Photo courtesy of Noah’s parents. The kids on the beach are his sisters.
Nine years have gone by since the Sandy Hook massacre that took our grandson Noah’s life and the lives of 25 others, including 19 kids and 6 educators. He had turned 6 three weeks earlier.
That day will remain branded in my memory until the day I die. It isn’t in my power to change any of it, to go back in time wishing for a snow day or for a pandemic that would have closed schools and given the killer time to reflect and stand down. Sometimes I even wish guiltily that Noah had had a fever and stayed home. But then I think of the other victims and I know it is no good. Nothing can change what happened.
The grief hasn’t changed either. I have been told that you learn to live with it, and that’s true, but I have also been told that after a few years it would morph into something different, more manageable, more « reasonable. » Well, I am here to tell you it hasn’t. And I don’t expect it to. In fact I don’t want it to. As long as I feel heavy with longing and pain, I know love is alive.
What has changed over the years is Noah. In my mind’s (heart’s) eyes, he is now your typical teenager (he would have turned 15 last month,) tall, with a sweep of thick glossy dark hair, luminous eyes, eyelashes any girl would envy and a quick tongue. Maybe he has a girlfriend, maybe he is rebellious, maybe he plays an instrument, maybe he doesn’t like school, maybe he wants to be a marine biologist or an influencer on TikTok. We’ll never know because his future was stolen.
From him, from us.
He would be playing video games with his sisters and his many cousins. There would be visits back and forth. Strong ties would be woven across the continent.
Instead, there is a Noah-shaped hole in the fabric of our lives and it won’t ever be mended.
MC, I think of you and Noah, and the other children and their families often. It’s such an incomprehensible heartache. May their memories be a blessing— and one that spurs change.
Thank you so much, Melina. I am still hoping that one day our society will wake up from its deep apathy and decide that indeed enough innocents have been sacrificed.
MC
I remember the day this happened…as though it were yesterday. The shock remains. The frustration and rage that things haven’t changed….massacres continue to happen. More families are left bereft as life around them, you, moves on.
As always, thank you for sharing. Your honesty in your frank admission that the pain does not go away and your recognition that out of that pain you know love is alive.
I frequently am reminded from numerous friends that we are indeed called to embrace the harsh things of life rather than running away from them because, if we run, we are running from life into a barren emotionless landscape wherein even love gets lost.
To feel the excruciating pain of life, I remember childbirth well even after a quarter of a century since giving birth for the final time in my life, does somehow allow the precious space for love the live, grow and to be expressed to those we hold dear.
Hugs to you and all of your family.
Janet
Janet, thank you so much. I don’t remember who said it but it is indeed true that pain is the price we pay for love.
Big hugs,
MC
I, too, think of Noah and the other children. My grandson is that age and has that shock of dark hair that you see. It hard to think about what I would feel and I worry a lot. Especially, in the wake of the Oxford shooting, which was basically in my back yard. We’ll keep Noah alive and pray for all of the parents who have lost their children to this awful violence.
Thank you, Jan. Over the years it has been a source of comfort to know that Noah and the other victims are not forgotten.
Dear MC, I think of you and Noah often, and have told my friends in Germany about you. I lost a husband to leukemia, and was devastated, but he had lived a full live and was spared more suffering and disability. That is a loss, you eventually can accept and let go of the pain. The death of a child or grandchild is an entirely different matter, I can imagine that that hole will never fill up.
Hugs, Karin
Thank you so much, Karin. I am so sorry you lost your husband to leukemia. The death of a child is unimaginable but losing your life partner is a terrible blow as well. Sending hugs back, MC
Dearest MC, Words are totally inadequate. My family and I send you and your family all warmest best wishes and tenderest thoughts now and always. All love, CE xxx
Thank you for your words of comfort. MC