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8-11-03 // 9.55 am ( ) Thursday night, Erin and I got a call from Ed telling us that their friend Mike had died. He was epileptic, and apparently he had an aneurysm brought upon by a seizure. I've been thinking about this -- about him -- ever since. I kept trying to sit down to write an entry, but it just wouldn't come out. Truthfully, it feels like I've had this huge wad of anger, sadness and frustration lodged up inside of me for the past four days. I want to let it out, but it just stays there. I want to have a massive cry or just scream out at the top of my lungs, but all I feel is this huge mess of incomprehension. I didn't know Mike very well, not nearly as well as Erin did in any case. She was quite close with him, despite that they hadn't talked much recently. Ed has taken this harder than anyone -- he and Mike were closer than brothers. I have no idea how to attempt to respond to that type of loss. I wish that I could, to help lessen Ed's pain, Erin's pain...the pain of everyone that knew Mike. But all I feel like I've been able to do in these four days is to contemplate, to reflect on a man whom I knew but not nearly as well as I'd have liked to. I don't remember the first time I met Mike. However, I remember just about all of the subsequent times. I've been digging through my mind for memories and impressions. Like I said, I won't claim to have known Mike as well as a large number of people did. But my overwhelming, lasting memory of him is that behind his initially goofy behavior, was one of the most genuine people I've ever met. I can't really explain it, but Mike was sincere and he really honest-to-god cared about people. He loved his friends, his girlfriend, his dog, his family, Demolay and the Shriners, computers, cars, laughing, and I'm sure a million other things that I was never able to find out about. I'll always remember last fall, Erin was working late and I was sitting around on the computer, feeling bored and lonely. Mike signed on AIM and we chatted for quite a while. He'd talk about girls he liked and I'd try my best to give him advice, he'd ask me how Erin and I were doing, we'd talk about computers or movies or just life in general. We'd talk like that now and then, whenever we caught each other on. What struck me then, as well as just about every time I ever interacted with Mike, was how warm and open he was, and how despite that he hadn't known me for very long, it felt that he genuinely cared about me. One time -- no, actually this happened several times -- we'd all go to Chris's on Friday nights, and Mike and Ed would order the all-you-can-eat crab leg special. We'd sit there at the restaurant for hours, as Mike and Ed engaged in some sort of crustacean arms race. When all was said and done, without fail there were nearly a dozen plates of torn apart crab carcass sitting on the table next to us, and Mike's hands were absolutely covered in this disgusting crab goo. There were lots of displays of pictures and things from Mike's life on display at the wake yesterday, and there was actually one poster board full of pictures from one of those crab nights. It made me smile, remember, and then tear up. I choked up even more when I looked around at these pictures, these items and these people, and it still didn't feel like it was an accurate summary of Mike. Apparently Erin and Ed and Tara and everyone else felt the same way. We all wanted him to be right there next to us, not artifacts and a lifeless shell. I went to the bathroom a little while later and lost it for a few moments, but tried to regain my composure as I went back out. I didn't want to make everyone else feel even worse by having to look at my teary face. So Erin and I went to Mike's wake last night, we met Ed, Tara, John and Tony there. I kept wondering how they managed to put on such a diginfied face, considering that they knew Mike far better than I did, and I could barely contain myself. I just couldn't (and can't) wrap my mind around why this had to happen. I know it doesn't make any sense, and that it'll likely never make sense. But in that funeral parlor, I was surrounded by literally throngs of people that Mike touched in the course of his life, family and friends who loved him, coworkers, and lodge comrades whom Mike obviously meant the world to. I think that will be my lasting memory of Mike -- it always felt like he would do anything for you, that he would give his all to help his friends. I regret that I won't have the opportunity to have years to get to know him like Erin and Ed and everyone else did. And even after writing this, which I hoped would be some sort of catharsis, even a small one, I still mostly feel confusion at how someone with so much life ahead of him and with so much to give to the world can be gone so suddenly. Goodbye, Mike. You left your mark on my life.
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