August 9, 1984

Today is not a good day, well, really the whole week is just a bust emotionally speaking, today is Michael’s birthday. He would be 28 years old today, I still remember the day he was born vividly, it was hot, of course, I was tired of being pregnant, he was late. The doctor induced labor, so it was very intense and painful, then his heart rate dropped and they decided to do an emergency c-section. The cord was wrapped around his neck, they managed to untangle him and he took his first breath. He was perfect, 10 fingers, 10 toes, 8 pounds and 10 ½ ounces, a head full of black hair. He was the most perfect baby I had ever seen and he belonged to me.
We got to keep him for twelve amazing weeks, he was perfection, he laughed, he cooed, he discovered his toes. At twelve weeks on the dot God decided he wanted Michael to come home. It was horrendous, my heart was ripped out of my chest and something else was left, it was beating and keeping me physically alive, however my soul was gone.
I was so angry with God for a long time after that, I never stopped communicating with Him, but the anger was deep and palatable. I don’t really remember the day it left, I just remember waking up one day and realizing I was no longer angry. I was telling a friend of mine, when I was pregnant with Elizabeth Anne, about the anger and I told her that I fully believed if I had died during that time I would have not gone to heaven. She began to cry, she said the profound thing I had ever heard, she said “Angie, who better to understand your pain than one that lost his own son, one that watched their son die a horrific death, you know he took care of your son because he knew how much Michael meant to you.” Whatever residual anger I had dissipated, just like that, I knew, deep in my soul that I could tell God anything and he would understand.
I try not to be sad on today’s date, I am rarely successful, I still miss Michael as much today as the day he went home. I look forward to seeing him again, holding him, talking to him, singing to him and being his mom again.

One Reply to “August 9, 1984”

Leave a Reply