jump rope

Michael met his sweet friend, Brantley, in kindergarten. The two of them, along with their great friend, Tony, were big buddies.

Brantley is participating in Jump Rope for Heart at his and Michael's school. I received an email from Brantley's mom asking if it was OK if Brantley raised money in Michael's memory. Of course! I cried when I read her email. What a sweet way to remember Michael.

Here are Brantley's words:

I am raising money for Jump Rope for Heart in honor of my good friend, Michael Hall, who died from heart problems last year. Michael was born with a sick heart. He was 9 years old when he died. I miss Michael very much, and I wish he was here today. I want to help other kids like Michael by raising money in his name. Please help me raise a lot of money to help the American Heart Association so that other kids don't have to lose their friends too. Thank you for helping.

Here I am crying again just looking at his words. Will you help him?

Click here to go to Brantley's donation page.

pages

I am a scrapbooker.

This weekend I went to a crop.

I only cried twice. I call this progress.

I wanted to share the pages I completed.

I enjoy playing with glue. And paper.

And photos of my cute kid.

I want to continue to keep Michael's memory alive. And so I want to continue to put his photos down . To continue to tell his story. To smile when I think of the the things he said, the things he did, and the life that he lead.

golden globes

I find it strange the things that remind me of my loss.

Like the Golden Globes.

In typical years, I had not seen a single nominated movie.

Unless it was in the animated category.

We went to all of those. On the opening weekend. Usually.

This year, I have not seen a single animated movie.

And most of the others in the big category.

When Michael Hall won the award for Best Actor.

I gave a little cheer. For my own Michael Hall. Who was my Favorite Actor.

And superstar.

sirens

There are emergency vehicles screaming their way down the main road outside of our neighborhood at this moment.

I can only think of that day in April. And wonder if the way the sound is reverberating around my living room walls is the same as it was that day. I wonder if the same people are driving the trucks. If they too are remembering a different day that they worked on a 9 year old boy.

I wonder if another family is beginning a nightmare of a journey. And I pray for them.

evidence.

I don't leave my house much.

If I do it is quick and I am anxious to return. This is my safety zone.

But I have evidence that I should get out more....

I had a photo shoot. With my dog.

I'm ridiculous.

This dog. Such the snuggler.
Beauty Shot.
My lame attempt to get her to look at the camera.
She doesn't listen. Unless there is bacon involved.

I didn't have any bacon.

We'll save that for tomorrow.

Michael was much more willing participant to the self photo shoot.

And he didn't require bacon.

nine

Nine months.

I have rearranged every room in my house in that time.

Except one.

Michael's room has remained, for the most part, untouched.

His bed is rumpled.

His pajamas from the night before remain in the dirty clothes hamper.

His toys are left where he put them.

Only his shoes are back.

The one item of his that I walked out of the hospital with on that day.

His clothes were in no shape to come home with us.

Just his shoes. Placed back in his room.

His door is closed.

I don't go in to his room often.

And we have no plans to change it. Any time soon.

That time will come when we are ready. And we are not yet there.

It has been nine months.

The missing. The aching. Doesn't stop with time.

I now know what it is to be without Michael.

And I don't like it. A bit.

this week

If I had to pick a favorite week of the year.

I would pick this one.

This week. Just after New Year's and not yet time to go back to school and work.

This week. That begins with a late morning after a very late night. And is spent in pajamas.

This week. To gear up for real life. But still live in that time of twilight. Where the world is new again and work/homework are not yet back.

This week. Where the calendar starts over and is bright with new beginnings.

This week. This new year. Is different for me.

(That is not a surprise to anyone reading this blog.)

I have hunkered down. I have been reclusive.

In this week that is thought to be full of thoughts for a new future. I am thinking only of the past. I am not looking forward to more tomorrows. I am pining for more yesterdays.

This week, last year, Michael and I went to two movies. And put together Lego Star Wars pieces. And played Uno. He tried to teach me Stratego. But I didn't get it. He filmed army men videos. And we stayed in our pajamas and watched Elf for the hundredth time.

And the favorite week ended. Life began again in the form of school and work.

This week, this year.

I am struggling.

My heart is broken into a million tiny little pieces. And just when I think I have it together.

That I can function through my grief. That I can glue some of the pieces back.

I start all over again. With another million tiny little pieces.