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.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Heart Shaped Box That Cannot be Opened

There is not much in life that I'm afraid of. That's because each day is an adventure, and while we have some control, there's much that is out of our hands. As the seasons pass, I am appreciative for lessons learned, even those that have brought so much pain. Embrace everyday as if it truly is your last, because one day you are going to be, "toe tagged," lying on a gurney somewhere. That's not meant to shock, but rather that is just the reality of life. We don't know how many days we have on this earth, and perhaps that is a good thing, so that we can move along with each sunrise and sunset.

I miss my son Tommy's blue eyes. We shared similar speckles in our eyes, and I try not to think too much, about how our blues were interspersed with dashes of yellow. That terrible night of November 2009 has been relived so many times, as I've looked at it from so many angles, but have yet to determine all of the answers that are sought after. God knows, and when that time is here, I will be ready. Yet until then, I cannot open, what I call his "Heart Shaped Box." Its not shaped like a heart, and it doesn't have this name, because of a Nirvana CD or a book that was famous. Rather, its because it tears apart my soul, to even think about looking at it. The box was given to us by Fairfax Hospital, where Tommy was pronounced dead, and has locks of his hair and footprints in it. I cannot open it, and rarely can I look at his pictures, because they simply cause too much pain.

The pictures are a safer choice though, and sometimes I look at them, picturing what he would look like right now. My thoughts go to his younger brother, and how they would interact. I think of my wife, brother, grandparents, cousins, and friends. Yet I cannot open that box, because in doing so, it would bring back so many raw emotions of Tommy's last night on Earth. It is tucked away in a closet, far out of reach, and I am thankful for that. One day I might be ready, but I am not now, and may never be. Am I grateful that the hospital staff, showed this compassion on that night? Yes. Their intentions were of kindness, and I will be forever indebted to a social worker, who can best be described as an angel.

Most of us in life have "that box." The one that is best left closed, that has such pain its best to just leave it as is, not looking back in the rear view mirror. Our struggles so closely mirror one another's, and that is why we must be there for each other, regardless of what our position in life is. Some days we are the windshield, or the bug, per that Mary Chapin Carpenter song. Yet, even with tears, crushing pain, and a torrent of emotions, whatever is in "our box," we must move forward. Each day is a blessing, and while the pain is sometimes bubbling at the surface, I am a happy man in so many regards.

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