Thank You, Michael

It’s already been two weeks since we lost Michael. It still seems surreal that he’s gone. It all went so quickly. I’m still trying to figure things out.

Michael had been at Misericordia since he was two years old. So in a sense I didn’t grow up with him. He wasn’t a daily physical presence like my parents, or my older brother Chris, or my friends. In the beginning my visits were weekly. Every Sunday morning we’d drive down to see him. As an adult living on my own in the city, my visits were less frequent. Maybe once a month or so.

I’m not sure when it will become real for me. Maybe it’ll be real for my parents when they wake up on Sunday mornings with no place to go. It’ll feel real for Chris every morning when he realizes he doesn’t have to go to Mikey’s to give him his therapeutic massage. When will it be real for me? Still trying to figure that out.

I was eleven when Michael was born. What should have been a happy time in our lives quickly turned into a dark period for all of us. We all suffered in our own unique way. I suffered in silence. After being the youngest for so long, I was now the middle child. When I was little, before Michael was born, I was loud, rambunctious, outgoing, controlling, a bit whiny, and sometimes a brat. I was the youngest, after all, with an older brother who loved to terrorize me.

After Michael’s birth I realized I had to change. My parents had so much on their plate to worry about, I didn’t want them to worry about me. I had to grow up and stay out of trouble as much as I could. Michael’s birth had such an impact on me, I often wonder who I’d be if he’d never been born. Some of you may have noticed that I like to keep to myself sometimes; I don’t like to be a bother to anyone. That’s all because of Michael. That outgoing and controlling side still comes out, though. It’s nice to know a piece of pre-Michael me is still there.

Chris and I each gave our own eulogy at the service. At first neither of us were sure we’d make it through, but we got up there and said what needed to be said. I asked the question I was sure everyone was asking: Why did God let Michael suffer for 28 years? What was the purpose?

I like to think that Michael’s purpose was to teach us something. If we should learn one thing from Michael it was his overall outlook on life. He was always such a happy boy no matter what he was going through. He would smile and laugh at random. Even during his sickest moments he would still crack a grin through the oxygen mask. It really makes us think twice before we complain about something trivial. If Michael can make it through such challenging times, why can’t we?

I’ve been walking a little slower these days, staring like a zombie, damp eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Michael was a silent presence in our lives for 28 years. Now he’s silent in another way, and I struggle to understand it all.

Thank you, Michael, for all that you've given us, and all that you sacrificed.