Thoughts on Noah

I really didn’t think that it would be like this. I thought I could somehow fit you into my  perfectly planned night of banter, whisky and art. I’ll get off work, run and go see you, play a show at Hollow Earth, and then go to DEAD BABY down hill, and get wasted off my ass, just to feel like shit tomorrow morning when I go and sell my “art” at the Summit Block Party. When I found out you were coming, I laughed, and didn’t believe it. Not only that I had to be told several times, because the second that it went in my ear, I had forgotten it already. That seems to be how the big things go, I do not hold on to, or reflect on them, I just meet them, shake their hands, and move on. I couldn’t shake your hand, you were face down in a tiny crate, tiny arms folded in like snakes sucking the air out of you. All I could do is touch your back very softly as you gasped for air, and whimpered the most heinous whimper, like a bunny snapping its own spine. I don’t think I’ve loved anyone in my family this much, and you’ve only been here for less than two days. I haven’t cried during a traumatic event in, well, almost ever. I am the big strong one who handles it and moves on, I’ll cry about it some other time, sometime inappropriate and around the people who matter the least in the situation. But tonight, after hearing the nurses tell me that you will PROBABLY be alright, that there is just fluid in your lungs, that you cannot breathe on your own, that parts of your tiny lungs have collapsed, and that your worse than yesterday, but not “getting worse”, all I could do, was sit quietly on the other side of the room, alone, just you, and I, and listen to you. And I hope you listened to me when I sang to you. Monument is the name of the song, it’s about remembering to be alive, and to fight. I am so scared to love someone so much, I found myself swearing I would never have kids, and thinking about the people who, not too long ago, were in a waiting room, or holding my hand, hoping that I make it through. And that, Noah, it was by choice, I tried to take my own life, and there you lie, simply helpless, fighting for yours. In, and out, in, and out, in. You came into this world loving every person you ever met, and to the fullest extent, no need for fear or hesitation because as far as you’re concerned, everyone here is good. Everything here is good, no longer surrounded by the warm tissues of your mother, but objected to harsh sunlight, tubes, and more tubes. Sobbing, questions and cellphone beeps. And more tubes, yellow ones, blue ones and clear ones you can see the green from your stomach running through. They took it off while I was there, and put it back in, and took it out again a couple times, flicked it and pushed down the orange part until the bubbles that were once inside of you popped up, and out into the air. I found this to be almost as sad as the fact that my plans tonight were entitled DEAD BABY, because you see, the bubble is a translucent bulb, usually made by soap, with a rainbowy smile on it, and it really symbolizes being a child, and the free carelessness that gets to come along with it. And you don’t have that right now Noah, and I’m really scared for you, and your tiny feet. I’ve spent my whole life wanting to hear I love you, but never letting myself really be loved, or to love. And for some reason tonight, I felt that, for you. I hope that you make it through this, I hope that this is one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to go through, I hope that my brother, and erin take good care of you, teach how to be strong, and that strength means more than physical force, or the ability to walk away, but it also means the ability to feel, as much and as whole-ly as you possibly can. I love you.