When I named my son Noah, I was captivated by the vivid imagery it conjured. I envisioned the diverse species of animals gently swaying side by side, two by two, aboard an ark crafted from gopher wood by devoted hands. The notion of a fresh beginning resonated deeply with me, especially as someone who has always found solace in the embrace of the ocean. I could picture the historical Noah standing proudly at the helm of his vessel, arms outstretched to receive the twin symbols of peace—a dove and the olive branch she carried. Why not name my son after a figure so intricately woven into the fabric of hope and renewal?
Noah was born on a day when the sun broke through after 40 days and nights of rain, a fitting arrival in Oregon. He had a head of reddish-blonde hair and a serene presence that instantly captured our hearts. As the first of my children, he looked back at me with curious blue eyes, mirroring my own view of the world. His arrival was met with joy from his siblings: his sister, Lila, who was seven, eagerly cradled him; his four-year-old sister, Christa, embraced him with warmth; and his three-year-old brother, Micah, was utterly enchanted, captivated by every gurgle and wiggle.
We chose to name him Noah Patrick Moore—a nod to his father’s middle name—and completed his name with my maiden name, Kittel. Some chuckled, calling him “Noah Moore,” but little did they know how fleeting our time with him would be.
Tragedy struck, and our brief happiness was shattered when Noah left this world just 15 months later. At his funeral, I read these words: “Noah was ours for a beautiful weekend. He entered our lives on a Friday night, a miraculous answer to our prayers. We experienced his wonder before dawn while others merely dreamed. By Saturday, he was already woven into our being. We cherished his every movement—his first foods, his laughs, and his triumphant steps. By that Saturday night, he had become a permanent part of us, with eight tiny teeth and a radiant smile. We were enchanted by our family of six, and as Sunday dawned, we were filled with dreams of our life together. But by that afternoon, he was gone, leaving us with hearts forever changed. He taught us more than we could ever understand, and we are eternally grateful for the lessons he imparted.”
Fast forward twelve years, our family had grown to include two more children, and we were living in Costa Rica, though we left Lila behind for college. While it was hard to let her go, it paled in comparison to the heart-wrenching farewells we had faced. Having said goodbye to our son in a funeral home, any departure felt more manageable. I had been working on capturing the story of Noah and, tragically, our second son, Jonah. Named “Noah’s dove,” Jonah left us during stillbirth, leaving us with aching arms and his name lingering in our hearts: Jonah Emmanuel Moore Kittel. For three years, I poured my heart into their story, often daydreaming of them wandering back into my life.
One spring, friends visited with their three sons, one of whom, Adam, is autistic. Adam’s parents were Noah’s Godparents, and despite the years that had passed, he called my sons Micah and our youngest, Eli, by Noah’s name. Hearing “Noah” flowing from Adam’s lips was music to my ears, and my boys welcomed the name with open arms. As someone who cherishes words, I had always found joy in naming my children, and the absence of my sons’ names felt like a void in my life. When the visit ended, I shared with Noah’s Godfather how much I appreciated hearing Noah’s name. He breathed a sigh of relief, admitting he feared it might be painful for me—a reminder of how often our grief is misunderstood.
A few days later, I received a touching digital story from a relative titled “The Things That Matter.” In it, she shared how Noah had taught her daughter to climb stairs before his time with us came to an end. It was another gift, hearing his name spoken again.
Even now, 16 and 17 years later, I feel their absence acutely. Their names remain forever etched in my heart, and I long to shout them to the Universe each morning: “Noah!” “Jonah!” For bereaved parents, these moments are the essence of what truly matters.
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Summary: This heartfelt tribute reflects on the fleeting yet profound impact of naming a child after a biblical figure, the joy and pain of brief parenthood, and the enduring love for lost children. It underscores the importance of speaking their names and cherishing their memories while linking to resources on home insemination and fertility.