Interested in a cure for seizures? Here's where you can immediately help.

Feel free to share any of these posts. There are no copyrights on any of them, they are for anyone, anyplace, anytime for whatever reason. All of my love, from a man who just simply misses his son, and believes in the decency of people around the world,

**To reach the author of this blog Mike, the best email account is a silly one, but goes right to my phone. Technology is so cool. Its Thank you for reading this blog, and its been such a good project, in that it has helped others and me as well. May you all live life to the fullest, we have no idea when it shall be our last "dance."

With much love, I am proud of the Angelman Syndrome Foundation. If you can help them, and families with this condition, please consider donating to them at They are on Charity Navigator, and have done a phenomenal job over the years, on the awareness and research side.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Anniversary Dates are Painful Reminders of What Was

When your child passes away before it is "your time," you cannot underestimate the significance of certain dates. The pain is intense, and can leave your eyes full of tears, with an emptiness in your heart that just cannot be fully healed. This bleeding can cut you right down, from a standing tall position, to a curled fetal position that you can't get out of. It has been about a year and a half since my son Tommy passed away at age five, from a seizure related to his Angelman Syndrome. Certain days, especially birthdays, the anniversary day of his passing, and the holidays are a challenge to get through. As a father of a son who's gone to God, I am trying to better view these days as reminders, of "what were, but are no longer a reality."

My son's body lies six feet deep, yet I know in my heart of hearts, that his soul is with God, who is the ultimate protector. Certain days and even times of his passing, can bring back a torrent of memories. I can see Tommy smiling or laughing, playing with his tiger toy that is sitting in his playroom. Its strange not seeing him with that tiger, and the emptiness that seeing this toy creates, is sometimes so painful. He's not bouncing around, making the odd noises he used to, or lighting up a room. Often I sit by his grave, and just think about what could have been. Yet the reality of the situation then tears into every bone of my body, and I realize that I just don't have control over these matters. The lights, sirens, and rush to the hospital flood into my conciousness, and there's no way to make them go away.

There was an elevator at Tommy's last school. This brings a smile no matter what, because his teachers and staff would encourage him to walk, due to his fascination with this people mover. Yet Tommy was a people mover, and while I wish I could get one of his awesome hugs right now, I have to cling on to those memories and be thankful that they did happen at one point in my life. Life is an elevator of sorts, with its ups and downs, or trials and tribulations. There will be no getting over his passing, and as a father, I must contend with the fact that there's a Father with much more authority, and that I must place my trust with Him completely. These days of pain are a reminder of Tommy's life, accomplishments, and ultimately the terrible day of November 4th, that will live forever in our family's hearts. Yet at the same time, they are also a reminder of what he was able to accomplish, and for that I'm a very proud man.