For Micah.  Among his favorite songs, from amongst his favorite musicals, RENT.  I post this today, nearly 525,600 minutes since I said goodbye to my son.

In a non-stop rollercoaster of a weekend, I have spent quality time with friends (though not nearly enough with family).  I have announced two Roadrunners games (both wins!).  I have helped  run a fantastic hockey tournament.  I have laughed.  I have smiled.  I have frowned.  I have cried.

I have witnessed bizarre coincidences.  As many know, Micah wore the number “37” on his hockey jerseys throughout his entire travel hockey “career.”  I have often told the story of how he came to wear 37.  The first professional hockey games he ever saw were Phoenix Coyotes games.  The only black player on the ice was Georges Laraque–who wore number 37 for the Coyotes (27 for a couple other teams).  Micah decided that he wanted to wear the same number as the only other black hockey player he had ever seen.  Yes–I know there have been several others, but for a six-year old that had only seen Coyotes games, Laraque was the guy.

Micah never met Georges personally, but did get an autographed puck from the Coyotes once…and continued to wear number 37 even though he was often given the chance to change his number.  While some goalies look to emulate their current favorite goalie’s number (look at the large number of Arizona goalies wearing #41 for Mike Smith), Micah stayed true to his 37.  Even after seeing and being moved by the movie “42”, the story of Jackie Robinson, Micah still wanted to wear 37.

On the first MLK Jr Weekend Friday since Micah’s death (Micah died on the Friday of MLK Jr Weekend, 2016), I noticed a strange email while checking my messages during the Roadrunners game intermission.  It was a Twitter notification that I had a new follower.  The new follower?  Georges Laraque.  I had never reached out to Georges, followed him on Twitter, or done anything else to directly try and capture his attention–but here he wasm on this very solemn anniversary, following the man whose son dutifully wore his number.

I know it’s likely nothing–it’s not like Mr. Laraque showed up to my house to say hello or anything–but it was a strange coincidence…

Sometimes I wonder why I keep checking social media at times like this.  I know I’m going to see pictures of Micah.  I know I’m going to be reminded of my loss.  I know it’s going to choke me up and bring me to tears–but I still look.  Maybe it’s the masochist in me, maybe it’s the strength I draw from everyone’s comments.  I’m not really sure–it’s probably some combination of many things.

On this technical anniversary of Micah’s death, I want to thank everyone that has been there for Cynthia, Avi and myself.  I want to let you all know how much I–we appreciate your support, hopes, thoughts and prayers.  Your support has helped us remain strong–or as strong as we can, anyhow.

After a full year, still trying to figure all of this out…

525,600 minutes,
525,000 moments so dear.
525,600 minutes,
How do you measure, measure a year?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love.
Seasons of love.
Seasons of love.
David

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