My friend lost his little boy last week in a freak accident. 3 1/2 years old. Selfishly, I need to write something since I can’t seem to stop thinking about it and the painful emotions it generates.
It’s these very personal events that help me understand why people have faith, believe in god, etc. You desperately want to believe there is something more for an angelic little boy beyond his three and a half years. It also calls into stark relief my refusal to believe in such a higher power. You find yourself questioning where little Noah goes from here.
I’ll be honest – I’m just a little wrecked by this. I cried from my office to the airport to where I absconded thinking I needed a change of scenery. And the airport – more precisely the Alaska Airlines lounge – is somewhere I can hide with impunity.
So what do I do? I guess the only thing I know how – process the situation rationally. It’s just there is little rationality when it comes to the death of a little boy. So I sit and stare out the window.
So far the only thing I’ve come up with is that no one can take away the memories from his family. And I’m sure there are many awesome ones. I’m sure there are loads of videos, pictures, drawings, messes, stuffed animals, playdoh creations, trucks, and favorite blankets. Each of these will have a memory for the parents – some good, some not so good, but all theirs.
It’s going to be a dark place. But as I’ve written before, there is little as beautiful as a sound of a child laughing. And I hope the family can hear and relish that til their days are done. Let the giggle be the footcandle to ward away the shadows.
RIP little Noah.