Build me a son, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goals will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men, one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

And after all these things are his, I pray he has enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength.



It was 10:43 a.m. on a beautiful Sunday morning when I gave birth to my first child, a son, in June of 85. I was only 22 but felt so much older back then.*lol* As I gazed at this baby boy in my arms I wondered where the future would take us. It had been a long, hard fought labor, but that quickly faded away as they brought him to me. I laughed, giggled and stated how he reminded me of E.T. (from the movie) ~ and was quickly greeted with a click of the tongue and scrowl from the nurse. But there in my arms lay this little wrinkled purplish baby gazing up at me with these huge,wonderous eyes. It was instant love.

Fast forward 21 years, same son in another hospital, it is September 2nd, 2006, and the time of death reads 2:53 a.m. on the hospital records; thankfully, they go on to state that revival was at 2:58 a.m. via cpr. Mitchell awakes, he as been unconcious for over 20 hours. He looks down and realizes he is hooked up to IV's, has a tube running into his nose, has a sore chest and tremendous headache.

Because my son had been unconcious and the fact that he didn't have a family contact number in his wallet, we were not notified right away. They start asking him questions. What is your name? What are the names of your parents? When is your birthday? What is your phone number? He doesn't answer any of them correctly. They ask him about a tatoo on his arm ~ which says Jessica ~ it is a tribute to his baby sister 19 yrs younger. He does not remember her.

Friday night started out like many others for Mitch. He is in the Army, based at Fort Riley and they had been out in the field all week. There are rumors going around in their squad that they might soon deploy to "the suck" ~ aka Iraq. The guys are all ready for a little down time, so they head into town to a local bar and pool hall. After a few hours of drinking, playing pool and flirting with the girls the guys start pulling pranks on one another. A buddy of Mitchell's comes up behind him and does this "sleeper hold manuver" that they were taught in basic training ~ it causes a person to pass out quickly. The buddy's intention was not to harm ~ but as a joke ~ he was not able to catch Mitch as he passed out and slammed the base of his head against the pool table. Almost instantly he went into convulsions and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The ambulance is called.

Because of our schedule on any given night ~ including weekends ~ you can find me lovingly tucked into hubby's arms and in our bed by 11. (old farts eh?) *lol* I was not aware of the drama unfolding a few states away. How did I not know my son lay in grave danger?? How did I not sense it?? Saturday started off like any other, Patrick had to work til 3 and we decided to spend the evening with movies, popcorn and have family night. As we enjoyed our family night, Mitch lay in a hospital unconcious, and I'm still oblivious to any of it.

Sunday morning starts early and I'm ready to make pancakes, I notice a message blinking on the phone. I press play and start to walk away. I hear Mitch and smile as it is always good to hear from him. In a muffled voice I hear him saying something about friday, falling, hitting head, cpr and that he was just being discharged from the hospital. The message was left at 12:30 a.m. on early Sunday morning. I freeze in my steps. I scream for Patrick and we listen to it over and over trying to make sense of it. In a panic I call his cell, no answer.

I call all afternoon and into the evening getting no answer. I can't help the thoughts that race inside my head ~ that Mitch went home, went to sleep, and never woke up again. I picture the Army on its way up here to inform me of his death. Even tho I don't want to I start to calculate how long it would take them to get here. I picture a funeral, I decide he would be buried next to my parents. I try to push all those thoughts out of my head but I can't. I freeze every time I hear a car outside. I kick myself for not having any of his buddies phone numbers, even tho I have talked to them several times. I call local hospitals searching for him, I finally get numbers of Sgts/Commanders and I'm ready to tear that base apart with phone calls ~ when the phone rings. It is Mitch.

This was not the first time Mitchell had been to a E.R. room. Growing up he was the typical little boy with scrapes and bruises. As he became a young man, he was involved in every sport and only became more competitive and daring. His first jaunt to the E.R. was when he was 7 as he went head over heels off his bike and split open his chin ~ needing 7 stitches. Then there was the time he was playing little league, and he was the catcher ~ he tossed off his headgear to catch a ball as someone tried to steal 3rd base. The ball bounced and slammed into the bridge just above his nose, hitting so hard it left him unconcious with the balls thread marks embedded onto his face. Few years later he was playing road hockey/football and was tackled ~ lost all feeling from the neck down as he crumpled to the road ~ ambulance called. He was ok - it was just a "stinger" .

We cannot forget the time he walked in the door with this huge grin on his face, holding his hockey helmet (course he had to be a goalie) and he says, " look at this dent," and proudly holds up the helmet. He then says, "I stopped that puck", and I said, "with your head??" Uggggg!! He goes on to tell me," yeah but this isn't any ole puck I stopped" ~ a local girl had married a professional hockey player and he was playing against him. He still proudly shows off that dented helmet. I must include the one where he went golfing with his friends (every sport I tell ya!) ~ and he went to pick up his tee just as his best friend did a practice swing and the club nailed him just under the left eye ~ another 11 stitches added to my son's beautiful face.

After all that, you have to add in the numerous broken bones (collar bone while running during a hide and seek game and nailing a clothes line ~ thus flipping on his back ~ course the meatheads were playing in the dark) and during his senior year the surgery needed to insert a pin in his foot after many sprains and breaks from basketball. All this before he was 20, so much to his mother's chagrin, the E.R. is no stanger to Mitch.

The phone rings and it brings me back from my wandering thoughts. I scream as I see Mitchell's number show up on caller Id. I say OMG Mitch where have you been I've been calling all day!! He softly laughs and says "sleeping." He then says,"I'm ok Mom", and at those few spoken words I crumble into a million pieces crying, babbling ~ making a total idiot of myself. Mitch just repeats, "I'm ok ma" over and over.

Mitch and I have always shared a special bond, more so then other mother/son relationships. I was always so over-protective of him when he was younger, for I thought he would be my only child. My ex husband and I tried for 12 years before his brother came along. When my husband left when Mitch was 14 and Zachary just 2, Mitch decided he needed to be the man of the house. He took on more responsibility then any child that age should have too. I was struggling, trying to figure out what I needed to do when Mitch quit basketball to start a dishwashing job. He told me over and over this is what he wanted.

This was no ordinary job, he had to ride his bike 6 miles to the restaurant to wash the dishes, and then another 6 miles on the return trip home. My husband had taken the car when he left and I was still looking for one. I'll never forget the day when Mitch recieved his first paycheck, and so proudly walked up and handed it to me. It was then that it hit me. He was doing this for me, for his brother. I knew then that I needed to change my life. I knew Mitch needed to still be a child and not have to worry about adult problems. I went back to college, and Mitch went back to basketball.

Mitch does not remember much from that Friday night, except that he has lingering headaches, a sore chest and sensitivity to light and sound. The Army wanted him to press charges against his buddy, but Mitch wouldn't do that. They are comrades, buddies, and his friend meant no true harm.

It is weeks later and I am watching the first weekend of football. Mitch and I talk often about football as we are both on fantasy football teams. The phone rings and it is Mitch, he and about 10 buddies are watching football in his room and he asks, "how is the lions/seattle game going?" I start to tell him, when the quarterback goes back to pass and I start yelling and screaming about this and that. I hear laughter. Mitch says, "hey mom, I have you on speaker phone!!" ~ followed by more laughter. A young man gets on the phone and says politely, "Ma'am you should be happy your lions are doing this well against Seattle" and then I hear in the background, "Hey Mitch, toss me $5 for the pizza." He says," I gotta go Mom, talk with you later, love ya".

Young men, soldiers ~ protecting this nation of ours ~ laughing, football, and pizza. All is as it should be.

But no parent should ever know, the time of death of their child