am usually very tired and when I am tired all I want to do is see Noah. I watch videos of him and look at every little detail of his pictures but these things don't satisfy my heart. They only pacify the feeling of sadness that I have.
I do my best not to suffer publicly. I don't have a real desire to try and explain the way I am feeling in person. People ask me how I am and I usually respond "good enough" - it's a great way to look someone in the eye and not lie to their face. If I told someone how I really felt every day I would probably scare most everyone I come in contact with.
How do you tell someone "thanks for asking how I am, to answer your question - A huge piece of my life is gone and I am simply existing at this moment doing my best not to go crazy" Nobody expects to hear that at a greeting and pretty soon that answer gets old to the hearers.
I'm not looking for a shoulder to cry on either. And I feel so weird writing all of this down, but a part of me wants to scream it to the world what it feels like to want to be a dad so badly, to have a son with every character strength I could desire, then to watch him suffer and eventually die a very painful death and then have the emptiness inside that you are no longer a dad and you will never hold your son again on this earth. I'm not looking for pity or for sympathetic words - I just need to say that the loss of Noah has left me so badly damaged that I don't know what to do.
I have lost the reason for so many things in my life. I have lost so much of my purpose. I have lost so many dreams.
There is a constant thought that I didn't do enough or that I did the wrong thing. For 11 weeks there has been no comfort or escape from these feelings. Unless you have experienced this event in your own life - losing your only child to a long drawn out fight against cancer, you have no idea what this feels like. There are no parallels. When these thoughts hit, the only thing to do is get busy doing something and escape - I have never been more busy in my life.
Jessica and I have a strong marriage - she is definitely the better half, but we have lost that sense of being a family. It's one thing to be married 7 years and never have children of your own that you've raised. You don't have the complete mindset of a parent. You don't have the priorities of a parent. It's another thing to have a child, love that child with every fiber of your being, sacrifice for that child, build your world around that child, dream, teach, learn, discipline, laugh and play with that child and then loose them. One minute you are so proud of having your family, the next minute you don't feel like a family anymore. You are forced to cease looking at things the same. You feel guilty that you now have different priorities. You feel guilty having the T.V. on and loud after 9pm. I feel guilty deciding where to eat without considering what Noah would want. I feel guilty about going to a store to purchase something for myself without getting something for Noah. I feel guilty about even thinking of a vacation without Noah being part of the equation. I have lost my title as 'dad' and the sting
I LOVED being a dad. I was so proud to be Noah's dad. He brought me so much joy as my son. I loved watching Noah and Jessica. Her role as a mom was the most beautiful thing to watch. He loved her so much and they were so very close. She LOVED being noah's mom - and now the things we loved so much about our family died with Noah.
Perhaps I am getting all of this out because on a night like tonight I don't want it all to stay in my head. For 11 weeks I have kept most of this inside.
I'm missing Noah so badly that there is a physical pain in the sadness at times. And there is no medicine or comforting words or busy tasks that can fix it.
I turn 36 next Wednesday. My assumption is it will be one of the worst days besides Fathers day I will have since his death. It will be very difficult to celebrate anything anymore without Noah being a part of it.
So that's where I am tonight. I've got it off my chest. I know that if I had the chance to ask Noah if he wanted to come back and live here again he would say "no" . I know he is in the best place. For now we will wait, do our best to make our days count and try and rediscover our purposes until we go to him.
Thanks for reading my words. If you pray, please pray for God to continue to help hold us together, comfort us as we mourn and give us purpose for the days ahead.
JDC
I am not really sure why I have a desire to write this down, but at one point in our life Noah's blog was a place to get our thoughts out of our head and that was sometimes a feeling of relief. Sometimes writing something down and getting it out releases some pressure built up in my head. So here goes - the rants of a man who has been damaged by the loss of his son.
I said it's getting harder. It gets harder every day. Today I was in a retail store and walked by several Star Wars toys for the first time in 11 weeks. I stood in front of them and once again realized I will never purchase any toy for Noah again. There isn't a good word I can find to describe this feeling. It's like a black hole is suddenly created inside my heart and it immediately sucks out every happy thought I may have had that day. There is so much truth in that horrible phrase "You don't know what you've got until it's gone" but I don't feel that I didn't know what I had in Noah, I did. I had the greatest son a father could ever wish for. It seems like everything I see reminds me of what I will never have with him. He is gone. I will never get to do all of the things I dreamed of doing with him.
Today I saw a parent running beside their child riding a bike in our neighbor hood - it brought pain. I bought tickets to a movie (Brave) the other day that we wanted to take Noah to before he died - it brought pain. I sat in Ruby Tuesdays restaurant at lunch and there were no crayons on the table, no fries thrown on the floor and no real reason to order cake for desert - it brought pain.
The house we live in is such a bitter sweet environment. In one thought I am very glad to have such a nice place to sleep and in the next thought I can't stand to look at any part of it because just a short time ago He was here - He sat on this couch, he slept in that bed, he ate at that table, he bathed in that tub, he opened that fridge, he pushed that chair over to the counter, climbed on that counter and his hands grabbed that coffee mug. His hands turned on that coffee maker and he knew just how to fix my coffee. Every part of this house brings pain.
Making coffee now just feels like a hammer hitting my heart. There is no escape from this great pain. He will never come back to us and the reality of that statement gets worse with every step of my day.
I have kept myself very busy. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I am usually very tired and when I am tired all I want to do is see Noah. I watch videos of him and look at every little detail of his pictures but these things don't satisfy my heart. They only pacify the feeling of sadness that I have.
I do my best not to suffer publicly. I don't have a real desire to try and explain the way I am feeling in person. People ask me how I am and I usually respond "good enough" - it's a great way to look someone in the eye and not lie to their face. If I told someone how I really felt every day I would probably scare most everyone I come in contact with.
How do you tell someone "thanks for asking how I am, to answer your question - A huge piece of my life is gone and I am simply existing at this moment doing my best not to go crazy" Nobody expects to hear that at a greeting and pretty soon that answer gets old to the hearers.
I'm not looking for a shoulder to cry on either. And I feel so weird writing all of this down, but a part of me wants to scream it to the world what it feels like to want to be a dad so badly, to have a son with every character strength I could desire, then to watch him suffer and eventually die a very painful death and then have the emptiness inside that you are no longer a dad and you will never hold your son again on this earth. I'm not looking for pity or for sympathetic words - I just need to say that the loss of Noah has left me so badly damaged that I don't know what to do.
I have lost the reason for so many things in my life. I have lost so much of my purpose. I have lost so many dreams.
There is a constant thought that I didn't do enough or that I did the wrong thing. For 11 weeks there has been no comfort or escape from these feelings. Unless you have experienced this event in your own life - losing your only child to a long drawn out fight against cancer, you have no idea what this feels like. There are no parallels. When these thoughts hit, the only thing to do is get busy doing something and escape - I have never been more busy in my life.
Jessica and I have a strong marriage - she is definitely the better half, but we have lost that sense of being a family. It's one thing to be married 7 years and never have children of your own that you've raised. You don't have the complete mindset of a parent. You don't have the priorities of a parent. It's another thing to have a child, love that child with every fiber of your being, sacrifice for that child, build your world around that child, dream, teach, learn, discipline, laugh and play with that child and then loose them. One minute you are so proud of having your family, the next minute you don't feel like a family anymore. You are forced to cease looking at things the same. You feel guilty that you now have different priorities. You feel guilty having the T.V. on and loud after 9pm. I feel guilty deciding where to eat without considering what Noah would want. I feel guilty about going to a store to purchase something for myself without getting something for Noah. I feel guilty about even thinking of a vacation without Noah being part of the equation. I have lost my title as 'dad' and the sting
I LOVED being a dad. I was so proud to be Noah's dad. He brought me so much joy as my son. I loved watching Noah and Jessica. Her role as a mom was the most beautiful thing to watch. He loved her so much and they were so very close. She LOVED being noah's mom - and now the things we loved so much about our family died with Noah.
Perhaps I am getting all of this out because on a night like tonight I don't want it all to stay in my head. For 11 weeks I have kept most of this inside.
I'm missing Noah so badly that there is a physical pain in the sadness at times. And there is no medicine or comforting words or busy tasks that can fix it.
I turn 36 next Wednesday. My assumption is it will be one of the worst days besides Fathers day I will have since his death. It will be very difficult to celebrate anything anymore without Noah being a part of it.
So that's where I am tonight. I've got it off my chest. I know that if I had the chance to ask Noah if he wanted to come back and live here again he would say "no" . I know he is in the best place. For now we will wait, do our best to make our days count and try and rediscover our purposes until we go to him.
Thanks for reading my words. If you pray, please pray for God to continue to help hold us together, comfort us as we mourn and give us purpose for the days ahead.
JDC
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