Tumbling

My cell phone is acting up. It gives me the "white screen of death" then it won't turn off. Eventually, we somehow push the buttons just right and it's off. After pushing
"END" again; it starts it's starting song and reads "SANYO", promising me that it is now ready to continue it's work. But.... then when the song is over I have half a screen or it has strange lines all through it.

Good news is.... I did eventually get it to turn back on with a working screen. So, I thought I had better write down all of the phone numbers out of it. I sure don't want to look like a stupid teenager that loses their cell phone down the port-a- potty and then later can't call anyone because they don't know any numbers.

Or a stupid 37 year old housewife/paper girl who only knows how to hit the number 2 on her keypad because I, I mean, she doesn't know what her husbands cell number is without speed dial.

I am moving along just fine coping the numbers from the contact list... my sisters, my moms, Krispy Kreme, about 10 coaches numbers, Childrens Mercy, Ben's girlfriends, $2 theater... then I come to

Michael LaBarge..............................................

I just stared at it.

I couldn't take my eyes off it.

Michael LaBarge..............................................

I tried to will myself to move on. Reality is he is dead. I mean, I am not a dummy. But........

There I sat just staring....

Michael LaBarge..............................................

It was have a full blown "Tumble" (as my aunt calls them) and cry or add his name to my list. (It would only be a small appetizer for my denial)

So, I did what any reasonable-well-adjusted-feet-on-the-ground women would do.... I added his name and number to my list.

Michael LaBarge 816-678-5456

I am happy with the idea because now I have an "in" into the great unknown... I think after the girlfriend comment I am going to need it!

Healing Angels, Tears, Hope, Antioch Road, Grief, Family, 2004, Today, OUCH!

More Raw Blogging...


Who knows how my thoughts can take me from A to B. But, somehow connected thoughts took me from today at the stoplight off 1-35 onto Antioch Road to August 2004. I would like to think my thought journey was not by accident but because my brain was one step ahead... dragging me onto the right path for healing; a path I have thus far been unwilling to step foot on!

First, I was thinking about the lady that I emailed back and fourth with after Audrey was diagnosed, she was my Healing Angel. You wouldn't think that I would have been in need of such a person. If you have spent any time traveling by my side you would know that I have been blessed out of proportion; my support system is amazing!

The first day in the hospital we wheeled my half asleep very sick 10 year old, IV in tow, into a meeting room. When Lauren, the lady who was going to teach us about Audrey's new life, came in to join us, it was standing room only. She waded herself through the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins to find her seat. She smiled; she was very pleased with the support. And Lauren answered every question from every player in the room.

My parents and sisters came over daily for the first several weeks after we came home. Lisa helped me make a shopping list and pick out recipes. She even went with me and helped me turn over every possible snack item in HyVee to read the carbs and find some that would fit into the "bootcamp" regiment for food we'd been assigned. Lara took every crazy call for information and support. Taught me how to draw insulin, get bubbles out of the needles, and give shots. My Mom and Dad did a lot of hugging, listening and bringing fun stuff to make it all easier. And when I wanted to get too radical and crazy with things, the closest one of them to me at the moment, would gently nudged me back into reality.

That is just to mention my family. Doesn't even touch the edge of our amazing friends.

Still I cried. I cried every night. I cried after every fight with Audrey. I remember the day that she decided that she was not going to take anymore shots. After we had words, I secretly went into the other room and gave myself a saline shot. OUCH! I went back into the room she was in and just held her. Okay, I told her, no more shots until your ready. Then I found a quiet spot and cried some more.

Everyday there were battles to face; some we won, most we lost. Everyday ended the same ... me laying in bed crying. I had fears and guilt I couldn't share with my family. Not because they didn't care or wouldn't listen but because it just wasn't in their home.

Then my friend, Deb, hooked me up with my Healing Angel. It was only through email that I ever even spoke to her. To her I bared it all. When she said she understood, I felt calmer . Her daughter had been a Type one diabetic for many years. Often she would write to me of hope and for the first time I was starting to believe it! Her daughter was not only healthy and thriving she was living Audrey's dream of playing college soccer!

Within several months I out grew the daily tears and fears and then we just stopped touching base with each other. She probably has no idea what she gave me.

My thoughts had lead me to that snidbit of time because I desperately want my Aunt to talk to Someone who has been in her "home". Someone who when they say they understand her loss, it's coming from a place of raw truth, they understand because they have walked it. Someone who when they say she will continue to hurt but move forward they know it because they too have lost their son and did move forward. I want her to let in her Healing Angel that is knocking on her "home" door.

Then my thoughts continued, taking me to a new place in my own grief. (I am at best a reluctant travel companion.)

I really have no problem story telling, looking at pictures or watching the video of Michael. I feel close to him in those minutes. Though I don't like to admit it it also allows me the fantasy that maybe he is just at work somewhere I can't get to right that minute.

But when I started thinking about how wonderful Audrey's cousins were to her back in '04, instead of thinking of a story about Michael, my body felt a familiar feeling. The one that I always got when I watched him play with or take care of my girls. The feeling of knowing that he truly loved them; would do anything for them. In those minutes I always felt so much pride for who he was and it deepened my love for him.

It was also the feeling of knowing he would always be there for them.

And that food chain of thoughts is how I ended up at the stop light off 1-35 onto Antioch with a tear in my eye... Struggling to think of how to get to this pretend place I have put him in in my head so I can hug him and tell him thanks for being so great to my girls!

Michael James LaBarge

My name is Joanna. Michaels my baby cousin.

I spent my adult life with watching Michael with my hands over my eyes:

“Michael... that's probably high enough”
“Michael....maybe you shouldn't jump ... off of that”
“Michael... put your sister down”
“Ummmm.... Michael, put me down!”

I gotta be honest with you. I always felt that I was special, lucky, that we got the best of him when he was with us. The considerate, thoughtful boy who would let the kids tell him bad knock knock jokes and really laugh; that would hang out with me, this old women, and help do my dishes, or whatever I was doing.

But, then after listening to some of the stories of the life's Michael touched I realized that that was his natural gift, his ability to make everyone in that moment feel special. I think it was because he was 100 percent there and genuine in it.

When I was telling my friend about the huge void now in my life she said that she couldn't remember if she had met Michael, I just smiled,
Then you definitely didn't meet him, I told her. You don't forget meeting Michael!

You simply don't forget Michael once he walks into your life...

...let me rephrase that... once he flew into your life you couldn't help but love him. He was also very hard to say no to. He was at his best a honest to goodness charmer! And he worked it.

The boy loved his mom, dad, brother, Nathan and sister, Jenorey. Even as a busy 20 year old, he made time for them: some texts throughout the day to let them know he is thinking of them, playing football in the front yard, making sure they weren't alone on holidays, bringing them a stray animal to love and take care of; taking off work for a spontaneous Easter Dinner.

He also loved his Leo, Thunder and the baby kittens under his bed.

As a young man he loved: to learn yoyo tricks, he was a boyscout, in the science club, played soccer and football. As he grew he loved to wrestle, ride his four wheeler, camp, travel and sell silly putty. As a young man he liked to dress sharp, topped of with his signature belt buckles and his fancy watches. Lets not forget his love of money!


You could always count Michael in. You could probably see from the pictures the wide array of things he has done in his life with his family. Seriously he was our Abbot:

“Who's on first,”
“That's what I am asking you.”

He was Santa, a keystone cop, whatever you needed. He just loved to be part of it. I can't ever recall him saying no or not being fun about whatever we were doing.

And I can see from the pictures and I heard from the stories, that he was the same for his friends.

That's why for me this isn't good bye. And that is not just denial talking. I plan on carrying him with me everywhere I go. Sometimes, when I need an extra push with a risk that needs to be taken or when I go on an adventure, he will be my co-pilot.

I would like to offer up some suggestions of things that you could do when you just need to feel close to Michael. Because when all was said and done, he knew how to do even the little things that could make a person feel special.

This is just a short list of about 1 percent of the things I could think of :

* Go cheer on someone younger that's important to you at their soccer game ( or any game) and even if they lost 20 to 1, tell them your proud of them

* Call up your sister and harass her.... you don't need a reason.

* Wrestle your brother to the ground.

* Take your dad for all his money in poker

* Teach your little cousin something so ornery that their mother has to hide her smile.

* Climb to the highest part of any tree

* Sneak a coat full of candy into the movie theater

* Text, text, text, text..... for no reason and say nothing,

* Play pinochle with your aunt and uncle,

* Stop by your grandparents house and help them with something they can't do themselves

* Give someone who is sad a few minutes of laughter

* Just show up at your moms; your dads to put your arm around there should and say hey.

If you have any regrets concerning Michael and he was truly your friend, you can leave them here. Regrets just weren't his style.

If you are having trouble moving on, choose instead to live big in that moment. Though Michael was planning for his future and figuring things out, his style was to live large and in the “now”.


So in honor of your son, your brother, your grandson, your nephew, our cousin and your friend .... No matter what you called him: Michael James, Michael Renee, Mikey, Mike, “Big Money”... throw your arm around your neighbor. Find strength in the others that you knew loved him because sorrow just wasn't his style.


“There's only us
There's only this
Forget regret
Or life is yours to miss
No other road
No other way
No day but today”

It is not the critic who counts;

not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,

or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,

whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;

who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again,

because there is no effort without error and shortcoming;

but who does actually strive to do the deeds;

who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions;

who spends himself in a worthy cause;

who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement,

and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,

so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls

who neither know victory nor defeat.

-The full speech by Teddy "Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick" Roosevelt was delivered at the "Sorbonne" in Paris France, April 23 1910.