I made my aquaintence with death at a very young age. 21 months old to be exact. Then several other times, the force went whizzing past me so fast, I was caught in momentary, cyclonic off-shoots. I played double dutch with that line for years. I now understand, I invited it. I wanted to be on the edge of danger. My dad was dead and that was the only way I could concieve of him coming to my aide is if my life was in danger. I get it; it’s twisted and sick; but indicative of the despertion of a child, even inner, to subsciously try to force the lost parent back into being. Perfectly understandable. Then, after my mother died, for a few years between that and the birth of my son, I sabotaged everything around me. My lifelong friendships, my marriage, my sanity, as far as I was concerned they were remnants of the fire that burned down my life. It all happened around the time of the death of my mother at 51.

That was a surrealistic nightmare some of which I’ll probably never talk about. It’s confetti compared to what Mike’s loss has meant to the heart broken for my friends; both the one who died and the one who must survive that, and my own. It’s a completely seperate process and not a contest. His mother is priority to my own feelings in every way and have acted accordingly even since. Mike’s death was like a bomb going off in our lives. Mine very much included. In my mind, shrapnel went everywhere. I’ve spent a lifetime processing death but this wasn’t in the plan, any plan. This felt like a mistake and I’m little miss “it was their time”. No. Not this one. I got mad and felt like such an idiot for not having gotten further faster. There’s no question Mike is now an angel, but I can’t say if I believe that there is a benevolent God. Hell, excuse me, if you go by my ancenstors version of events; God is not only not benevolent but a petty enemy at times. It’s God, Pharoh didn’t have to agree. He could have just Darth Vadered him and you know, so let it be written, so let it be done.

But I’m still just really pissed. I feel privildged every single day I knew Mike and that he chose to put his faith in me on film. My footage, Mike’s official testimony to history about his experience in foster care, pre and post to it as well. That was the most intense thing at times that I will even bare witness to. The camera can never do it justice. Not only were the details what SVU is made of, but it was this miraculous release like he was taking off a chain link suit of armor. No longer was anything being held as his fault and we told him so when he slipped back into saying, “I guess I must have been bad,” Rachel and I corrected him about being abused. That nothing was his fault. Even when he did act out, it was the only way anyone paid him any attention. It’s taking more than I have to accept this as the way it’s supposd to be.

There’s nothing to gain from my current perspective, I understand that. I don’t want to feel this way, yet I really, really do. I can’t pray and when I have it’s been to the universes and energies, not a diety. None of this makes any sense. Yes he found his real family and got to spend three years with them after a complete roller coaster of a process of gaining custody. All that just to die at 19. Whatever God thought that was just was one that I didn’t agree with. He deserved more of the better he got a taste of with Rachel and Ty. I rememeber I told him to youtube Wish You Were Here by Floyd and he fell in love with it. The slightly circular nature of the musicality. The two lost souls. He understood that as intimately as anyone did.

I’m under no illusion this has anything to do with anyone but myself. It’s how I’m taking it. Mike was my hero, he truly was. If this amazing child could have his soul in tact then there was hope for me repairing mine. The slices put into it want to heal, but there is something familiar to that agony and therefore, comforting. I have to move myself to move away from the darkness. But it took my hero this time. His resiliance astonished me. In my mind, he was immortal and everyday without him feels like a page from the wrong story. But it’s not. It’s the person behind the story that has me floored and aching, forever changed and wondering how best to move forward.


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