One Year

Noah Rhoads
Photo by Jim Collum

Here was a boy who was born on a beautiful day in March to a mom and dad who were no strangers to the shortness of life, but who welcomed their son into the world with hope, love, and unimaginable joy.

Here was a boy who played with his brother, who lived in a redwood forest, who had a loving extended family so big no family tree could hold or explain them.

Here is a boy who understood empathy from the time he was walking. Sensitive, brilliant, funny, adept at the things he would try to do, exceptional at the things he put his mind and heart to.

Here was a boy who fought his demons… Sometimes winning, sometimes losing. He fought against injustice, whether it be family feuds on Facebook or with people he never met.  His brain was so strong and his mind often so made up, it was hard to argue with him, even for those of us good at arguing.

Here is a boy who, on September 19, 2014, decided the world would be better without him in it. He decided everyone's life would be easier if he were gone. Boy was he wrong.

I have shed tears of regret. Regret for words I can never say, apologies I can never make, actions I can never undo, conversations I will never finish.

 I have shed tears of pain. The pain of watching my sister, my children, and our family go through the horror of losing this young man in his prime in this way that seems avoidable. And yet, even if he had been unsuccessful a year ago, there is no guarantee he wouldn't have kept trying until he was. He was stubborn like that.

I have shed tears of sadness. Sadness for holidays which will always seem a little more empty, birthdays that will pass without being able to celebrate, the joy that is forever gone. The family that is forever changed.

Noah, I wish you were here. I wish you were here to snuggle with Tuna, to drive your mom crazy, and unflappably share your opinions… even when they weren't popular.  I wish you were here to play video games with your brother, have Sunday morning breakfast with the family, and swim with your cousins.  I wish I could hug you again and listen to you tell me all about what is going on. But none of those wishes will be. And not one of us is better for it.

I will keep thinking about you, and I will still cry, and sometimes I will be angry.  I will keep swimming, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and keep trying to help your mom make sense of all this, even though there is no sense to be made.

Here was a boy who thought he was doing the right thing.  And who was wrong.