Saving Noah

by Lucinda Berry

Like every parent, I’d imagined all kinds of scenarios that could happen to my children—illness, death, accidents, being kidnapped—but in every scenario, I’d pictured them as the victim. None of them included him in the role of the perpetrator. I’d imagined all of it. But this? Never this? This couldn’t be my son.

“No. I said no. I’m not changing my mind.” “Okay. I’m glad you understand how much this means to her—” “Adrianne, don’t you dare do this.”

That's messed up

“You don’t want to hear it. You act like you do, but you don’t. You don’t want to talk about it for real. You talk about what he did like he robbed some bank and went off to treatment to learn how not to steal again. You’re in la-la land about it. Always have been.”

The patio door was ajar. We never went out on the patio. Horror mounted with each step. I looked down. Noah’s lifeless body dangled from our balcony, tied by his bedroom sheets. Ice water shot through my veins. I raced to the edge and tried to pull him up. He was too heavy.

“He said he was a pedophile.” My breath was sharp and shallow. She was silent, and she was never quiet. She always had something to say. Finally, she spoke. “It’s what I was afraid of.”

“How do you treat them, then?” My voice cracked. “We don’t know how to change the fact that people are sexually attracted to children. The only treatment we can provide is trying to train them how to manage and control their desires.”

“I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t understand, but I do now, and I still love you.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. I loved him despite what he’d done and who he was. “Do you?” He cocked his head to the side. I was taken aback. “Yes, of course I love you. I’ve always loved you.” “You love who you think I am. Not who I really am.” His eyes flared with anger.

I took his hand in mine. I was out of words to say and done trying to pretend I had any answers. “I’m going to do it again. You can’t stop me,” he said. Was he talking about killing himself or hurting kids? Did it matter?

“What’d your dad say to you the night you ...” My question trailed off. “Have you asked him about it?” I shook my head. “We’re not talking.”

“He said I should run away. He told me to leave a note for you and Katie and tell you I was leaving. He promised to pay for my plane ticket to California no matter what it cost and drive me to the airport. I have no idea why he chose California. I guess because it’s as far west as you can get without leaving the country. Anyway, he said he’d send me money every month. The only catch was that I couldn’t contact you or anyone in the family ever again. He swore he’d cut me off if I did. He promised to send me money until I was twenty-one and after that I’d be on my own.”

“What if I was dying of cancer? Would you help me die if I had cancer and was only going to suffer by being alive?” “That’s entirely different. You don’t have cancer.” He gave me a halfhearted smile. “You’re right. I’ve got something worse. At least when you have cancer people still love you.”

I want to die with dignity, Mom. It’s what it’s called—dying with dignity—and I may not deserve anything else, but I deserve that.” “You really call swinging from our balcony dying with dignity?” The question flew out of my mouth without thinking. “Then help me, Mom. Please, help me.” His eyes begged for understanding, pleading with me. “Please.” It was at that moment that I decided I would.

All he did was touch the girls. There was no penetration or insertion of any kind.

Ewww