“🌟 In Loving Memory of My Son, Mickale Blayne Alexander Hill March 24, 1993 – July 19, 2023 11,074 days. No where near long enough.”

This is my son, Mickale. And this is a piece of his story.
From the moment he was born, he made life lighter. He was the “perfect” baby…slept through the night from day one, barely cried, and had this peaceful little spirit that felt like it had been here before. He was so easy to love.
As a toddler, he followed his older brother Gabriel everywhere. They were best friends … partners in everything. For years, Mickale carried around a little stuffed “baby Kermit” everywhere he went. It became a part of him … and when he moved out as an adult, he still had it. That’s just who he was. Sentimental. Loving. Full of heart.
Mickale lit up every room he entered. His smile was electric … big, bright, and impossible to ignore. He wore his heart on his sleeve his whole life. He wasn’t afraid to feel, to love, to care deeply. His friends meant everything to him, and he never hesitated to help someone … even when he didn’t have much to give. He gave anyway.

He was absolutely hilarious … the kind of funny that just lived in him. One of my favorite memories is when I’d call him and he’d answer the phone with this silly line:
“Mmmmr. Sexy’s Pizza, how may I help you?”
And then we’d just laugh and laugh like fools. That memory still makes me smile through the tears.
When his little sister, Lillian was born, Mickale was only six. And the tenderness he had for her melted me. He looked at her like she was made of magic. It was in that moment that I knew: one day, when he became a father, he would be amazing. And he was.
The way he loved his children was something I will carry with me forever. When his daughter, Annexzandria (his “Annie”), was born, he was captivated. She became his whole world. A few years later, when his son came along, I watched that same awe in him … the same overwhelming love. He was so proud to be a dad. He had a diaper bag on one shoulder, a baby on his hip, and a smile on his face. That was my boy.

He texted me every day. Sent photos. Little updates. Sometimes just a joke. He was present. Always checking in. Always loving out loud. I miss those texts so much. I miss hearing him come through the door with a baby on one hip and a bag over his shoulder, casually saying,
“Oh yeah… hey mom!”
Like he had just been out for a minute … like he had never left.
Every year on his birthday, we made the same meal: meatloaf, mashed potatoes, broccoli with cheese, green beans, rolls, and homemade cheesecake for dessert. He loved it. It’s now sacred to us … something we’ll keep doing every March. Because he still deserves to be celebrated.

But the last year of his life broke him. He went through unimaginable pain in his marriage … emotional betrayal, manipulation, and trauma that tore at his heart and spirit. He tried. He fought. He held on as long as he could. But on July 19, 2023, he made a decision that changed everything.
He put a gun to his head and ended his life.

I will never get over that. Never be “okay” with it. That morning is burned into me forever. I saw the officer standing on my porch. I came rushing through the door, and he barely got my son’s name out before I knew. I collapsed. The sound that came out of me didn’t even feel human. There’s no pain like being told your child is gone.
Because he was married, she had legal control over what happened next. But within hours, she signed everything over to me … gave me full say over his arrangements. For that, I was grateful. I got to be his mom all the way through the end.
Losing Mickale has changed me completely. I see the world differently. I see people differently. My grief cracked me open and showed me things I never wanted to know … but needed to. I now know who truly belongs in my life… and who doesn’t. I’ve learned to protect my peace, and to hold close the ones who love deeply and without condition.
People ask how I cope. The truth is … I don’t even know what that really means anymore. I just keep moving. Second by second. Because that’s all I can do. There’s no “getting over” this kind of loss. You just learn to live with the ache.
He’s never far from me. I talk to him when I’m alone. I look at his pictures every day. I hear his voice in my mind. And every night before I go to sleep, I tell him I love him. And I say a prayer that maybe he’ll come visit me in my dreams.
If telling his story helps even one person feel less alone, or helps someone realize that love doesn’t end … not even in death … then I’ll keep telling it. Over and over. Because my son was so much more than the way he died.

He was a son. A brother. A father. A friend. A light in this world.
He mattered. He still matters.
He is forever 30.
Forever my boy.
Forever loved. 💙

We are honored to walk in memory of Mickale Blayne Alexander Hill.