I know I've posted all over the place in the forums, I'll try to stick to in here. I'm sure you're all going to get very tired of seeing stuff about Mike. No one will talk about him, though. It's like everyone's afraid to say his name to me and all I want to do is talk about him and act like he's still here. I'm trying so hard not to have a breakdown but it's so hard. It makes me so angry that people are just continuing with their lives and talk about the weather, the dogs, tv shows, when Mike is dead.

The day Mike died, we had a big fight before he left.
That night, Maverick woke up at 2, 4, and 6 and I was so very exhausted and he was nursing forever and didn't seem satisfied. I had nudged Mike to get up to change his diaper but Mike sleeps like a rock and didn't want to move. So instead of talking to him, I got angry. I yelled at him and told him he wasn't helping enough. I didn't mean it. I was frusterated with the lack of sleep and the angry newborn and still feeling uncomfortable from the birth and drowsy from my post-partum hemmorage. And when I yelled at him, he got upset (he was mutually tired and beat between the baby and work) and changed Maverick's diaper. I was still annoyed, so I refused to talk to him and he went and slept in the spare room. I didn't even get to sleep aside my Mikey before he died. I regret that whole night and the following day. When we woke up, I was still being a jerk. He tried to apologize but my feelings were injured and I told him I wasn't ready to talk. We did stuff around the house, barely speaking to one another, and then took Charlie, Maverick, and our Saint Bernard puppy out to the dog park. After the dog park, we stopped to grab something to eat at a hot dog place. That whole day, we didn't say much to eachother. I didn't tell Mike once that I loved him. I didn't kiss him at all. I was so wrapped up in my own frusteration that the last 24 hours with my Mike, I wasted on being selfishly angry. When we got home, I put Charlie down for a nap and nursed the baby again and Mike asked me if he could go out on his bike for a little bit because the weather was nice.
And you know what I said to my husband? A man that I love, who would turn the world over for me, who has gone out of his way to support us and care for us, and makes me feel loved and beautiful and whole..
I told him, "Go, I don't care. Just go."
I wish I could stab myself in the heart because that's what I did to him. He even asked if I wanted him to stay so we could talk it out. I regret with every inch of me that I would have said yes, stay. Let's talk. I love you. Please don't go. Come back. I need you. Anything but what I said. And I'll never be able to take that back in a million years. I didn't mean it. But that's the last thing he heard from me. And his face looked so heartbroken. I hate myself. I feel responsible for his death. If I would have just told him to stay, he would have in a instant because he wanted to fix things. I was just being a horrible, stubborn, awful person.
About two hours later, I was upstairs nursing the baby again and the phone rang like 3 times. I finally went down to check the messages and the first message was from the hospital, saying that they had a Michael Frederick in their ER and he'd been in a motorcycle accident. Then the next calls were his boss and his mom, who'd they'd also called, all yelling for me to pick up the phone.
I called ECMC (the hospital) and they said that he was in critical condition but they couldn't tell me much more, I'd have to talk to the surgeon when I got there. My initial thought was that he was badly hurt, but not dead. There was no way. And I don't know how to drive our car, it's stick shift, so I made a frantic call for one of my friends to come pick me up. She did and her mother followed us to take the kids when we got there. On the way, his sister called my cell crying hysterically, asking why I wasn't there yet. I told her I was going as fast as I could and asked how he was, she kept crying. I told her, "Just tell me he's still alive." And she just kept crying more, then I screamed it at her and she said she didn't know anything, that the doctors wouldn't tell her anything. Which was a lie, the family knew, she just didn't want to tell me over the phone.
But by the way she was crying, I knew something wasn't right. Then when we pulled up to the ER, my other best girlfriend was there with a wheelchair and told me to sit in it. It occured to me right away that the only reason they'd want me to sit down is because something serious happened but I said no and plowed into the ER. It took 5 seconds to realize Mike was dead. I told them who I was and they let me through the door and instead of taking me to a hospital room, they escorted me towards a office-like room. There was a priest holding the door open and inside my immediate inlaws were all there, crying. I told them, "Don't tell me that he's dead." and my mother in law said that he was.
I shrieked hysterically, burst into tears, ended up on the floor. I still feel that exact moment of hearing it in the center of my stomach. This god awful pain of being hurt and angry and lost and nothing to do about it. I lost it a little at the hospital, I yelled for a while until they made me get off the floor and into a chair and then they said we could go see him.
Michael was covered with a white sheet from his chest down, in a neck brace, and had a tube in his mouth. His face and arms were untouched, as all of his injuries turned out to be internal. He looked just like himself but sleeping. They started asking me about if I knew he was a organ donor and I think I said yes then they told me only tissue could be used since he was already dead when he got to the hospital, even though they tried to recistate him. I wish that he had been able to donate organs. I know he wanted to. For some reason, I think if his organs had been able to be used to save another person's loved ones life, I think it would have somehow made it a little easier. His whole family was in the room, his aunts started showing up and everyone was crying and clobbering over his body. I couldn't stand to touch his face, it was already so cold, so I touched his arm, right where his batman and joker tattoo was. I just kept waiting for him to wake up but it wasn't happening. They asked me if I wanted his wedding ring and at first I said no, but then I remembered he wanted to be cremated. If I had buried him, I'd want his ring on him but we did cremate him so they gave me his ring. I'm now wearing it on my left hand and it feels wrong, it should be on him. I asked the family to leave before they took him away to get his tissue and I told him that I was sorry, that I never meant what I said, I didn't want him to go, I do care, and I want him back. I begged for him to come back. I still do it every night when I go to bed, I don't know how long that will go on for even though I know it's something I'll never get a response to. Then my sister showed up, some other of his family, his best friend Gary. Everyone was a wreck but all I could focus on was that the last thing I said to him was, "Go, I don't care."

I got his ashes today. They couldn't find the urn I wanted, his ashes were split between me and his mother, so they put him in a plastic bag and a cardboard box. That is what my husband is currently sitting in on my shelf. A box. I'll find a urn for him as soon as I can stomach the idea that he's really dead.

Mikey, I miss you. I miss you so much. I love you. I want you to come back. My life is empty without you. I can't do this without you. The kids need you. I need you. I'm only complete with you. Please come back.

I don't know how to do this.