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.