Katie and I spent an entire weekend picking out our charms and beads, threading each one carefully on the wire until we were finished and each had a necklace. We called them our “remember Noah” charms. We never took them off and rubbed them whenever we felt sad. Touching the beads was inherently calming, and it was the turning point for her. She was finally able to make it through a full day at school.
She seemed more and more like herself every day, but her eyes bore the weight of his ghost. I didn’t know if there would come a day when she had more questions for me, but it wasn’t here yet. I didn’t know what I’d explain to her when she was an adult, but I couldn’t think that far into the future. The challenge of getting through each day was enough.
Lucas was relieved Noah was gone. He’d never said it, but it was written all over his face. Every time his eyes came across the pictures I refused to take down from around the house, I saw the relief wash over him. I gave him his letter and was too afraid to ask if he’d read it in case he said no. It was better not to know. He wouldn’t come with me to pick out the urn for Noah’s ashes and moved it back on the dresser in my room no matter how many times I put it on top of the fireplace. Eventually, I quit trying. Now, his urn sat on top of my dresser next to the picture I framed from our last day at the Navy Pier, where Noah beamed with happiness surrounded by his family.
I’d moved back into their house, but our marriage was over. We both knew it, even though we didn’t talk about it because living together under the guise of being together was the best thing for Katie. She needed both of us. Her parents splitting up on top of what she’d been through would be selfish and cruel, so we forced ourselves to live together despite how we felt about each other. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep next to him, though. The thought of being that close to him made my skin crawl. He stayed in the master bedroom, and I moved into the guest bedroom.
We no longer had real conversations. Our hearts were too hardened toward each other. We moved around each other like cordial roommates. Our interactions were limited to talking about bills, errands, school pickups and drop-offs, appointments, and other practical stuff. There would come a time when we divorced and walked away from each other, but that time wasn’t now.
I’d joined the ranks of mothers who’d watched their children die—a mom’s club I never thought I’d be a member of during my days on the PTA. I sought solace in grief support groups because the only people who understood what it was like to lose a child were other parents who had. As I listened to their heart-wrenching stories, I was grateful not to be left with any unanswered questions or burdened with the pain of regret. All my questions were answered. No stone unturned. I wasn’t plagued with trying to figure out why or what he was thinking in his last moments. I didn’t have to spend my time pining over the things I wished I’d said to him. Without knowing it, Noah gave me a great gift, but it didn’t relieve the guilt.
The guilt would never go away. Not over what we did. I didn’t regret what I did for him. Never would. The remorse came when I started taking steps to begin living again. The first time I laughed after he was gone, I clamped a hand over my mouth as if I was betraying him. It didn’t matter I knew he wanted me to enjoy my life and be happy. I still felt like I was betraying his memory.
A few months after he died, I was busy cleaning up the mess Katie and I made from baking cookies all afternoon, and suddenly, it hit me—I hadn’t thought about him since I’d started cleaning up. Minutes had passed without any trace of him. I fell to my knees sobbing, begging him to forgive me for abandoning him. The longer the intervals grew, the guiltier I felt. There was no way to win. If he didn’t consume my every waking moment, I felt like I was failing to keep him alive.
My biggest fear was that I’d forget parts of him, and he’d be taken from me piece by piece until I was left with nothing except an empty ache where he used to be. It terrified me to lose anything about him and not remember every detail. His smile. His eyes. The smell of his hair. The way he looked at Katie. How he sounded when he called me Mom. Being his parent didn’t stop after he died, and it was my job as his mother to protect his memory in the same way I protected him while he was alive.
After he died, it was like I’d been speeding in a car going ninety miles per hour and somebody opened the door and threw me out. I stood in the road profoundly disoriented as the world spun around me while I stayed still. I couldn’t count the number of times Noah said that I’d get my life back after he was gone, but I was forever changed. The previous version of myself was utterly destroyed. I didn’t know what returning to my life meant. The empty chair at the dining room table was a continual reminder of all I’d lost.
In the days leading up to his death, I thought I’d spend all my time after he was gone thinking about him when he was a little boy. But that wasn’t the case. I replayed memories of him when he was young, but much of my time was spent replaying our last moments together and how he let me step into his soul, to know him more than I knew anyone else and to love him. Death was intensely private, and I’d never felt so close to another human being as I did when I held him during his final minutes.
I’d found my way back to God, a place I never thought I’d be again. It wasn’t out of a deep faith or a profound spiritual experience, but out of pure necessity to believe God existed. If he didn’t exist and this was the end, then I never got to see Noah again, and I refused to believe that. There had to be a God, because there had to be a heaven. A time when I got to see him again, and he was the one to walk me home.
Like what you read? There’s more! Check out Lucinda Berry’s other books here:
LUCINDA BERRY AUTHOR PAGE
To be notified of upcoming releases and sales, please subscribe to the Lucinda Berry newsletter.
SUBSCRIBE
One of the best ways to compliment an author is to leave a review. Click the review link to post your review on Amazon:
REVIEW
Saving Noah Page 20