Today, last year, Noah was NED. He played soccer, he was a loving 2 year old, he did somersaults, gymnastics, t-ball, went swimming, jumped in the lake, and copied his Momma when she nursed baby Zackary. I think that this whole time, I’ve been in denial. People have said to me, “Mandy, you’re taking this whole thing so well, are you sure you’re fine?” I would say, “Yeah! Yeah trust me!”
I lied. I’m not fine with this. I thought I was because I was ready for it. I could see that he was slipping away and getting sick and his tumors were growing and spreading and I knew he wanted to give up. He told me he didn’t want to do this anymore. He wanted it to stop. In truth, I’m heartbroken. There is really no way to actually describe it. To say I’m upset and sad would be an understatement. A huge understatement.
The emotion I’m feeling most is probably regret. I regret not maintaining his treatment. I was the voice for him. I was his parent. His caretaker. His Mommy. I decided whether he goes into surgery or doesn’t. I signed the release forms and I went to the pharmacy to pick up his medicine and I changed his clothes and sheets when he threw up. I feel like he could have been saved if I fought harder for him, but it’s not like every decision was willy nilly… every decision for him was carefully, carefully, thought out. We researched and consulted with every doctor we knew, and made a decision. When Noah’s cancer grew our own doctor even said that the chemo should be stopped to prevent any potential problems. So why so much regret on my side?
I think about Noah everyday. I cry for him. I yearn for him. I wish on 11:11 and on shooting stars and ladybugs and on all sorts of crazy things I never did before, and I wish for him. And when my wish doesn’t come true I snap. I breakdown. I melt. I die. I remember when Zack was born and all Noah wanted to do was hold him. He would cry if we took Zack away from him and after a while, even Zack would cry if we separated them. He was so gentle to Zack although some pictures would make you second guess that. When Noah got sick, Zack was also so gentle. They were so good to each other. So, so, so good. They completed each other. They completed me.
Today was the day that we realized how much Noah was into baseball. This picture wasn’t from that day, but it is one of many we have of Noah playing baseball. He loved it. For his birthday we took him to a Red Sox game and he was so captivated and ran bases. We even got his name on the screen to honor our little cancer survivor. It was amazing. You wouldn’t think that a 3 year old would be so in to a baseball game. Noah was. He loved the cheering, the smell, running the bases, and eating nachos. I want it back. I want the greatest Red Sox fan to ever live, back.
I’m glad I have Zack. I’m glad that Noah wasn’t my only child. But I also want Noah back. I want my boys back. My double trouble. It’s not the same calling Zack to eat or for a bath or to come give me hugs and not say Noah’s name. “Zack and Noah” is what I would always say. But where is Noah now? I want to know where he’s at. Is he with Reilly? Is he watching me right now? I want to know.
I love Noah with all my heart, but not waking him up and not seeing him everyday is killing me.