It’s OK To Ask

Memories are funny things. Sometimes, most of the time, they live quietly in the back of my mind and in the bottom of my heart, almost like they are dormant. They feel like pictures-flat and two dimensional, with no depth or feeling. But sometimes, sometimes, they are so much more.

To understand the more, you need to know that rainy, chilly, post-work (and school) Thursday evenings in the Fall were our absolute favorite evening of the week. On Thursday nights there were no after-school therapies to rush to, no post-work meetings to rush from, no homework for him or me and nothing but Friday standing between us and the weekend. The fall weather was our favorite, not too hot, not too cold, and Episucky tended to be gentler to him. We’d pick up a pepperoni pizza on the way home, change into our comfy sweats and do nothing but eat pizza and watch a movie on the couch. (those of you who knew him can probably name what we watched, for it was one of the same five, over and over, and over…..)

Those nights felt magical; we forgot about the stress of therapy, of homework, of actual work, chores, bills, medical issues, fears, worries, and all the things that invaded the rest of the week. Having that Thursday night break made our weekend seem brighter and our weeks feel shorter. I cherished them, and I’m pretty sure he loved them too. That memory lived in the pile of picture memories until tonight. It was in the stack, sitting dormant, waiting for something to trigger it.

At the barn tonight, one of my people asked a question about dragonflies, and I got to share a little bit about what they mean to me and about who Noah was. And then, when I took my horse outside, and I was thinking about that, the weather conditions–chilly, rainy, Thursday evening with the scents of Fall in the air–triggered those picture memories to rise up and become a three-dimensional visceral explosion of feeling. It’s amazing when that happens; it fills my heart until it almost bursts out of my chest. I could actually feel him curled up next to me, with the dog at our feet, and hear our voices singing along to “We’re All In This Together”. Did it make me grieve? Yes. Did I cry just a little, standing in the rain watching my horse eat hay in the pasture so no one there would notice, and if they did I could say I got rain in my eye? Of course. (hello, it’s me. There’s no crying in front of people) But that little bit of sorrow is a fair price to pay for the full feeling in my heart. For the reliving of a cherished bit of time. For the lightness in my soul that reminds me to get brave, get up and get on with it. For the echo of the joy and laughter, love and light that he brought into this world that is now mine to share with others.

So, I say all that to say this. Please, ask. Ask me about him, share your memories of him, don’t forget to talk about him to others. You might be scared that you will get a little bit sad. You might be a little bit uncomfortable or worried that it will make me sad. Ask anyway. Share anyway. Talk about him anyway. And when you do, you might feel a little bit sad or uncomfortable, or worried, but the end result is exactly what he would want it to be. Worth it.