The title is a description of my brain right now. I went to Texas Children’s today and I have many thoughts I would like to share, but I am not sure where to start. As part of 40 Days of Community, our small group chose to serve lunch at the Ronald McDonald House at TCH today. This place provides a place of rest, food and comfort for families of the critically ill patients. It was a blessing for us while we were there with Noah, so we decided it was a good place to give back.

I didn’t think too much of going back. I think I have been there once in almost 2 years. Can you believe it will be 2 years in May? Since I tend to hold my feelings in, at least in my daily life, I thought this will be no different than serving anywhere. I did not expect the feelings that I had just driving up to the doors. This tingling sensation in my gut, this nervous feeling. We walked in the hospital and took the elevator to the 4th floor. It was not the same set of elevators we used to use, but when I arrived outside the door of the Ronald McDonald House, it hit me again. The blue wall, the signage pointing toward different places I knew, the smell . . . I don’t know exactly what it was, but it was familiar.

Before we began to serve lunch, Ethan and I took a walk down the halls by the NICU. There were at least 3 doors that I could peek into and see the NICU, the beds, the nurses, the darkness. Noah’s bed was the first one when you entered in one set of doors. I stood there and looked in the small window at the door, longing to just see where he was. I wished that someone would come out so the doors would open and I could see in. “Excuse me.” A voice behind me said, as she punched the button to let herself in. There are two sets of doors that open and they swing different ways, so I had just seconds to look in. But I saw the space where Noah’s bed had been, and I just longed to go back in time and touch him again. Go through all the pain of losing him, just to be close to him again. The memories of the days spent walking those halls and up to his bedside are so fresh. And I am thankful for that.

That same doorway is the one that we walked out of when Noah died and we were surrounded by our family and friends. I visualized that hallway packed with about 20+ of us crying and grieving together. Then I walked around to the front desk. The other thing I wanted was the hand sanitizer that they use at the bedsides of the babies. When I was visiting my nephew in the hospital over a year ago, I realized that the smell of that sanitizer brought me so close to Noah. It was like I was smelling him. So I asked the lady if I could have a pump of the hand sanitizer that was next to her on the wall. After my explanation, she understood. The smell was not as strong as I remembered it, but as I walked down the hall it began to smell more familiar. So before we went home, I went back for one more pump.

Serving the families was touching to me too. They were very appreciative of what we were doing. Many commented it was a nice break from McDonald’s. But I could see despair, hurt, fatigue, anger in them. And I felt a rush of what it was like to be back in their place—being engulfed in the unknown. I was very glad to be there and serve these families in this small way today, and I cannot believe how far we have come in 2 years. I know a lot of that is because of your prayers, THANK YOU.

I still miss him. I think because of some hard work facing reality in the months after Noah died, I am able to enjoy my life even without him. I find great joy in my girls. But in the mornings when I am in the car alone, I look into the sunrise and usually find myself drawn to God. And because he is so close to Noah, I am drawn to Noah. I think about him and what he is doing. When Alyssa and I pray in the car before school, we ask that Noah has a good day in heaven. While that started as a way for me to remind Alyssa of Noah, it has really been something I enjoy too. But this morning something hit me. I was thanking God for the time that I had with Noah. That I was able to carry him, give birth to him, and then see him, touch him, kiss him, and finally I was blessed enough to hold my son. Some people never get that, and I am thankful for that time. But as I was thinking about what Noah was doing this morning, I thought – I know he is happy. He is running around on golden streets with the angels, singing praises to God. And that is a wonderful thought. But if there is no saddness in heaven, then Noah does not know about me. He does not miss me. He does not know I am his mother, and that I love him and miss him. And . . . I don’t know, that hurt me this morning.