change.

I am a creature of habit.  I like traditions.  Routines.  I like to know that on Tuesdays we will go to the library.  Or on Thursdays we go to Young Actor's Theatre and then to dinner at Atlanta Bread Company.  I like advent calendars and Bingo at Christmas.  I like to watch the same movies over and over again.  Because I know the outcomes.  I go to the same restaurants.  They are comforting to me.  I like familiarity.  

I do not like surprises.   I do not like change.   I do not like to have things sneak up on me.  I do not like to be unprepared.  Or unplanned.

But I find myself right in the middle of the biggest life change imaginable - a life without my son.  The second biggest life change was the birth of Michael.  Now.  That is a change I can believe in.  This is a change that I can't accept.  A change that I do not welcome.  

This is not a change that I anticipated.  Michael had a heart defect.  Yes.  But he was not sick.  He was not ill.  He did not show any of the signs that I look for constantly.  That were on my radar on a daily basis.  

He was playing with magnets.  With his very best friends.  And then he wasn't.  

He was happy and laughing and making up fun stories.  And then he wasn't.  

His heart was beating.  And then it wasn't.

In an instant.  My whole world changed.  My whole identity changed.

I didn't get a say.  I didn't have a vote.  Or a choice.

I do not understand.  

Nor do I accept it.

As I was leaving the cemetery today, I was overcome.  With grief.  I laid my head against my steering wheel and cried.  Big tears.  Racking sobs.  I let myself feel.  And it overtook me.  I am good at hiding my emotion.  I am good at holding back tears.  But not today.  Not by myself.   And I let them sweep me away.   

I just want what I had.  I want to give back this change.  I want to check No.  

I want Michael.  Complete and whole.

And ready for Atlanta Bread Company. 

Because it is a Thursday.  And our family tradition.

birthday countdown

Michael's birthday is coming up in one week and one day.  I am simultaneously pushing it away and pulling it towards me.  I am not ready for it.  And yet, I just want to wake up and find myself on the other side of it.  Of course, the other side of it is where exactly?  I can't imagine a time where I will wake up and not feel the hurt of not being able to spend my baby's 10th birthday WITH him.  I will celebrate it FOR him. But he will not be there.

He will not be there to blow out his candles.  On the cake that Nana will make for him.  He will not be there to tear the wrapping paper off of his gifts.  He will not be there to watch a Star Wars movie with close friends and family.  He will not be there to participate in the annual birthday scavenger hunt.  Or pick out the special birthday dinner.  Or countdown the days until he is double digits.

But I am here to do all those things.  And all I want to do is crawl into a ball and cover my head with my covers.  To sleep through this momentous occasion.

I wonder if Michael will always remain 9 in my memory.  If he will age.  

I feel a bit like the movie Groundhog Day.  Where the same events keep happening.  With the same results.  Every day, I have the same realization.  That Michael is not coming back.  It is like I process the information over and over again.  Praying ... hoping for a different result.  Praying ... hoping that this is the day the cycle is broken.

I am unfocused.  I am sad.  I am weepy.

I am here.  Waiting.  Steeling myself. 

Trying to stop the cycle.  And failing.

Miserably.

daddy's day

Happy Daddy's Day to my sweet husband.  Michael's daddy.  The man who played countless games of Stratego, Yu-Gi-Oh and Bakugan.  Who created fun hideaway tents and large army battles.  The daddy who took Michael to history museums and forts.  Science centers and exhibits.  The guy who taught Michael how to throw a football.  Kind of.   The dad that would take Michael to Fun Station and stay for hours.  Who would play countless games of Laser Tag.  And Putt-Putt.  And bumper boats.  Who taught Michael how to play video games and the strategy involved.  Who introduced Michael to YouTube.   The man who encouraged our son to make friends.  To step out of his comfort zone and to not be shy.  The man who I liked to say contributed to the nerdiness of our house.

Michael was a lucky little guy to call you his daddy.  I love you.

neighborhood.

I visit Michael every day.  Usually around the 5:00 or 6:00 hour.  Even on the weekends.  This just seems to be my time to go to the cemetery.  I don't stay long.  Just long enough to tell him how much I miss him.  And how I would do absolutely anything to get him back.  And I mean anything.  Or talk about the day.  Recently, I have been telling him about the many photos that people have sent spelling out his name.  

The cemetery is such an odd place.  I talk about his "neighbors" - Patricia and Joseph.  How they were buried in the 1980's and don't have flowers on their markers.  I was thinking that I should get them some.  How it would bring more color to Michael's spot.  When a new person "moved in", I gave him (Ed is his name) one of Michael's pinwheels.  I believe that Ed's family returned the favor by putting an angel statue on Michael's grave (I don't know if this is true ... I just don't know who else would have left it).

For 9 weeks, Michael's spot has had a temporary marker.  With his name and dates.  And it was surrounded by Star Wars figures and a Star Wars vehicle;  some Army men;  a Spiderman;  two pinwheels, a flower vase, and a gerber daisy. And the aforementioned angel statue.  I held my breath in recent weeks.  I knew that the time frame for the arrival of his permanent marker was soon.  I dreaded that day.

Today.  Was that day.  

I drove up and knew instantly that something was different.  And instantly I had a knot in my stomach.  Michael's marker had arrived.  He became a permanent resident.  In the cemetery. Another reminder that this is not a nightmare that I will awake from.  He is, in fact, all moved in.  To this neighborhood.

I took pictures.  I will upload them when I am ready. 

Today.  Is not that day.

The marker is nice.  It lists his name and his dates.  We added a star.  Because that was Michael.  A star.  And then we were able to add a description.  This was a tough choice.  What do you add to your son's marker that will sum up all that his life was ... and all that he could have been?  In one line?  

We chose:  Love you to the moon and back.

Because it's true.  For now and for always.  It is what Michael and I have always said to one another.  We usually added  - times 1600 (Michael's favorite go-to number).  I would say it as we said good night.  When I tucked him in.

It seemed fitting.  In his final resting spot.  His final tucking in.  To say it again.

Love you to the moon and back.

buddy. boopy. boo-bear.

I grew up with the nickname of BoBo.  I probably shouldn't put that out on the internet for fear that it will come up in strange places.  I go by BoBo, or Bo amongst family and friends.  Honestly, I kind of lucked out on my nickname.  Our family's best friends also have a daughter named Jenn.  Her nickname became JuJu.  I win.  

I think that the nickname came from being told it was "Bedtime for Bonzo" by my mom and dad.  And the Bonzo evolved into BoBo.  My parents loved the name so much that they named their dog after me.  They insist that his name is spelled Beau.  But we all know it is the same thing.

Anyway.

I love nicknames.  I love to call people chicken or sunshine buckets or sugar booger.  I think nicknames are fun.  And personal.  And sweet.

Michael was no exception to my love of pet names.  I am surprised that he ever knew his name.  He had many.  I was most consistant with Boo, or Boopy or Buddy.  Sometimes Boo-bear.  But had been known to call him any of the following (in no particular order, other than typing them as they come to me...):

• Captain Crankypants
• Sweet Pea
• Scooter Poot
• Stinky Pete
• Mighty Mike
• Doofy-Doo
• Love Bug
• Love Muffin
• Michael Michael Motorcycle
• Stinker Pie Poopie Pants
• Snuggle Bunny
• Cutie Pie Butt

There are many others.  The above is but a sampling.  I always expected that there would be a time when he would ask me to not call him anything but Michael in front of friends ... or girlfriends.  

He had not yet asked me to stop.  

ride it out.

Sometimes my sadness comes up and punches me in the throat.  I can't breathe.  I can't function.  I just sit.  And cry.  Things that used to make me crazy are no longer a big deal.  I don't care about the cleanliness of my house.  I don't care how the dishes are loaded into the dishwasher.  I don't care if the laundry is folded right away.  

The finality of Michael's passing hits me daily like a ton of bricks.  I open a closet and see our Christmas advent calendar.  I am struck with the thought that we will not do that again this year. I will not put little notes of fun activities for us to do together.   I am reminded of him as I feed the dog - one of his daily chores.  Or when the recycling bucket is full - it is on the tip of my tongue to call him to take it out.

I think of the ways that I could have prevented this.  I know I couldn't.  But it doesn't stop me from feeling like if I had only been able to hold his hand, he would have come back.  Or if I had been in the room with him while they were working on him, that he would have sensed it.  Known that he wasn't alone.  Known that his mommy was right there waiting for him to open his eyes. To breathe on his own.  Or if I had only prayed harder.  

I know intellectually that I couldn't do anything more.  But my heart constantly wonders what if.  It is the what ifs that hurt daily.  We used to make what ifs a game ... what if Star Wars was really true?  What if cars could fly?  Now what ifs haunt me.  Shake me to my very core.

Weekends are difficult.  I don't have a set place to be at a set time.  I have freedom to do what I want.  But I can't leave the house except to visit the cemetery.  I just sit.  And cry.  And remember.  And long for my sweet little boy.

Our grief counselor shared that when you are on a runaway train, all you can do is sit.   You can't stick your foot out to stop it.  You just ride it out.  Hold on tight.  

And so that is what I do.  I am gripping the seat rest.  Closing my eyes.  And riding it out.

misquoted.

Michael and I made a CD of some new music and some of our favorite songs for a road trip to Atlanta in January (the very same trip where we saw snow).  I'll post that story (complete with video) in the next couple of days.

Anyway, Michael asked me (from the back of the car), "Mommy, why would anyone need to say sandwich?"  Umm ... how does one answer that? 

 So I ask, "What?"  See how articulate I am?  I'll just make him ask again while I come up with something brilliant.  

And then he says, "Why is this person singing about needing to say sandwich?"

We were listening to Say What you Need to Say by John Mayer.  Michael heard "Sandwich - You Need to Say".  Funny.  Kid.

It was then that I realized he is a duplicate of his mother.  Me.  I got through life thinking that many songs were something completely different than what they really were.  Like I Want a New TRUCK.  Right ... Huey Lewis was actually singing about wanting a new DRUG.  Totally different meaning.   Or Stop in the Neighborhood.  When really one was Stopping in the NAME OF LOVE.  Not the same.  I imagine that Michael would have had the same leanings as he got older.  See ... we liked music for the beat.  Without so much a care for the lyrics. If we didn't know it, we just made them up.  Filled in the blanks with other things.

I passed down my knack for mistaken lyrics to my child.  The rest of the trip and everytime we heard this song, Michael and I would sing the wrong lyrics.  We would also sing it when we ate sandwiches.  But we would point to the sandwich.  We are clever.  And choreographers. 

How thankful I am for fun memories with my funny kid.  I just wish that we were making more of them.  Today.  And every day.

rock superstar...

Mommy, Mommy ... you need to take my picture.  

Yes, yes I did.

name gallery

I have added all of the photos that I have received thus far into a flickr group.  The link is on the right side of my blog - just click on the photo of Michael pointing.  I set up a group - Michael's Name Project.  It is currently set to admin approval (that's me!).  If you would like to join the group, just send me a request with Michael's name in the body of the e-mail.  Easy.  Peasy.  

I decided to make the title of each photo the location that the photo came from, if I knew it.  I also added notes from the photographer, if any.  These mostly came from the e-mails sent.  I tried to not include any identifying information for those that have sent in photos.  If you would like to add something to your photo, drop me a line and I will add it.  Or leave a comment.  I'll add photos most every night.  So fun to see them all together!

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you. 

I know I said this before, but I am so amazed by the response to my not-so-little-anymore project.   Wow.  You people are awesome.

two months.

It has been two months.  Today.  It some ways it seems like two decades.  And in others it seems like two minutes.  It has been two months.

June was another big month in our household.  Michael and I would have gone on a solo road trip to Kentucky for a family reunion.  Stu couldn't go with us and so we were to have hit the road ourselves.  We were going to spread the trip out and stop at my alma mater, Berry College, along the way.  Michael had been to campus once, but he was three and didn't quite remember it.    I wanted to show him where I lived while on campus.  Where I worked.  Where I had class.  Where I got sprayed by a skunk my freshman year.  I think he would have gotten a kick out of the school.

We were going to make CDs of our favorite music.  Because that's what we did for road trips.  And we would have stayed in hotels along the way.  Hotels with pools.  And we would have jumped on the bed.  And we would have laughed.

Michael would also have started camp this month.  A camp that is held at his elementary school and full of fun field trips.  He would have brought his DS and played Pokemon or Bakugan or Star Wars or whatever else was on tap for the day.  He would have swam and skated and taken trips to far away places.

We would have planned big things for his double digit birthday.  We would have maybe had a sleepover.  Or maybe just a couple of friends over.  Or maybe another screen on the green.  We would have planned.  Michael would have been so excited that he couldn't hide it.  

I think of the things I have missed in these two months:  the smooches.  The hugs.  The "I love yous".  I think of the movies we would have seen.  And the trips we would have taken - to Star Wars Weekend.  To Kentucky.  To the grocery store.  I think of the games of UNO.  The celebratory dinner for completing 4th grade.  For making an excellent score on FCAT Writing.  For just being an all-around good kid.  I think of the rolled eyes when I would make him pose for yet another picture.  Or brush his teeth.  Or pick up his room.  I think of how involved he was in his play that his room was scattered with tons of his figures.  His tanks.  His battles.  I think about how I would ask him to clean his room.  And would find him playing with the toys as he put them away.  How cleaning was a game.  It took a lot of time ... but he made it fun.

I find myself wishing for more time.  Wondering what I would have done differently if I had just known about this April 9th deadline.  I wasn't given the timetable.  I didn't know.  

It has been two months.  And I am focused on keeping Michael's memory going.  To let his name be spoken.  To talk about him and his life.  That he will continue to impact others.

I am overwhelmed by the response to my call for photos of Michael's name.  I have already received quite a few. I am amazed.  I stand in awe of all of you.  Thank you.  Thank you for speaking his name.  Thank you for remembering.  Thank you.

Say my name...say my name...

It is my desire that Michael’s name always be remembered.  That he is not forgotten. That his memory will always live on.

 

Michael’s 10^th birthday is coming up on July 1^st.  Double Digits.  He would have been so excited about his day.   We had just discussed possible party plans on that Wednesday.  Before that terrible Thursday.

 

With that in mind, I have a big request.  I would like to see Michael’s name spelled out in as many ways as possible.  I would like to see his name in many settings.  From many people.   Handwrite his name, spell it out with objects, skywrite it.  It doesn’t matter.  Just write his name.  Be creative.  Be big.  Be small.  Take a picture.  And remember him, say his name.

 

And then send me the picture.  If you would like, include a story of where you were and why you wrote his name there.  Or send the picture and a memory.  Or just send the picture.  I'm not picky. E-mail is fine. I will post the photos on my blog (iloveyoubest.blogspot.com) or perhaps a flickr gallery.  I haven't quite decided on the logistics as yet. I think it depends on how many photos I receive.  But I will keep you informed.   I would like to eventually put them into a photo book.

 

I do have one request, if I may be so bold.  If you are going, know someone who is going, or know someone who works at Hollywood Studios – would you or ask them to get a picture with Michael’s name with some of the characters or attractions from Star Wars Weekend?  This upcoming weekend is the last for the Star Wars Weekends.  We were to have visited there two weekends ago.  We went last year and loved it. 

 

I got the idea from another blog,  MckMama (http://www.mycharmingkids.net/2008/08/eventually-these-photographs-will-be-in.html).  I didn’t want to take her idea without giving credit.  This link will take you directly to her son’s name gallery.

 

Will you help?  Send this request to friends far and wide.  Post on your blogs.  Perhaps your facebook page.  Or your work break room.  Wouldn’t it be fun to have names from across the globe?  I would be so touched.  So honored. 

 

I would love to have lots of photos prior to his birthday (July 1), but would certainly keep collecting well after that.  Again, not picky.  Just want my boy to be remembered by many.

 

Send your photos to jenndooley at yahoo.com.  Or mail them to us if that is easier.

 

Can’t wait to see them!  Thanks for entertaining this slightly off the wall request!

 

Much Love,

Jenn Dooley

three days

I participated in the 3 Day Walk for Breast Cancer last year.  Started out by myself, but made a great friend, Jenny,  at the beginning of the walk.  We ended up walking together the entire 3 Days. 

I had a pretty amazing support team.  Stu and Michael picked me up every day from camp so that I could spend the night in the hotel with them.  Call me a wussy because I opted out of camping - but I enjoyed spending the time with them.  And they totally pampered me.  Brought me meals.  And Icy Hot.  And Blister Band-ads.  Very sweet.  They were at most of the cheering stations.  I looked forward to seeing them at every opportunity.   I needed that connection.  I needed their hugs.  And high-fives.  I needed their love to keep me going.

And keep me going they did.  Along with my mom and dad and my family members and friends.  I couldn't have done the walk without so much support.

I was tired at the end of the walk.  But felt really good about the big accomplishment.  I came home on a big high.  Like I could do anything.  And so, I signed up again for the walk this October, 2009.  With nary a thought turned toward the 6 blisters on my left foot.  Or the pain in my knees on the last day.  Forgot all about those things.  I recruited more people to join me. I was glad to be walking with a team.  Cute t-shirts.  Tent decorations.  A team name.  

And then when the unthinkable happened, I knew that I wouldn't be able to complete the walk this year.  Michael was such a big part of my experience last year that I couldn't imagine doing it again without him.  I didn't want to imagine it.  His little face was what kept me going when I thought I couldn't go any further. 

But then my sweet husband reminded me of how proud Michael was of me walking. How he talked about cheering me on again this year.  How he was my trainer and would come in while I was on the treadmill and tell me to hustle it up.  Walk harder.  Faster.  Stronger.   How he wanted to complete the walk with me when he was older.  How we would be a great team.  

And now he can't.

But I can.

I am going to participate in this walk.  I imagine that Michael will be with me at every step of the way.   I made a promise to do it.  And Michael was adament that promises always be kept. Because otherwise you were lying.  and we. do. not. lie.  It was a rule of the house. (Alongside the rule of never talking to Mommy during Biggest Loser... ahem)

So I am in.  It will be hard.  I will cry.  I will talk of quitting.  But I am determined to push forward.  For my Michael.  For my Grams.  And for me.

Want to join me?

Click here to go to my donation page:  http://www.the3day.org/goto/jenndooley

thoughts on geico...

"I'd just do what Pa says - Flick off his eyes and take the money".

Michael, after spring break with his Pa and Nana (April 2009)

model. model.

Because I need a laugh today...

I love reality shows.  That won't surprise most.  I don't watch the more mainstream shows like American Idol or Dancing with the Stars.  No ... I watch Rock of Love, and Charm School and Big Brother.  Only the classiest for me.   I also am a fan of Biggest Loser and any of the Real Housewives or Top Whatevers on Bravo.  

Michael liked to watch {some} of these shows with me.  I didn't so much let him watch all of these shows ... as they are a bit on the ... um ... scandelous side of things.  But he would watch Top Chef or Project Runway or Biggest Loser with me.  And he liked the cartoon Total Drama Island, which is like a reality show.   For the smaller set.

Michael was asked to write about Rules for his the Writing portion of the FCAT.  He told me that he wrote that one of the rules in our house was "that no one could talk to Mommy while she watched Biggest Loser".  I wasn't that strict ... I would totally chat during commercials.  Sheesh.  (I'm hoping to get a copy of this writing ... it is not a typical request, but I am hoping to see it.  I can only imagine the other rules he might have written about.)

Anyway, I thought I would share these two pictures.  These are his model/runway walk photos.  You can tell two things:  1.  I took tons of pictures of my kid.  I used to say he was the least photogenic kid ever (don't believe me?  check out all of those school pictures for the past few  years!).  I would take hundreds of pictures to get one that I liked.  He was a pretty good sport, but obviously liked to spice things up a bit.  2.  We practiced our runway walks and end poses in the house.  Especially with first day of school outfits.  Hilarious.    Michael was pretty good at the posing.  As evidenced by these two photos.  

My boy.  Totally hip.

Heaven's Next Top Model?

differences. similarities.

Some friends of ours had a baby the same week that Michael left us.  Their little one arrived on a Monday.  Our little one left us on a Thursday. 

It is interesting to me the similarities that I have encountered with these seemingly very different life events.  As they are preparing for life with a baby, we are preparing for life without.  

But we both have received meatloafs.  And chicken casseroles from friends.  Both of our families receive cards.  And the thoughts from many. 

They picked out a going home from the hospital outfit.  I picked an outfit for burial.  

Both of our families are struggling with sleep.  They don't sleep because the baby cries.  I don't sleep because I cry.  And routines.  They are establishing routines while I am fighting against a routine.  Because routine means that the world continues to spin.

They measure their little one's age in weeks.  I measure my loss in weeks.  And soon those will turn to months.  And then years with half years sprinkled in to measure time.  

They will document firsts.  I struggle through firsts.  And lasts.  And then will struggle when firsts become seconds.    They will lament the fact that time goes by quickly.  That their baby is growing up.  I will agree with them.  That time goes by quickly.  They will wish for time to stand still ... for their little one to stop growing.  I will agree.  And wish for time to reverse.  To get my baby back.  And to treasure each moment. To document it so that I don't forget even the tiniest of detail.

They look forward.  I look back.  

They think of what will be.  I think of what could have been.

dinner

On that last Wednesday, I can remember that Michael and I had spaghetti for lunch, that we had an UNO tournament that I won, that Michael snuck out of bed for one last goodnight smooch, and that he was excited to watch Clone Wars as he got ready for night-night.  I can remember a portion of our lunch conversation where he wanted me to tell him a funny story.  So I told him the story of my Halloween.  When I was a witch and was scared that people would really think I was a witch and so I made my mom take me home early.  We laughed.  

But I can't remember what we had for dinner.  

I have searched my memory for this fact.  I can't remember. And that terrifies me.  

last day of school

I had the opportunity to spend some time in Michael's class yesterday ... this last day of fourth grade for the students in his class.   I hadn't planned on being there.  But one of his best friends e-mailed me, asking if I would come see her.  How could I say no to that?  I couldn't and so I made certain that it was fine with Mrs. Branch.  It was.  And so I went.

And oh how thankful I am that I did.

The kids in his class are the sweetest of the bunch.  I can't imagine a better class.  They are all friends.  They all cheer on each other.  And they are lead by one of the most amazing women.  Mrs. Branch is a gem of a teacher.  I love her.  Michael loved her.  She is one of those people that lights up the room.  That made Michael a lover of school.   Quite a feat for a boy who was never a fan of the inside of the classroom.

To be truthful, the day was bittersweet.  I loved being in the class.  But such a big part was missing.  He was missing.  He would have been thrilled.  Going to fifth grade.  The rulers of the school.  The top dogs.  He would have loved it.  Counted down the loudest.  High fived his friends.  We would have celebrated the weekend at Disney World.  He would have strutted like a peacock.

It would have been fun.  It would have been exciting.  It would have been a proud moment.

Instead, it is sad.  Just another moment in the laundry list of moments that I won't have.  That I won't collect in the recesses of my memory.  To tell his grandchildren. 

 Just another could have been.

cd

We made CDs of Michael's favorite music to give to his classmates (no worries, family and friends, we made a ton of extras to give to all of you as well!).  I did edit the list a bit as I thought some of his favorites might not be appropriate for all households (nothing terrible ... but not everyone lets their kids listen to Low or My Humps or Baby Got Back or Ice, Ice Baby).  Maybe I will put together a volume 2 of his favorites that can include more of the edgier songs. In our house, the beat of the music was important. We like a funky beat that we can dance to...

Anyway. I thought I would share the cover and inside cover.  These are just some of the songs that we sang on road trips.  Danced to in our house.  Sang while cleaning or playing video games or walking in the store.  

Songs that every time I hear, I will think of Michael.  And smile.  And remember him.  His spirit.  His funky dance moves.  His booty shakes.  

garden

The dedication of Michael's memorial garden was yesterday.  The garden is beautiful ... and put together so lovingly by Michael's class and the school.  The stepping stones spell out his name and were designed by Michael's class.  The flowers were also planted by Michael's class.  

At the dedication, the principal spoke as well as two of Michael's classmates and his teacher.  Their words were so sweet.  Michael would have loved it.

Afterwards, we went to Michael's classroom and spent time with his class.  The students shared their Michael moments.  So funny.  We ate pizza.  Laughed together.  It was good to be there.  Good to see his friends.  Good to be amongst kids again.  I haven't been around kids in a long while.  I needed that.  It was good for my soul.

Our neighborhood is just across the street from the school.  I can walk to Michael's garden whenever  I want.  It is so peaceful - I drove by there tonight.  I look forward to seeing it grow.

Michael was blessed with a great school.  A fantastic teacher.  Good friends.  Their tribute to him is beautiful.  I don't have enough words to thank them for all they have done.

moments

I have moments.  Of extreme sorrow.  They sneak up on me when I least expect it.  I also have moments.  Of extreme anger.  I am mad and want to lash out.  I am mad and want someone to be held accountable for righting this wrong.  This incomprehensible act.  

The taking away of my precious boy.

Stu and I went to see Night at the Museum 2 on Saturday.  A movie that we would have/should have taken Michael to see.  I couldn't laugh.  I knew every moment that Michael would have laughed.  The kind of laugh where no sound comes out because it was just. that. funny.  The kind where his whole mouth would go wide and he would look at me with big eyes and the most musical sound would come out.  His laugh.  His guffaw.  I knew those moments.  And the joy that we would have shared ...  would have remembered long after the credits rolled ... was not there.  I couldn't laugh.  Because HE can not laugh.

And I was mad.  We left the movie and I was angry.  I was feeling sorry for myself.  And angry that my child was taken from me.  I don't know what to do with myself in those moments.  I lash out.  I sob.  I find it hard to breathe.  

I feel incomplete.  I am overwhelmed.

And I am selfish.  I am not able to be a comfort to anyone else.  My grief is whole and I have no room for other parts.  Stu and I are grieving.  Alongside each other.  But in different ways.  That's OK.  There is no right or wrong way.  

Tomorrow is the dedication of the Memorial Garden at Michael's school.  His class assisted in designing the garden and created 9 stepping stones for him (7 to spell out his name and 2 more - the class wanted to have 9 as that was his age).  The class also participated in the planting of the flowers.  My parents are here for it.  We will have pizza afterwards.  I made cookies.  My friend Carmen is bringing fruit.  Mrs. Branch is bringing drinks.   Michael loved the pizza parties at school.  It seemed fitting to have one after the garden dedication.  Michael loved his class.  He LOVED his teacher.  I am glad to be with them for the day.  To hear their Michael moments.

I just can't believe he won't be there.  

flip flops

I went to Old Navy yesterday.  I bought a couple of shirts that I will probably end up returning.  Victims of retail therapy.  

As I was checking out, the Old Navy employee asked if I would be coming back over the weekend for the $1 flip flop sale.  I said, Oh, I forgot about that.  I should probably stock up on flip flops for my son.

I'm sure she looked confused when the look of horror came over my face when I realized what I had just said and I high-tailed it out of the store.  I don't know.  I didn't look back.

fun with dad...

When I did the 3 Day walk in Atlanta this past fall, Stu and Michael came to cheer me on and be my support team.   And to also have some fun in Atlanta while I was on the route.  I thought I would share some of the photos from their time together.  They loved going to museums.  A fun time to share together.  They would spend hours there.  Exploring all of the exhibits.  Trying out all of the educational displays.  Learning.  Laughing.  Enjoying their time together.

These are pictures from their time at Fernbank.  Aren't they so fun?

Hilarious!

Polar bear hands and feet.

I love Michael's face in the penguin costume.  Cracks me up.  He looks like he might be on the cusp of being embarrassed, and was probably coerced into putting on the costume at Stu's request.  He did it, though, and posed for the photo.  

The other thing that I love about the penguin photo is to see his shoes scattered haphazardly in the back and his hoodie jacket thrown on the floor in front of him.  As if he and Stu took over the room.  And threw their belongings all over the room.  I love it.  An indication of the good time they were having.

An indication of the good time they always had.

story people.

I am a fan of Brian Andreas Story People.  I subscribe to his daily e-mail.  Stu bought a print for me on my birthday (it is this one, in case you were curious).  Love his quirky sayings and use them quite a lot in my scrapbooking.  The quotes seem to sum up exactly what I am thinking, but in a much more smart and clever way.

Anyway.  I received the following quote in my inbox today:

carrying a recognizable picture of herself because she got dressed in the dark, so there's no telling how close she came to her usual self

Isn't that so applicable to me today?  I am in my darkest of days.  I do not resemble the Jenn Dooley of 6 weeks ago.  I am not the same person.  I don't remember her.  I am these scattered bits and pieces and wonder if I will ever be able to scoop them up to arrange them in a way that at least resembles what used to be.   I am totally dressing myself in the dark.  I am but a shadow of myself.

I am a lesson in opposites these days.  My outside face doesn't always reflect my inner face.  I am a facade.  I have learned to hold back my tears ... to sob more privately.  So while I laugh on the outside, I cry on the inside.   People tell me how strong I am.  I certainly don't feel that way.  I'm numb.  I don't know how to feel anything.  Other than sad.  And sometimes angry, with a little bitter on the side.

So we'll see how close I come to my usual self.  I wonder what she will look like.

I ache I miss my son so much.  I am so weepy these days.  I can't help it.  I just have this Michael sized void in my soul.

Please continue to keep us in your thoughts and prayers.  Please continue to tell us that we are in your thoughts and prayers.  Please continue to tell me your memories of Michael.  I can't promise that I won't cry.  I can't help it.  But I want to know your memories of him.  And crying is ok. Please continue to talk about him.  Please continue to call, write, e-mail, comment on this blog ... whatever.  I may not always answer the phone or respond to an e-mail, but I listen.  I read.   I want to hear from you.  

The thoughts and comments from others keep us going.  They buoy us in these dark days.   I cannot begin to put into words how much we appreciate our family, friends, and community members.

obstacles

Each day, each week is filled with obstacles to overcome.  Little landmines scattered throughout the days and weeks. To get through.  To wade through.  To hold my breath and hope to come out unscathed.

Nights are one of those hurdles.  Sleep is ever elusive.  I close my eyes and all I see are memories from that day.   Thoughts of Michael lying there with no sparkle in his eyes.  The looks of the faces of those trying to comfort us.  Replaying the call from the school.  All of those little details that make up that terrible, horrible day.  My mind won't stop.  I can't still my thoughts.  And so I stay up until I can't keep my eyes open for another minute.

Mornings.  I wake up with the promise of a new day and instantly remember.  And each time, the realization still shakes me to my core.  I have gone back to work.  And every time I walk in my office, I cry.  I sit in front of my computer screen and wonder what it is I am supposed to be doing.  And then I pack up for the day, only to repeat the same pattern the next day.

As I have mentioned before, the time of 2:42 pm is hard.  As is 11:46 am now.  Thursdays are another hurdle.  Friday nights are troubling.  Weekends no longer have the same joyousness.  Who wants to sit for two days in a quiet house?  Without plans for new adventures?  The start of a new week holds no hope.  Tuesday afternoons haunt me.   Wednesday nights were always big homework nights.  Now, I don't know what to do on those nights.

There is no day, no moment that is untouched with my profound sorrow.  I hurt.  Deeply.  It is a struggle to acclimate to this new world without my Michael.  I don't want to.  I have no desire to move on.  Or find a new normal.  I want what I had.  

Not to brace myself, steel myself for these everyday moments.  

laughter

The first time his laughter unfurled its wings in the wind, we knew that the world would never be the same. (from StoryPeople)

loves music. loves to dance.

For Christmas, we had given Michael my old green iPod.  I filled it with his favorites songs of the moment.  He loved it.  And would wear his headphones around the house singing as loud as he could.  He only knew the very end of each phrase and would yell that word as loudly as he could.  But in tune.  That's my boy.

His most requested songs in the car were:  Citizen Soldier (Three Doors Down);  Battle Cry (Pillar); Stronger (Kanye West) and I Run For Life (Melissa Ethredge).  What can I say?  He had eclectic tastes.  He also liked Hey There Delilah (the Plain White Ts) and though he would never admit it, I think he very much enjoyed my Broadway soundtracks.  Or maybe I will just tell myself that he liked it since I subjected him to it ... over and over again.

He also was a dancer and would bop around the house.  So funny to see him.  His signature dance move was what I can only describe as a booty shake.  It was awesome.  I tried to get Michael involved in clogging with me.  Turns out he just went for the pretzels.  But would watch me clog.  While he ate.  Stinker.

We used to hold Friday night dance parties - where we would turn on the tunes and dance.  Even our dog, Nellie, joined in.  Though she is not very good at the hip hop.  Of course, neither were we, so it all balanced out.

When it was bedtime, I usually sang songs to him.  Even as he got older, he wanted me to sing to him.  I am not a great singer, but to Michael, I had the voice of Kristin Chenoweth.  I'm certain of it.  I sang him You are my Sunshine.  And I adapted the words from I love you Conrad (from Bye Bye Birdie) to I love you Michael.  I also sang Twinkle Star.  And Fifty Nifty United States - mostly just the alphabetized listing of states.   I would sing it as fast as I could.  And he always asked for me to do it again.

I wonder what he would have done with his love of music.  Would he have picked up a guitar at some point?  He enjoyed making up his own songs and singing them in the shower.  Would he have written music?  Would he have joined chorus in high school?  Would he have sang the songs that he so loved to his kids as he tucked them in?

What could have been?  A hard thought.

certificate

Michael's death certificates were ready today.  I picked them up from the funeral home on my lunch hour.  Doesn't that sound too casual?  I have 5 copies.  I only have 2 copies of Michael's birth certificate.  Those numbers seem incongruous somehow.

I didn't know his time of death.  It was 11:46 am.  His occupation was listed as Student-Elementary.  His marital status was checked as Never Married.  

The cause was listed as:  complications due to right heart hypoplastic syndrome.  Interesting that they didn't give his heart defect the proper name. 

I have the last certificate that Michael will receive.  It is not a marriage certificate.  Or a diploma.  Or a certificate of participation in the astronaut camp he might've participated in this summer. 

It is a death certificate.  A signed, certified copy of the end of my son's life.  In black and white. On watermarked paper.

sweetness

Michael always said "mommy, can I ask/tell you something?"  And if he forgot what he was going to say he would say "I love you mommy".  Or "did you know that you are the best mommy in the whole world?" or "I wouldn't ever want another mommy".  He told me once that sometimes he forgot what he was going to say.  And so he said those things.  Because those were always true.

thank you

It was a privilege to be your mommy, Michael.  Thank you for teaching me about love.  And life.  And how to make the most of everyday.

Love you.

To the moon and back.

x 1600.

one month ago

I have always loved the number 9.  It is the day of my birth.  It is my user number for the scale in our bathroom.  It was the end of my number in Powder Puff football in high school.  It is the number I always pick when asked to pick a number between 1 and 10.

Now, I'm not certain it is such a great number.  It is the age of my son when he left this earth.  It is the day of the month of April that I said goodbye.  

It has been one month.  The longest month of my life.  

Of course, I have learned some things along the way.  I thought it might be good to share some of them in this forum, along with some of the things I am missing:

• The cemetery is a popular place to be on a Friday night.  
• The sound of legos being sucked into the vacuum cleaner is music to my ears.
• Stepping over a storm trooper or two while showering is more fun than a clean shower floor.
• Grief is a very personal endeavor.  Everyone grieves very differently.  And that is OK.
• I look at my watch everyday at 2:42 pm.  And everyday, regardless of the day of the week, I think that I should see Michael walking down the driveway.  Home from school. Everyday, regardless of the day of the week, I am disappointed.
• The first time I do anything without Michael is always the hardest.  And doesn't really get easier.  I still cannot go to the grocery store.  I have pulled into the parking lot 3 times now and have always had to leave before getting out of the car.
• Nights are hard for me.  I miss Michael sneaking out of bed.  I miss him grumbling about taking his aspirin and vitamin.  I miss him trying to get out of taking a shower or brushing his teeth.  I miss crawling into the bottom bunk and snuggling for a few minutes.  
• The resilience of children astounds me.
• The highlight of my day was always seeing Michael.  And now, the highlight of my day is seeing Michael.  Only now, I visit him at a cemetery.  Where he still has Star Wars figures and now a Spiderman surrounding him.
• Michael was right when he said "She is Amazing" when asked about his fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Branch.  I will be forever grateful to her.
• Late night television is not full of great choices.  I have not been to sleep before 3:00 am since that terrible, horrible day.
• I am in awe of how Michael touched other people's lives.
• The way Michael said Mommy was so special.  
• Candy is not as much of a treat as it was when we would purchase it together.

And this one deserves to stand out from the rest:

• I have THE MOST amazing and supportive family and friends.  Don't argue with me on this one.  I will win EVERY TIME.  Never have I ever felt such love from so many.  Never will I ever have the right words to say how thankful I am for each of you.  Never will I ever stop thanking you for your calls, e-mails, prayers, cards, thoughts, memories, etc.  

The Beginning, The End

When I was pregnant with Michael, I used to joke that any test I took - I failed.  My tests always came back positive and so I got to be very familiar with the my OB and her staff.  In fact, I went into the office every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at the end of my pregnancy.  The nurses put up a sign in my honor - dedicating the chair to me.  For someone who is not a fan of doctor's offices (me!), I got to be quite comfortable there.  As long as my baby was healthy, I would go as many times as needed.

And then when the ultrasound technician spent an inordinate amount of time looking what looked like a dancing chicken.  When she went to get the specialist, I knew something was up.  I know now that when medical professionals don't look you in the eye, something is wrong.  I understand that - it is hard to give bad news to people.  I get it.  In a way, it gave me a moment to steel myself for whatever was coming my way.

After several more ultrasounds, it was determined that my son had a congenital heart defect.  A defect that ultimately was diagnosed as Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome.  Michael would undergo at least 3 open heart surgeries.  

Michael was born at 6:52 pm on July 1.  And was promptly whisked away to stabilize him.  I got to see him for a few moments before he was transported to the Children's Hospital in the CICU unit (the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit).  I got to touch his skin, smooch him and he was on his way.

The next day, I begged to be discharged so that I could be with Michael.  I needed to see him.  To be with him.  And so I was allowed to leave.  And I stayed with Michael in the CICU until I was kicked out by the nurses to go to the sleep room and then I would be right back there the next morning.  I never left.  I rubbed his back.  I sang to him.  I read him books.  And when I first got to hold him - amazing.  My greatest joy.  My sweet son.  He had surgery at the ripe old age of 4 days.  He was discharged 5 days later.  A miracle baby.

It followed the same path with his subsequent surgeries - at 5 1/2 months and just before his 3rd birthday.  I never left his side.  I couldn't be far away from him.  He needed me.  I needed him.  When I couldn't hold him, I would lay my head down just beside his bed.  Me standing up, bent over with my head beside his.  His surgeries and the meds sometimes left him agitated and it seemed to sooth him when I was so close to him.  It wasn't the most comfortable of positions, but I didn't care.   Whatever worked - I would do it.

With every new school year, I found myself repeating Michael's history.  I had my speech memorized.  It was second nature.  I knew Michael's anatomy and history like the back of my hand. 

Michael went to the cardiology office frequently - from every two weeks to every two months.  He graduated to every six months in recent years.  I used to joke that going to the cardiology office was like our Cheers.  Everybody knew our names.  They would set up the Lego Star Wars game for Michael in the waiting room when they saw his name on their roster.  They had watched him grow from a cranky-in-the-office 1 year old to the tough, easy patient 9 year old.  I didn't have to bribe him with a trip to Target after the appointment any longer.  We still went there, of course.  His last appointment was the fastest.  He was doing really well.  His cardiologist was pleased.  We left with an appointment for a Tuesday in June. 

And then that terrible, horrible Thursday, I found myself in somewhat familiar territory.  With medical professionals who couldn't look me in the eye.  With my repeating his history to anyone who would listen. And then, with me half bent, with my head next to his and rubbing his head.  Only this time, there was no need to soothe.  There were only tears.  My tears.  The beginning became the end.

Funny

I love this picture.  It was taken the day before Michael's 8th birthday.  We had surprised him with a trip to Epcot for his big day.  We gave him clues along the way.  He had no idea what was in store for him.  This photo was taken at the hotel on the day we arrived.  He was so excited and bouncing around the room, jumping on the bed.  The photo captures the joy of the weekend that we had.  Birthdays are a big deal in our house ... and his was the biggest.  

This photo also shows Michael in motion.  He was in constant motion, even while sitting.  And the big grin on his face.  You can also see a bit of his mischievousness.  

*jumping on the bed in hotels was always treat when we were on vacation.

star wars weekend

May would have been a big month in the Dooley-Williams-Hall household.  We would have been counting down the days until Star Wars Weekend.  The last weekend of May.  At Disney World.  Michael would have missed the last day of school because we would already be at the park.  Grabbing autographs of the Star Wars characters, taking pictures with them, making sweet memories.

We would have stayed at the same resort as last year.  Only this year, we would have spent a whole day at the pool.  With the lazy river.  

We would have spent two days at the parks.  One at Hollywood Studios (the site of the exciting Star Wars Weekend) and the other day at ... well ... we hadn't quite reached a consensus.  I wanted to go to Epcot again.  Stu wanted to go to Animal Kingdom.  And Michael didn't much care.  He just wanted to see the Star Wars parade again.

This video cracks me up.  It is of Michael getting the autograph of Darth Maul last year.  He was a little freaked out by the guy.  He was very creepy.  Michael just wanted the autograph and then to get out of there!

verbs

He was still my baby boy.  But was becoming quite the young man.  He still called me Mommy. He still liked to snuggle and would hold my hand in public.  He told me how much he loved me. Multiple times throughout the day.  He still believed in  Santa Claus.   And the good in people. His last report card was the best he has ever had.  Reading was becoming a love of his.

I hate that I type my verbs in the past tense.

overdue.

I have library books that are due back.  They were due on Tuesday, but we were going to drop them off on Thursday.  Two days late.  But that was three weeks ago.  And I still have them.

They are the last books that Michael checked out.  We picked some of them out carefully for specific reasons.  He went to my mom and dad's for his Spring Break.  They took him to the King Tut exhibit and the Terracotta Army exhibits.  He wanted to read up on the subject.  To know more than Pa.

Michael checked out:

• Tut Tut (part of the Time Warp Trio series) - Loved this series of books and read them quite fast.
• 1944:  America Storms the Beaches - a book about World War 2.  He started this book, but did not finish it.
• Discoveries -  Tutankhamun:  the life and death of a Pharoah - again to know more about King Tut. He did say that he didn't read it all "because he wanted to be surprised at the museum".
• Eyewitness books - Ancient China.  Again to read up in preparation for the Terracotta Army exhibit.
• Star Wars:  Last of the Jedi - Of course.  He loved the Star Wars
• Animorphs:  The Conspiracy - We renewed this book once.  He had not yet read it.
• The Spiderwick Chronicles:  A Giant Problem - He was a little scared to watch the movies, so he decided to read the books.  After reading, he decided he was ready to watch. We were going to watch it over the Easter weekend.  But never got the chance to.

All of these books are kept on our hall closet door knob.  In a pink Clinique bag (a gift with purchase).  Michael never wanted to carry the library bag because of its pinkness.

Our library days were Tuesday.  I let him sit in the front seat on the way home on these days.  The library is about 2 miles from our house, so not a far distance.  It was a special treat to sit up front.

And so, I have these books.  They need to go back.  But I find it so hard to let go of them. It is just another reminder that my buddy is not coming home.  That this is not an extended Spring Break.

Limbo.

Mondays are hard.  It is the fresh start of a new week.  A new beginning with 7 days of possibilities.  A new week without my Michael.  I wonder if the beginning of months will be the same way.  Like with May coming up.  I only had a total 8 months of May with Michael.  

I know that firsts are always difficult.  The first time we stayed overnight in the house was difficult.  As was my first time to Target.  The first time eating out.  The first holiday.

As we approach Mother's Day, I find myself turning away from the commercials that advertise this holiday.  I am a mother.  But of a child that will not give me a homemade card.  Or a smooch and a hug.  I am a mother of a child.  That is not with me any longer.  

And so I feel in limbo.  I carry around a shirt that was Michael's.  I sit in my bed and don't often come out of my room.  I know that I must carry on.  And I find that to be difficult.   I find it hard to talk.  I wonder if the next time I am around people if they will be waiting for me to cry.  I wonder when I will laugh without feeling guilt.

I take these days one day at a time.  I am a planner by nature.  But find it difficult to plan now. For now, I will follow the advice given in the movie Sleepless in Seattle:   I will just put one foot in front of the other and remember to breathe.  

musings.

I folded laundry today.

There was nothing of Michael's in the wash.  Not a sock.  No boxer briefs with clone troopers on them.  No t-shirts.  No pajamas.

It seems that life is moving forward.  And I am not.  I still expect Michael to come home.  That this is not permanent.  Mornings are difficult ... I wake up and my first thought is of Michael. Then I remember.  

Today I am missing Michael's belly laugh.  How he would throw his head back and laugh straight from the the top of his toes.  Or when we would watch a suspenseful movie (like Star Wars, of course!), he would jump up and down and cheer the good guys on.  

I miss our snuggle time.  I miss our afternoon snack time.  I miss the sound of his practicing his fluency paragraphs.  I miss checking his spelling pre-test.  I miss the sound of his playing with his army men.  He was the best sound effect maker.  I miss watching him sleep.  I miss the way he said Mommy.  I miss the action figures that he would stick in my purse just because he wanted them to go with me.

I love being Michael's mommy.  I learned much from him in his short life.  He taught me how to laugh.  And how to love.   He taught me about grace under pressure.  He showed me what strength truly is.   He showed me how to play.  How to be creative.  How to go with the flow.  So many things.

  

Our car broke down the day of Michael's visitation.

It is not yet fixed.

Our septic tank needed repair this morning.

Seriously.  I'm finding it difficult not to wallow in self pity.

I miss Michael.  So very much.

Beautiful Goodbye

I put this link on facebook as well.  But I thought I would also upload to the blog.  

Here is the link to the video on YouTube:

Michael's Slide Show - Beautiful Goodbye

I put this slide show together for Michael's memorial service.  I wanted it to show Michael ... in 3 to 4 minutes.  I had the idea that I would put the slide show to two songs - Smiling Face by James Taylor (a song I used to sing to Michael all the time) and You and Me by Rosie Thomas (a longtime favorite song).  I couldn't get the two songs to meld together in a cohesive way.  I was looking through my iTunes library and found Beautiful Goodbye by Josh Kelley.  A song that I must have downloaded a few months before - but didn't remember doing so.  I listened to the song and knew it was perfect.  The rest of the slides came together pretty quickly.

I watch this slide show at least 5 times throughout the day.

Stories.

I only remember bits and pieces of the visitation and memorial service from Monday and Tuesday.  I hugged quite a few people.  I heard many stories of how Michael touched lives.  I thought I might record them here.  so that I can remember.

• Tyler, a boy from Michael's school,  and his mom approached me.  She wanted Tyler to tell me what he had said about Michael.  He looked at me and said that Michael was the only kid that never picked on him and was always nice to him.  His mom told me that she told Tyler he didn't need to come that night.  That it would be very sad.  But he wanted to.  Because "that's what friends do".
• Michael loved dancing.  In PE class, for warm-ups, the kids got to perform a dance move that the rest of the class had to also do.  Caroline, with her big brown eyes, wanted to show me his dance move from school that Thursday morning.  She did it in the middle of the room.  And it was Michael's typical booty shaking move.  I hugged her and laughed with her and thanked her for showing me that.
• Getting to hug Michael's best friends Mallory and Greg and their parents.  Those two were with him when he passed out at school and were the ones to alert the teacher.  I was worried about them.  
• Michael's very best friend from kindergarten and first grade, Tony, came over from Jacksonville.  Michael would have loved seeing him.  We still talked about him, especially at Christmas.  We have an ornament with the two of them sitting on Santa's lap.
• The PE teachers wanted me to know that they would be dedicating the upcoming fourth and fifth grade Field Day to Michael.  Because he loved to play and was such a good sport. (I'll add more about this in a separate post - we went to the Opening Ceremony on Friday morning, 4/17).
• Seeing Michael's favorite after school teacher, Mr. Alex.  Michael decided that he was the "Real" Mr. Alex, and did everything that Mr. Alex did.  We even made Michael his own business cards, just like Mr. Alex's.  This was when Michael was in kindergarten and first grade.  Mr. Alex shared some of his favorite memories of Michael.  How much he enjoyed him.  How whenever Michael might have gotten into trouble, Michael already had talked the teacher out of the trouble he might have gotten into.  That's Michael ... always the negotiator.

I have so many other stories to tell.  These were but a few from the visitation.  I love that people were sharing their memories of my sweet boy.  I want to hear them.  All of them.  I feel the need to collect as much information from others about him.  I want to talk about him.  And keep his memory alive.

An Ordinary Day

It was just an ordinary day.  A Thursday.  In April.

Michael had put on some jeans and was putting on a blue t-shirt when I came to say goodbye. I reminded him to put on his Young Actor's outfit and he started to change clothes.  I kissed him goodbye.  Told him I loved him.  Reminded him that he was walking home from school and that I would see him at 2:42.  And left for work.  A typical day. 

I got the call that Michael had passed out at school and that I should come.  I ran out of the office and to my car.  Halfway to the school, I was told to go to the Emergency Room.  I turned around and sped to the hospital.  I made phone calls along the way.  

Stu got there at the same time.

We waited.  We didn't know any additional details.  We had no idea.  It was just an ordinary day.

The ambulance arrived.  The driver got out of the ambulance.  A water bottle fell out of the drivers seat onto the floor.  He left it there.  I asked him if this was Michael in the back.  He didn't know his name.  I asked if it was a 9 year old boy.  He said yes.  Are you his parents?  Yes.  Come with me, he said.  I wanted to see Michael.  I held back.  They are still working on him.  Let them do their jobs, he said.  I followed.

It was just an ordinary day.

We were taken to the back hallway of the ER.  Asked to sit.  I couldn't.  Stu couldn't.  I had already pulled out the insurance cards, the card of Michael's cardiologist, the card identifying the device implanted into Michael's heart.  I was ready.  I wanted to find Michael.  I was certain he was scared.  I wanted to reassure him.  Stu told me to go find him.  I went.  I was greeted by the Victim Advocate of the Sheriff's office.  She escorted me back to the hallway.

The chaplain of the hospital was introduced to us.  I asked him why he was there.  In the movies, a chaplain's arrival was never a good thing.  

We answered questions from doctors, and the sheriff's office.  Stating the facts of Michael's medical history.  Looking for hope in the doctor's faces.  Trying to read between the lines of what was asked and what wasn't.  Not knowing any details.  Asking, pleading to be taken to Michael.  I needed to be by his side.  He needed his mommy.  I needed him.

A doctor came out of the room where Michael was.  He looked angry.  That didn't occur to me until just now.  and he told me the words that no mother should ever hear.  We did everything we could ... but your son didn't make it.

I fell to my knees.  I cried out loud.  I asked to be taken to see my baby.  

 

My whole world was taken away from me.

It was no ordinary day.