September 1st marks the beginning of a 17-day journey down memory lane.  Memories I wish I could erase.  Memories about the last 17 days of my son Michael’s life.

The loss of a child is one of the hardest things that any parent endures.  It’s been four years now.  Some things are easier.  It’s true what they say about time.  I can’t say that time heals all, but it does toughen the scar.  Yet, every year, on September 1st, I begin the day by looking at the clock.  Tick, tock.  Tick, tock.  I remember the exact moment in time when I received the call that Michael was in trouble.  And the moment of his words, I love you and dad.  The shock of code blue/red, whatever.  And that final black hole I fell into when he took his last breath.  All those horrid memories flooding in, and my wishing I could have stopped time, turned back the clock.  If only I could have done or said something different that would have reversed the circumstances.  Even still, I have these thoughts.  Not only through the September days of mourn, but each and every morn.