When I met Noah Mathew Leos last April at the NTSAD Annual Family Conference in Washington, D.C. his presence was magnetic. I was captivated by this beautiful child. His light shone so brightly you couldn’t look away. His mother and father like so many other parents were, both proud, yet humbled to be in that place with their son. Surrounded by those with children like theirs, those who understood their life. It was their first time attending this conference, and I could tell instantly; they were home.
They looked so much like many of the families I’ve seen over the years. Families like mine. Their son Tony, was so mature, wise beyond his years, and respectful of everyone. Little Marina dazzled everyone in her presence with her immense smile and constant dancing about.
These families share an unspeakable bond, and no words need to pass between us to communicate with each other. We just know. And one by one, we all must pass through the threshold of loss beyond the daily care routines and constant what ifs into the realm of loss and grief. When suddenly our know world is sent spiraling into oblivion, we often wonder, what’s next?
Zuraya, Noah’s mother beautifully and eloquently captures the heart of so many mothers of loss. Our days are upside down. Our lives are inside out. Here she gives a small window into her world since Noah’s passing and sheds light on some of the lesser seen personal struggles we endure.
“Today marks 40 days since Noah’s spirit transcended into heaven, following a fatal Juvenile Tay-Sachs Disease diagnosis at the age of 4 ½ years. After discussing prognosis we spent so much time planning what we wanted his future to look like, we never considered we would have to commemorate his life and struggle with such an atrocious monster like Tay-Sachs. The emptiness we feel without the constant care and routine of Noah has been suffocating at best.
As a baby, Noah had some developmental delays, but by the age of two he seemed to be “growing backwards” as his pediatrician would say. Gradually he stopped meeting his milestones altogether and began to physically and cognitively regress. After countless consultations with physicians and specialists, a neurologist discovered Leukodystrophy in Noah’s brain. On November 4th, 2014, we met the mother of all evil when we learned that the Leukodystrophy was the effect of toxic build-up in his brain caused by Tay-Sachs Disease. Slowly we picked up the pieces of our now shattered expectations for Noah’s future and created a list of 50 memorable moments we wanted to share with him. My husband, Hector and I were eager to take on the challenge of giving him a fruitful and inclusive life where he would never feel confined by his physical and mental limitations. Before his passing we managed to check off 27 experiences in the year after his diagnosis date. Quite unexpectedly, on November 1st, 2015, our Noah Mathew Leos passed comfortably and peacefully at home in his sleep.
I wish we held the same fervor for our future as we did Noah’s. Shortly after Noah’s passing his physicians, family, friends and even total strangers approached us about how we would memorialize Noah. We documented his life and how it impacted our family via social media, and to our surprise our Earthly Angel quickly attracted a number of followers. After his passing, immediately we were inundated with what’s next and how will you honor Noah? With great intention, people readily wanted to do something and help contribute in the planning of a memorial for our son.
We were embarrassed to tell people that after the shock of having to arrange Noah’s funeral, we didn’t want the added pressure of planning a celebration of life. Our community was surprised we have no foundation or prodigious tribute established in his honor. We are dumbfounded on how to commemorate Noah’s life and we have no immediate plans for this massive undertaking. We feel we are not only disappointing Noah, but our community as well for blocking their blessings and willingness to help our family during this time of need. Honestly, we simply don’t have the courage to take on such cumbersome task so early in our grieving process, people can be inconsiderate of time when you’re mourning. We feel a constant, insurmountable pressure to appease these requests, and the guilt of not meeting the expectation of our community further aggravates our affliction. Our grief consumes our family physically and emotionally, we regret the task of piecing together a memorial is far too daunting to even consider at the moment.
The Tay-Sachs disease process is gut-wrenching yet Noah managed to smile everyday through his pain. We found grace in his happiness and with every step we kept pushing forward, it seems unfair fabricating an event for the sake of satisfying everyone’s need to want to do something right now. Noah has a six-teen year old brother, Antonio, and four year old sister, Marina, both actively participated in his care and need time for their hearts to heal as well. My husband and I both hurt over the loss of our son, but our hearts are in peace that Noah is no longer being confined by this agonizing disease.
Although Noah’s physical body may have succumbed, we feel his spirit conquered Tay-Sachs and his victory deserves to be celebrated in a memorable way, but at this juncture we want time to reflect on his life until we are ready to honor this momentous occasion. Our mission was to help carry Noah through the threshold of Heaven and we have the rest of our lives to celebrate the lasting impact he made here on Mother Earth. By choice we are not publicly acknowledging this milestone before we are ready to do so and we feel selfish about this. The four of us want the opportunity to remember Noah and celebrate him privately without the sense of urgency we felt when we learned of Noah’s fate. Now, we will take time for us.
Noah passed almost exactly a year later to the day he was diagnosed. Our family wasn’t prepared to lose him so abruptly. No one was. For now, we heal one day at a time and can’t look beyond into the next day, let alone the rest of our lives. We feel completely defeated that we could not find a cure to keep Noah alive. There is a sting of guilt just breathing at times. It is excruciating when as a new family we are out enjoying a sunny day and realize Noah isn’t physically present with us; as if we intentionally forget him. That is the paradox of our bereaved family: Noah has passed us, we are survived and often feel guilty we are still living.
Our bucket list was a tribute to Noah’s endeavor in his fight against Tay – Sachs disease. We want to pay homage to our little man for warming our lives with smiles he gave us despite his pain, for his encouragement, for redirecting our faith and for the timeless memories we will cherish. It is going to take some time for us to organize and think through the details of planning a dedication to him, but one thing is certain- his commemoration will be monumental and impacting, just like his toothy grin.”