Life after Michael

The house was full to overflowing again yestersday. James and Janet were still here. Friends came by -- Val and Angie and Kristie and Kathleen, then a dozen women from the church, who brought us dinner, wine and dessert.

Val, who runs Helpmate, the local domestic violence shelter, walked out with Michael's Playstation 2. She never expected that, but I know Mike would have wanted it to be that way. The kids at the shelter will love it.

I'm managing OK, but there are moments where every cell in my body screams in pain. I can't bear it. Then it gets a little better and I can cry. It hits me out of nowhere. I can see him smiling and using the last ounce of his strength to try and tell me he loves me and it tears my heart out.

But people come here and bring laughter, and I feel better. I see that same smile and hear him try to tell me he loves me and I know he's in a better place.

I talked to my stepmother today and told her he was either trying to say, "I love you," or "I lost my keys." I prefer to believe the former.

We've set his memorial service for 5 p.m. Sunday at the Unity Church of Savannah, Ga. He knew the minister and she said she's honored to officiate at his memorial service. My mother and Christina are coming for the service. James helped make the arrangements and will pick them up at the airport in Savannah tomorrow night. My mother is going to love James.

The memorial service really will be a celebration of Michael's life. Several people have asked to speak and I know there will be some really funny stories about him. I think I have talked James into telling the Starbuck's story. Danny wants to talk about how proud he is to be Mike's brother. Shannon wants to talk, too, and then we'll open it up. I'm sure there are plenty of stories I've never heard.

Friends of Mike also are taking care of the reception after the service. I callled one of his 12-stp friends, Robin G., and asked if she could find a caterer, and she called me back and said people wanted to do something special for Mike. So we're having a potluck reception.

I can't believe the love and support from my friends and his. It's overwhelming.

Tomorrow I'm meeting Val for lunch and Annie is coming over to soak in the hot tub with me. People are coming all next week to be sure I'm not alone too much, and then Robbo gets here late Thursday night for four days.

Danny has been here since yesterday morning and it has been such a comfort to talk to him about Michael. He was beating himself up for not spending enough time with Michael while he was alive. I told him I did the same thing after Ellen died, but then I realized I can't go back and spend more time with her.

Danny and Michael spent a lot of time on the phone making fun of me. That counts for something.

I've gotten to hear a lot of stories from Danny's childhood that I either hadn't heard before or hadn't thought about for years.

There was the one about their "we're raising funds to go on a mission trip to Africa" scheme. That door-to-door campaign made a few bucks.

Then they convinced a bunch of kids that an old abandoned house was haunted and charged them a quarter apiece to tour the house. One of them gave the tour while the other one hid and threw rotten food and whatnot.

I guess I'm glad I didn't hear these stories 25 years ago when they happened.

I've been trying to call or e-mail everyone who should know. I called both Tim and Danielle tonight, friends from when Mike and Danny were little boys. Both of them loved Mike. Just having to say the words, "Michael died," is so painful. I can't run away from it when I have to say those words.

Danielle knew immediately why I was calling, and she cried for the misguided teenager who became the remarkable man she always knew he would be. At one point, she and I were probably the only ones who believed he would turn his life around.

"We have to find a way to be so in people's faces they'll have to do something about health care," she said.

I agree.