In Memorium: Noah Langholz – 10 Years Gone Today

       

In the lead-up to my son Noah’s 10^th death anniversary, I’ve been noticing the orange tree in our backyard. I’ve come to associate it with meditating on receiving and extending love. I admire the radiance and abundance of its fruit as the heavy branches spill and sprawl over the fence. I want to keep an image of this beautiful tree before me to grace this day and the years to come without Noah.

The plentitude and beauty of the orange tree remind me of:

-       the richness of Noah’s life—of the many people, experiences, interests, and talents he enjoyed, and of the love he felt and spread;

-       the outpouring of love and support from so many after his death;

-       the sweetness of the bond between my husband and I and our living son Ben, which has grown and deepened and done much to fill the empty places;

-       the fullness of life that the three of us have been able to rebuild over many of these past 10 years in spite of our devastating loss but also because of it; and

-       my hope for healing and recovery for fellow survivors of suicide loss and for those who are suffering

"And at times I'm like the tree, ripe and rustling,

standing above the dead boy's grave,

gathering him in its warm roots,

fulfilling the dream he'd lost

in sorrows and songs."

                                                    (Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours)

To Noah: Wish you were here to pick the fruit and make lots of juice, chatting in the kitchen. And to juggle oranges with your dad and brother. With love, gratitude, and amazement at all you were, we remember you.