Today my son would be celebrating 3 years old. I cannot believe it has been 3 years. 3 years is a long time to hold on to only memories. It has been a long time since I saw his face. A long time since I held him close. A long time since I smelled his sweetness. A long time since I ran my fingers through his brown hair. But what do you think 3 years in heaven is like? I bet to Noah, it was only yesterday when he was held close to his mommy. Only yesterday when his daddy sang to him. Only yesterday when his big sister proudly held him for the first time. And only yesterday when his family stood at his bedside radiating love towards him. There is so much I feel that is undone here on Earth. Many things that my human-mind thinks it needs to experience before it is my time to leave. But it is times like this, that I would go running to the gates to see my Noah again. Leave all of this behind, pick up my son and hold him. Honestly, my fear is that I won’t get that. I don’t know what heaven or the new heaven or the new earth will be like. Will Noah be the infant that I remember? Will I be his mother? Or perhaps we just have a connection to each other, but we are unsure what it is. I believe that I will see him again, but I don’t like that I don’t know what form that will be in. I trust that God will fulfill every desire I have for our reunion when that time comes.

In the meantime, Noah, we will talk about you, we will touch your picture, we will give you kisses, we will tell complete strangers about you, we will wish you good days in heaven, we will tell your new siblings about you, and we will remember.

Tonight, as I surf from one blog to another and click on someone’s blog that someone else knows, I find this little boy, Bennett (or go here). I do not know all the details about him, but I saw his picture and that was enough to pull me in. A picture that I know all to well. A picture that will never be anything but personal to me, no matter who the baby is. So tonight, I prayed over this baby’s picture. I prayed for healing. For God to show His power through Bennett by a miracle. For God to give Bennett the life that Noah did not have. For God to bless his parents, Travis and Kelly, by letting them watch Bennett grow up. I do not know this family, but my heart will forever be drawn to families who suffer like I did.

But the reason for my title… After looking at the picture of Bennett, I went back to my picture of Noah. First thought: He sure was cute. Next thought: Is that my child? Was that real? Did I actually give birth to a baby that is not here anymore? For me now, so much of Noah is a memory, a feeling, an emotion. Noah is in my heart, he is in my mind, but he is not something visual to me. I can remember touching him, kissing him, holding him. But until I see the pictures, until I watch the video, I forget how real it all was. Let me tell you how much those can bring him back to me. And now 2 years later, in a new house, a new city, I still wish he were here. We continue to miss your presence Noah Allen Whaley.

This has been 2+ years in the making. After Noah died, April, my sister-in-law, had this idea to create a better space for those who spend so much time in the TCH waiting room. In Noah’s memory, she collected $7,855 to put toward a renovation project for the waiting room. Thanks to April’s perseverance, this room was finally completed.

We had a small unveiling today with our family, some of Terry’s co-workers and even one of Noah’s nurses. It was very special to see so many people paying tribute to Noah.

New chairs were purchased and the room was arranged in a way that allows families to be more comfortable during their time in this room. The best part was that artwork was done by a group of 6th graders to remember Noah’s life. No doubt, our balloon tradition was passed on to them, because the theme of each piece was balloons. It is awesome. I spoke with one of Noah’s head nurses. She was in charge of his care the whole week. I thanked her for being there, thinking that she probably didn’t remember us but was just nice enough to attend when invited. However, she said that she would not have missed it. She remembers Noah, the events of that week, remembers his bedside and caring for him. I am continually amazed at how God touched lives in so many different ways through Noah’s life.

We were given balloons to release when we left, and God used something as simple as that to paint a picture for me. As we released them, the balloons did not drift up in the sky like normal, but climbed up the side of the building. Passing every floor, as if to give each child a sign of hope and peace as they looked out a window. Once they balloons made their way to the very top of the building, they were released from the vacuum and they floated into the sky. Like they covered the building of sick children with love then drifted up to heaven.

If you ever find yourself at Texas Children’s please make your way to the NICU waiting room on the 4th floor and see this room dedicated to our son.

Written by Noah’s Nana

One of my favorite songs that I found during the last 2 years is one by Steven Curtis Chapman called “With Hope.” The words expressed so well the feelings that began to fill my heart:
We can cry with hope, we can say good-bye with hope,
For our good-bye is not the end.
We can grieve with hope, we believe with hope,
There’s a place where we’ll see your face again.

We wait with hope
We ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We “let go” with hope

Over the last 2 years our family has found many ways to remember Noah and express our love as well as our pain, but it seems that the words and actions of the children, my grandchildren, have been the most powerful proof of faith. They talk about Noah without hesitation: “How big is he now? Can he see me? I miss Noah. I wish Noah was here. When will we see him? Does he see God?”. And so many more. There is not a doubt in their minds that he is happy and safe and is right where he is suppose to be.

I say all this to try to explain where my idea for a painting came from. Every holiday and birthday and even “no special reason” days, the grandchildren send off balloons for Noah to catch and whisk away. They love to do it and we are touched by their faith that he gets them. In the same way, they always relate the rainbows seen in the sky to Noah. So it seems I never look at the sky with clouds, sunshine, or rainbows without thinking of precious Noah and how much his sister and cousins love him and like to remember him.

So, after April told us about a comment that Cade made, my mind started painting a picture that I wanted as my own remembrance of Noah. Cade was talking about how rainbows are made and that God made them, but then he said, “Maybe Noah makes the rainbows with all the balloons that we send to him.” What a beautiful picture I saw in my mind!

God led me to a beautiful Christian lady, Lee Harris, and she took my ideas and put them at the tips of her brushes. The painting she presented to me encompassed every thought I have had about how I want to remember Noah. I want to name just a few, and you might find your own meaning in it—-just another reason it is such a beautiful piece of art.

3 children:

• These represent my grandchildren who love to send off balloons to Noah. They watch until there is only a dot left in the sky and they know he has grabbed them.
• A symbol of the Godhead: God, who is holding Noah in His arms; Jesus, who made it possible for us to see Noah again some day; Holy Spirit, who provides comfort and assurance through our grief and loss.
• Alyssa, Megan, Noah – what might have been

Sky and clouds:

• It is like looking into heaven, having so much of the picture made into the sky and getting a glimpse of the clear blue that lies beyond.
• Picturing Noah in the shapes of clouds everyday that I see them in the sky.

Balloons:

• So many balloons to represent all the times we let them go.
• Seeing how they float into the heavens and seemingly fade into bands of a rainbow.

Ocean:

• Endless, looking beyond, peaceful, powerful

Land:

• A promise – So faint in the background, but it is like the place waiting for us; the place where we will find Noah.

So as I look at the painting, the words of the song seem to come alive in the soft images: We wait with hope — the children standing on the shore viewing the land and the skies beyond the ocean waves. We hold on with hope –small hands clinging to the strings of the balloons knowing what beauty there will be as they fade into the rainbow. We let go with hope — Seeing the balloons float away, believing and clinging to the promise that we will meet again in a place more beautiful than any rainbow.

I love that Alyssa can tell complete strangers that today is her brother’s birthday. Like the lady at Garden Ridge as we were buying new flowers for the cemetery. I love that she is so open about it and there is nothing strange about her brother living in heaven. I love that she completely believes that when the balloons disappear in the sky, that means that Noah grabbed them. I love that I can celebrate and remember Noah anyway I want and Alyssa is on board. Want to send him balloons? YEAH! Want to have cupcakes like he is having in heaven? YEAH! Oh! To have the faith of a child.

So here I am toward the end of this day. I have reflected on the idea that I want to celebrate his birthday and not the day he died. For people that die at an older age, you usually remember their loved ones on the day they died. But for me, Noah’s birthday holds more meaning. I haven’t figured out why – only that is the day we met. The day he first came to our family. The day many of you heard about him. The day that changed my life. Last year on the 1st anniversary, I didn’t know what to do. Do we have a cake? A family party? Do we invite others to let balloons go? I chose to do nothing. But this year I was ready. I don’t want to make myself feel that if I do something one year, then I must continue that ritual for the rest of my life. This year we made cupcakes to remember him and next year we may not. It is hard to let yourself do what you want to. Not to think “what does it mean if I do this?” or “Do I still have to celebrate this way when Noah would have been 30-something?” We just do what we want, and what works each year. But let me tell you that singing the boring, traditional Happy Birthday song today really touched me. With us gathered around the kitchen table, candles lit, singing like we have for everyone else in the family (except Megan). It was surreal that Noah never had that. Never experienced a birthday and we never celebrated with him. But one day we will celebrate!
What really helps on this day is that many of you remember him too. I have never shyed away from talking about him. I like for people to bring him up, just to say his name. It confirms that he was here, that I have a son, that my heart has a hole in it for a real reason. Thank you for remembering Noah. Thank you for remembering our pain.

Happy Birthday Noah.

From Noah’s Papa:

Noah would’ve been 2, today

Ah, birth dates. Who doesn’t look forward to a birthday? That’s a very loaded question.

Take my dad for instance; he’d be 100 years old in September. But I really never expected him to live that long, so his passing in the prime of his 80s wasn’t too surprising.

Take Noah for instance; he’d be 2, today. I really expected him to be at your house. That’s the trouble with expectations; when they go unrealized, it puts a major dent in our lives. I’m not sure how the belief that children should always be okay took root in my brain, but when it doesn’t happen . . . major challenge.

Just read again, for maybe the 100th time, cause it takes me a long time to grasp, the verses in Colossians 3 about “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly thing” and “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts” . . . And be thankful and whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.  Man, how hard is it to not think about earthly things when we’re planning to load up this afternoon to go visit Noah’s grave? And where does giving thanks enter into that event? I give; it’s there. It just takes a little Spirit guidance to see it. It’s been two years, and the fog is just beginning to clear. It’s handy God is so patient.

How thankful can I be? Let me list a few. You and Ethan survive (yes, that’s day to day, not past tense). The gift of life is way beyond something to be taken for granted (not only physical, but eternal, as well). There is a massive reunion planned for the redeemed (maybe a party along the way). God, family, friends, and even strangers do come to our rescue in our darkest hours. Hugs are okay (not too often), but good when they happen. Pain and suffering do lead to a better understanding of God’s constant care (though I’m pressed to recommend it). Our family finds this time to rally together in a balloon festival. This too will pass with the aid of the Comforter. How cold life would be without Jesus. That Noah never had to have IED in his vocabulary; only the words I love you and we’re praying for you. That really awful, life-changing events work together for good for those who depend on God to see them through. Questions like “how could this happen” do begin to melt away in the well-wishes of others as they allow themselves to be the hands of Christ in this life. There is so much comfort in knowing where Noah is, even though it was a bit early to go home. Being willing and able to tell the cousins that Noah is with Jesus brings them closure with his passing from this life to his next one; they can and do look forward to being with him, again. He was such a pretty baby; no, he still is in my mind. Happy birthday, Noah.

I’ll stop. Since I don’t use this venue, I’ve over stayed my time. Lest you think I’ve finally gotten it together as a grandfather who misses his grandson, let me say that during this brief writing experience, I’ve had to stop, wipe the tears, cuss, regroup, and continue on. God is probably asking “how could this happen?”

The Abilene Ellers celebrate

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.