a day like any other

It was almost a day like any other.  Mike usually came home at some point during the week and the way that last year had gone financially it was to fill his belly with a home cooked meal and maybe a trip to Costco with Mom for the basic necessities.  Ok, I’m a softy – although I believe in letting them fail, money or no money, you have to have toilet paper.  That Saturday Mike was here.  He spent most of the day with us.  We did a little running around town, Bobby and I cut his hair, we hung out downstairs, watched a movie and then early evening went to Foster’s.  I remember Emily was watching Ethan (my nephew’s then 3 year old son) - the thing that stuck out in my mind was how attentive Mike was with Ethan.  Mike didn’t give kids the time of day.  They usually got on his nerves “all squirmy, loud and hyper” but that afternoon, Mike was very playful with Ethan and I would even go as far to say that he was affectionate toward him.  Ethan usually a bit shy was very drawn to Michael that day - it seemed as though they were drawn to each other. It was very cute.  I remember saying to him that he was going to make a good dad one day.  Mike’s mood was weird – the paying attention to Ethan thing and he was also much nicer to Emily.  He’s always kept his distance with her – too many years between them I think.  (I just said that he was in a weird mood because he was nice to people????)  If you could get past the hard candy shell, he was warm, open, loving and affectionate. (Still is!)  He was just very particular with whom he allowed in.  

So, we go out to Foster’s – have a wonderful time and then we end up back at the house.  I don’t remember if Nate and Sylvette went to Foster’s with us or if Nate met us back at the house – not sure.  The next thing I remember is Nate and Mike leaving the house through the garage.  Ask any of them – you don’t get out of the house without a hug and an “I love you”.  But somehow Mike did.  I was hugging Nathan in the doorway and saw Mike leaving the garage.  I said “hey, you better come back and give me a hug”, Mike said “I’ll be back Mom – I’m probably going to spend the night here”.  Disappointed but I always get so much grief over the fact that they’re grown…blah, blah, blah….I didn’t chase him down.

I woke between 3:10 to 3:20 AM on the morning of October 21, 2007 with what felt like a panic attack.  I couldn’t breathe.  My heart was pounding out of my chest and I couldn’t stay in bed.  I didn’t wake out of a dream – I just woke.  I got out of bed, walked downstairs, let the dogs out kind of checking along the way to make sure the house was shut tight but couldn’t shake the feeling.  It was my chest, my throat, my heart – something was wrong but not with me.  Many, many nights I’ve called Michael “are you ok?  I’m having one of those feelings”.  Usually met with a little chuckle, then “I’m ok Mom, I’m ok.” 

I knew something was not right but again, I was really working on letting go.  I had even printed out a poem a couple of days before that I hung in my home office “woman with flower” as my mantra for helping me let go – not to worry.  I went into my office, read the poem – “don’t call, everything’s ok”.  I went back to our room, laid down, tossed and turned – still not right.  Bobby woke with my stirring “go to sleep sweety, let me curl up with you”.  “I can’t.  I can’t breathe.  I think I’m having a heart attack”  Bobby – snoring again.  I turned on the TV – started flipping channels.  Reality – Code Blue is where I landed.

The episode included 3 young adults that had been in an auto accident.  Two girls, one guy.  The young man had a head injury – a traumatic brain injury as it turns out.  I watched as the trauma team scurried in the ER to try to save his life.  I watched the trach, the discussion and explanation of the ICP monitor. I watched as they inserted the ICP monitor into his skull.  I saw how it measured the cranial pressure and listened as the trauma doctors talked about the damage that had already been done to this young man’s brain.  And then the phone rang – I can’t see squat anymore so I didn’t know who was calling.  Did it matter?  No.  When your phone rings in the wee hours of the morning – it is never good news.  “Rae, did you get a call? It was David.  “No” – I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say.  I didn’t ask what happened?  From who?  He said “the social worker from Fairfax Hospital called, there’s been an accident.  It’s Michael.”

I knew.  Of course I knew.  I had always known.  It wasn’t if, it was when.  God had been preparing me for this moment.  By now Bobby was awake again – I called Nathan.  I kept thinking the social worker called – not the nurse, not the doctor – the social worker.  I could not feel anything other than I need to be there.  He is alone and possibly already gone.  Oh, Michael.  Why?  Why?  Why?  Then to God for the one and only time I asked “why didn’t he know his life was valuable?  why?”

Arriving at the hospital – none of us could really speak.  What do you say?  You just wait.  You wait, you don’t speak your fears out loud – we didn’t know.  The social worker said as she met us, the doctors will be out in just a minute”.  You don’t ask more – you wait.  You don’t want to be there. 

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Tuesday, October 23 – One foot in front of the other, breathe in, breathe out. I realized today, I am not the one to give updates. Getting through the days with overwhelming love and support from friends and family. I can’t begin to describe the emotional roller coaster. I cannot find the right words to describe that moment when a mother is confronted with her child’s mortality and she is helpless to make it better.

It is totally surreal—like walking in a fog or underwater. Nothing seems to make sense. The grief, confusion and inability to absorb what had and is happening becomes more and more difficult to cope with each day. Friends, family, doctors, nurses all try to comfort you, but at that moment in time there is no comfort. It doesn’t exist. Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t stop. There is comfort in your presence, there is comfort in your thoughtfulness, there is comfort in your love for Michael and for our family. I cannot do this without you. Is it a mother’s blind hope more than anything based reality or science that when I leaned over to let Michael know last night that I would let him rest and see him in the morning, that he squeezed my hand? Only God knows.

Michael, come back to me.

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One year later – it still hurts.  It will always hurt.  Lessons?  There have been many.  So many lessons, so many blessings.  I know I tend to preach when I start writing (and oh, my sermons are long) and for that I apologize but I think it’s because I don’t want anyone else to have to go through what our family has been through.  If I can save ONE mother from ever having to face that moment, if I can save ONE person, if I can be a part of ONE thought, in ONE brain that under the influence of alcohol considers getting behind the wheel it will be worth you guys putting up with my lengthy sermons. (Easy for me to say right?)

I thank God for all his blessings.  His decision to spare Michael’s life changed all of our lives forever.  We love deeper.  We laugh harder.  We live wiser.  We LIVESTRONG. It is still my belief that all things happen for a reason.  I don’t question why.  We have faith.  We believe.

I thank you for your support this year.  I thank you for keeping Michael in your thoughts and prayers and more importantly, in your lives.  You are life to him – you are family.  We love you all.

LIVESTRONG Michael.

xxoo