Monday, August 22, 2011
I got my weekly mailing from the Soldiers Home today and learned the annual family picnic was yesterday. I’m sorry I missed it—it’s wonderful to see the beaming residents whose families come—but more than anything, that mailing triggered thoughts of Mike.
Mike invited me to the last two picnics, and both times, I was honored to fill in as his surrogate family. Last year we even “adopted” a resident who was eating alone.
Even beyond the picnic, for some reason, this is the season of Mike: I miss the sunshine and our deep, soul-soothing breaths at the pond; I miss filling Mike in on every nuance of Carson’s golf game and his upcoming season; I miss teasing Mike about that stupid old green blanket he insisted on wearing over his legs even when it was 80 degrees out. I miss his laugh. I miss his support. I miss the way he’d say “Hot DAMN” when he saw me coming up the hallway. I guess I just miss his voice, on several levels.
The other day I was looking through my computer’s photo files and, completely unexpectedly, up popped the original video footage from my interview with Mike for this website. We were at the pond. It was a little chilly, so I hadn’t nagged him about the blanket (this time), and he seemed nervous about the official interview process and the camera.
But he talked to me. And now I watched it, for the first time since I edited the interview, and I listened, and I closed my eyes, and I smiled. I didn’t watch the whole thing—I want to save some for when I need another infusion of Mike—but I watched enough to feel his presence and his one-of-a-kind Mike-ness.
And I really needed that about now.
I got my weekly mailing from the Soldiers Home today and learned the annual family picnic was yesterday. I’m sorry I missed it—it’s wonderful to see the beaming residents whose families come—but more than anything, that mailing triggered thoughts of Mike.
Mike invited me to the last two picnics, and both times, I was honored to fill in as his surrogate family. Last year we even “adopted” a resident who was eating alone.
Even beyond the picnic, for some reason, this is the season of Mike: I miss the sunshine and our deep, soul-soothing breaths at the pond; I miss filling Mike in on every nuance of Carson’s golf game and his upcoming season; I miss teasing Mike about that stupid old green blanket he insisted on wearing over his legs even when it was 80 degrees out. I miss his laugh. I miss his support. I miss the way he’d say “Hot DAMN” when he saw me coming up the hallway. I guess I just miss his voice, on several levels.
The other day I was looking through my computer’s photo files and, completely unexpectedly, up popped the original video footage from my interview with Mike for this website. We were at the pond. It was a little chilly, so I hadn’t nagged him about the blanket (this time), and he seemed nervous about the official interview process and the camera.
But he talked to me. And now I watched it, for the first time since I edited the interview, and I listened, and I closed my eyes, and I smiled. I didn’t watch the whole thing—I want to save some for when I need another infusion of Mike—but I watched enough to feel his presence and his one-of-a-kind Mike-ness.
And I really needed that about now.
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