Michael was born March 29th 1979. He was a fine healthy boy, the spitting image of his two older brothers and loved and guarded with a wary eye.
One of the great losses of my life was having the baseball team I grew up painfully loving, in Washington, DC, move to Arlington, Texas. Their final game was played at Robert Francis Kennedy Stadium (nee DC Stadium), September 30, 1971. The game ended in a melee of fans and escaping players. The diamond was stormed by both the angry and bewildered over the loss of the team. They were dreadful but the faithful loved and rooted for them, like you would for your struggling but noble, under achieving little brother. My last great memory was Frank Howard, hitting his 26th home-run of that final season. Baseball had died in DC. Thanksgiving and Christmas came and went that year and the promise of a returning team went on for 34 years, until a team was finally returned to my beloved city. Michael’s two older brothers missed the wonders of baseball but have seen many Christmas trees and opened scores of presents over the years. Michael never saw baseball or Christmas.
The bad luck of September 30th returned in 1979, that morning Michael died, a victim of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). His death sent my family into a tailspin, I wonder even to this day, have we ever recovered? No birthday, anniversary of his death or baseball season comes around, without my mind’s eye seeing him wearing the home team colors and hat adorning his head with a curly W embroidered on its front. Many years have passed and now this time of year brings joy, knowing that his legacy lives on through my two other sons, both, now fathers. I had the great joy of introducing one of my grandsons to his first baseball game in the 2014 baseball season. He loved the peanuts and junk food and the game was a nuisance he tolerated for the culinary pleasures. Christmas Day fills my sons living rooms with lots of discarded wrapping paper, soon to be broken toys and smiles.
Somewhere Michael is smiling as he watches over his many nephews and nieces. His elder brother, five at the time of Michael’s death, did his best to assure the middle brother during the funeral services. When asked if Mikey would be safe, he turned to his brother and told him not to worry, “God had plenty of diapers and milk for him in heaven.” So hug your boys and girls this Christmas Day and on warm summer evenings don’t forget baseball and have a bag of peanuts for Michael.