My calendar is empty. There is nothing planned for me. I ache and groan at the thought of this day without him. My eyes burn from the tears that speak the reality of his passing. I can't see beyond this moment, and I can't feel anything but sorrow. This desperate need I have to hold his little hand and touch his perfectly sweet, soft face will never, ever again be met in this lifetime. So I cling to his "sleep sock," once his comfort which has now become mine. With it he touched his chubby cheeks and rubbed his sleepy eyes, and I feel like it's the only tangible thing I have left of him that grew with him from infancy.
It feels so wrong to have time to dry my hair, paint my toenails, all those things I seldom could do when I was caring for him. Our home is too clean; the silence here is painful and deafening, and the pain I am feeling is crippling.
Morning is the hardest, because for a fraction of a millisecond after I wake I expect to be surprised that he has stealthily slipped into our bed while I was sleeping. I expect him to ask me for his morning snuggle. Then I remember, my stomach turns while my heart races. There is nothing I can do for him. I am still his mother but my arms are empty; this seems like the cruelest fate of any. But my love for him outweighs any anger and sorrow I could entertain, and his life song will never leave my heart. I miss you terribly, Noah. From my hair to my heels. One can never anticipate the depth of pain that comes with the death of a child. God be with me, Holy Spirit don't leave me. This is too much to bear.
These posts are written by Noah's parents Jessica & John David Crowe. The default author is Jess, and those written by John David will be noted.