notice.

I haven't written in the blog for a while. I took a little hiatus. With the emotion that comes with the start of school and my work at the university starting to ramp up, I just didn't have the stamina to write anything. I was tired.

I do have news. I have given my notice at work. My last day will be the Tuesday after Labor Day. I just need time to mourn. To grieve. To miss Michael. It is difficult to do while working full time, for me. Grief is different for everyone. For me, I am unable to focus. I am unable to stop feeling guilty about that fact. I am not able to meet my own standards with work. And so it was time to give my notice. It was time for me to take time for me.

I wonder what this time will bring for me. I wonder what I will do with it. I have ideas. I have thoughts. My grief counselor cautions me not to put too much pressure on myself to be productive. Do what I want. When I want to. I'll need to remind myself of this. Often.

I'm nervous about this time. This season.

Thanks for continuing to check in with us.

would haves..

Today, we would have found out Michael's fifth grade teacher. Friday, we would have found Michael's fifth grade classroom. Saturday, we would have laid out Michael's fifth grade first day of school outfit. Sunday, we would have packed a lunch. Where I put in my first day of school mommy note. Monday, Michael would have been a fifth grader.

I know that today would have been filled with excitement. Michael would have been so excited to see who was in his class. Who his teacher was.

I would have lamented that I couldn't believe that I had a fifth grader. Aren't I too young for that, I would have said. Or time goes by so fast when you have kids. Or look at how big my sweet boy is now. Or any of those other things that moms will say on the first day of school.

But I won't get to say them. I'll remember first days gone by. And carry my sorrow of these first days ahead.

I am just so sad.

four months

Today is my birthday. It is also four months since that terrible day in April.

This is the month that Michael would have started 5th grade. He had wanted to start walking to school. By himself. I told him that we would wait until 5th grade to make that decision. Another decision that I won't make. Because it has already been decided for me.

I am jealous of all of the parent's that are picking out first day outfits. And new backpacks. And fresh supplies. I am jealous of the jubilation of moms that are sending their children back to school. That doesn't mean that I don't want to hear about it. I just wish I was experiencing the same emotions. The same routines that are supposed to come every year. But they don't. Not for Michael. Not for me.

When we were on vacation lounging by the pool, I could hear the cries of "Mom" from some kids on the beach. It struck me that I may never have someone call me that again. That I may never know that joy again. I read a quote by someone (I am too lazy to look up the exact quote or who said it): To be a mom is to wear your heart on your sleeve. I get it. I might change it up a bit ... To be a mom of a child that is no longer with you is to have your heart ripped off your sleeve, stomped on and given back to you. To hot glue back together.

A friend asked if my wounds were starting to heal. I told him not really. My wounds just scab over. And I pick it off. again. and again. and again.

I am in a very low place. I think this place is reserved for those days that are supposed to be special. But won't have the same significance ever again. Because how could they? When I am not complete.

It has been 4 months. And I miss my Michael more with each passing day.

Not a minute goes by that he is not in my thoughts.

Love you, boopy.

it is the little things.

I have a constant stream of Michael thoughts throughout the day. I am constantly thinking of him. Or reminded of him. It doesn't stop. I'm glad. I don't want to forget.

Today I am reminded of the little things. I thought I would list five here, because these are the ones I was thinking about this morning. This hour. I could list five hundred. And probably will. But not at the same time.

1. I am reminded of how when I would hear a crash from his room, he would shout "I'm OK". Before I even had a chance to ask. Or see what was up. He just wanted me to know that I didn't have to worry about him. He was OK.

2. I am reminded that when he was really upset about something, he wouldn't want to talk about it. He would bury his head in my chest and cry. And then start to tell me about it, in between sobs. He wasn't upset often. But when he was, he let loose.

3. I am reminded how my favorite place to be was in the car pick-up line at school. With my McDonald's diet coke. And how when I would see him waiting with the other kids, my heart skipped a beat. Because I got to see my buddy. Fresh from school. With an afternoon to enjoy together. When he started walking home from school this past year, my favorite place to be was waiting on the front porch for him. With my can of diet coke. I could usually hear him before he got to the driveway. He liked to talk to himself, out loud. Complete with sound effects.

4. When Michael was little, he wore a hat constantly. The only place the hat was not worn was in the bathtub. But as soon as he was dried off and dressed in pajamas, he would put that hat back on. He slept in it. He went through surgeries and procedures in it. He didn't use a pacifier or have a blanket or suck on his thumb. He had a hat. I worried that when the time for kindergarten came, that he would not want to part with his hat. I shouldn't have ... in his typical laid back style, he stopped wearing the hat during the day for school and would put it back when he got home. Then he stopped wearing one all together. He had outgrown it, I suppose.

5. I am reminded of Michael's love of costumes. How he would go back to his room and come out as Spiderman or Batman or a Storm Trooper. He had a Spiderman costume that he got from my mom and dad when he was around 4. He would still put it on, even recently. Sure the pants were hitched around his knees, and there were holes in the seams, and it was threadbare. Didn't matter to him. He would still put it on. We laughed at our little super hero.

A hundred million little things that all add up to a life that was cut too short. I will keep sharing. To keep his memory going. Mostly for myself. But I appreciate that people read. And know what a special, special boy my son is. was.

thirty eight dollars

I got the bill for Michael's last day on Sunday. Technically, I received it sometime between Thursday and Saturday. But I was just home from vacation. And it was in the mail box.

$38.23

This is how much I owe the hospital where Michael was taken. This is the amount after our health insurance has paid their portion. It doesn't seem enough. I would pay 1000 times that amount. If only they would have revived him. If only their efforts could have brought him back. From the beat that couldn't fall in line. From a heart that was tired.

$38.23

I would gladly pay that amount. If Michael was still here with me.

But I don't want to pay them.

The amount that I am to pay for their efforts.

$38.23

I'm going to let it sit. And not pay it yet. It seems like yet another step towards closing out the events of the day. To pay for the work the hospital did to keep Michael alive. They didn't. And here we are. I'm not ready to close out that day. I'm not ready to pay a small amount for the failed attempt at keeping Michael's heart beating. I'm not ready.

And so they can bill me again.

Until I am ready.