October: A month of Memories and Loss
October: A Month of Memories and Loss
October used to be one of my favorite months—Samson's birthday, hockey season, and the excitement of Halloween. Samson and Gabe loved getting dressed up, always carrying pillowcases for trick-or-treating, which they'd fill to the brim. Halloween was always a candy jackpot for them.
As September came to a close this year, a familiar anxiety crept in. I knew October would never be the same. Our house would normally be decked out in fall decor by now—something I always did early to make it festive for Samson's birthday. But this year, I couldn’t bring myself to decorate. I never even put away last year's decorations. My best friend Amber and my brother Jake did that for me while I was in the hospital with Samson. They rushed to my house, took down all the fall decor, and put up Christmas decorations instead—for Gabe. For me. They did it to try to bring some normalcy back.
We lost Samson on December 2. Gabe’s birthday is also in December. Amber and Jake wanted to make sure that, even in the midst of heartbreak, Gabe could come home to some sense of stability. They did it because I couldn’t. They met me where I was—desperate to salvage Gabe’s birthday, desperate to hold on to Christmas, even though everything was already shattered.
It helped, though. It really did.
Now, I can't bring myself to open up the decorations that were packed away while my son was dying. While I lay there, holding his body, begging for a miracle.
We had a birthday party for Samson this year. It helped occupy my mind, gave me something to focus on—almost like I was preparing for his real birthday. We had a cake, candles, pictures of him everywhere. His friends came, we set off lanterns. It was beautiful. Hearing the laughter of his friends in the basement, just like old times, filled my heart with a bittersweet joy. This year, Gabe played against the Mahtomedi Hockey Team, the same team Samson had played on. Gabe loved it, and I did too. Seeing Samson's friends come hang out with Gabe, keeping that brotherhood alive, meant the world.
Mason, one of Samson's closest friends, spent hours playing with Gabe that night. A few days later, he sent me a picture. He’d gone to state and won in soccer, with Samson’s name wrapped around his wrist—a simple, beautiful gesture. “Samson” written on tape, next to a cross.
These boys, these teenage boys, have no idea how much healing they’ve brought to my heart. Another of Samson’s friends now has a tattoo of Samson's birthday in Roman numerals on his forearm. I could weep from seeing their love and compassion. Their efforts to keep Samson’s name alive mean more to me than they’ll ever know.
This time last year, we were getting ready for Samson’s 16th birthday trip to the Grand Canyon—the last trip I ever took with him. It was just a month before he passed. His dad, Tom, worried about him missing school. I said, "I don’t care. These memories will last far longer than the three days of school he's missing." And I’m so glad I didn’t care. I’m so glad I chose Samson first.
That trip is one of the most precious memories I have—the laughter, the awe of God’s creation, the love we all shared on that trip. My brothers and I still laugh about moments from it. God knew I needed that time with my boy, to soak up those memories. I think He sprinkled in moments of peace for me, even then.
I’ll never forget Samson saying, as he did many times before, “Mom, I don’t care if I fall and die. I already know I’m going to heaven. Who cares?” Every time, I would almost cry, yelling back, “I care! Samson, I can’t live without you! Please, be safe.”
He said that at least 15 times on that trip—just four weeks before he passed. Those words haunt me. Every day, I wake up questioning life, questioning God, questioning my purpose. "Why me, God? Why do You think I can bear this?" Most days, I don’t think I can. But for Samson, I continue. I carry on to spread his name, his love, and the joy he brought into the world. That’s my mission, until my last breath.
My heart isn’t on this earth anymore. I don’t know where it is, but I feel it in another universe, calling to me. I know this life will pass in the blink of an eye, and soon enough, I’ll be holding my heart again. I’ll be holding Samson again.
I can’t wait to see you, Samson.
Love always,
Your Mom
