For Mike, the greatest gamer I've ever met. - updated
He jokingly said once that he'd like his tombstone to read "Here Lies A Kicker of Asses." He wasn't too far off, but not for the reasons one would think.
By all medical science, Mike shouldn't have possibly lived to see his second birthday, at best. His affliction kept him in the hospital 2-3 weeks out of every month. He was never able to finish school, never healthy enough to have a job, and never strong enough to go out and play sports, go to parties, go biking.... none of that. His life was sadly contained within the walls of whereever he was living at the time, living off a meager government stipend and constantly going back and forth between home and hospital.
He was a picky eater. Steak and potatos or most anything with chicken was about all he'd eat. He also wasn't a very big eater, either. Despite the heavy-duty vitamins he was on and drugs to help his system digest food better, Mike never weight more than 110 pounds his whole life.
But not once. Not ever, not through the treatments, not through the poking and proding and the tubes and the doctors and the nurses and the social workers... not during the coughing fits that would draw up blood mixed with life-choking mucous, did he ever complain about his life. He knew he was lucky, that every SINGLE day that he woke up, was a day to be grateful for.
He never cursed anyone for his condition, not his mom, not any god, not any doctor. He was just happy to spend time with people that cared about him, that's all that mattered to him.
To realize that, made me take stock about myself, to think of the silly, stupid shit that I sometimes complain about, things that, in a few months, weeks, or maybe days, wouldn't make a lick of difference.
Even in his last weeks, when he no longer even had the strength to do the thing he loved best, and was best at, did he complain or lament. He knew he had a good run, and he felt he had no reason to be upset about it.
Thursday, August 10, his mom called me. Mike was no longer waking up. It appeared he had gone comatose. The nurse said she'd be surprised if he lived through the night. At one point, his breathing was down to only 9 per minute.
When I arrived, I was elated to find out he had managed to wake himself up twice, if only for a little bit, and his mom told him that I was going to be there soon. He barely acknowledged her before passing back out. The second time he woke up, he told his wife and mom that he couldn't do it anylonger, he was tired of fighting, and through tears they told him it was okay, that he could go. ... he said no. He knew I was going to be there, he was going to say goodbye to me himself.
When I got there, it took a few minutes to wake him up. I wasn't sure if he'd still be lucid, from the lack of oxygen, and by the way he acted at first. But after a few moments, his eyes focused on me and I felt his hand twice as I held it, and he managed to whisper "Hey Vinnie, I knew you'd make it." and fell back asleep. At that point, I had to leave the room and pull myself together.
I stayed by him as much as I could, and he would force himself away for a few seconds to see who was there, or to try to get a sip of something to drink, which he no longer had the energy to completely do for himself, so his wife would hold a cup and straw for him to sip from.
He only woke up a few times more, each of those times either just looking around, or telling his wife and mom that he loved them. One of the last times I saw him awake, he said "Vinnie, I'll miss you." I fought back tears and through a warbling voice told him I'd miss him too. He was quiet for a moment, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Thanks Vince, I love you, man." and that point I didn't care who I cried in front of as I gave him the lightest hug I could, and told him that I loved him too.
It was the last time I saw one of my best friends awake. He passed away at roughly 4:30am, Saturday, August 12, 2006.
Mike, you did kick ass. You kicked through everything life threw at you, and never once complained. You beat the odds, time and time again. Anyone would have been lucky to have met you, and learned these same lessons from you.
Rest In Peace.
---------------
Weds. August 16.
---------------
Originally he wanted me to be a pallbearer. But because of his families financial strains, they decided on cremation instead, so I found out the night before the funeral, that he wanted me to give his Eulogy.
At the funeral, I kept waiting for him to... wake up. I managed to get through my eulogy without having to stop much. It was surreal, when the services were over, to watch them close the casket. His wife took his glasses as a keepsake.
He loved dragons, well, he loved fantasy stuff in general. I have a dragon urn that I got about three years ago because I thought it was just pretty cool looking. I talked to his mom and wife, offering it as a place for his ashes, and they both agreed, they knew it would have been something he'd have wanted if given the choice.
So the next time his mom is in town from a haul, I'll be going back over there with his final gift.
I feel so empty, drained. Everytime I leave someplace, I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. It all started at the funeral home, knowing that I was leaving without him, and trying to get used to the fact that he's gone.
So I just feel nothing, broken up by short waves of intense saddness. Thankfully at work I kept myself distracted enough where I didn't start crying. I've never cried this much in my life about any one thing.
I know he's not hurting anymore. If I were a religious person I'd say he was in a better place now. But it does little to ease the sense of loss. I know it'll fade in time, but still.
By all medical science, Mike shouldn't have possibly lived to see his second birthday, at best. His affliction kept him in the hospital 2-3 weeks out of every month. He was never able to finish school, never healthy enough to have a job, and never strong enough to go out and play sports, go to parties, go biking.... none of that. His life was sadly contained within the walls of whereever he was living at the time, living off a meager government stipend and constantly going back and forth between home and hospital.
He was a picky eater. Steak and potatos or most anything with chicken was about all he'd eat. He also wasn't a very big eater, either. Despite the heavy-duty vitamins he was on and drugs to help his system digest food better, Mike never weight more than 110 pounds his whole life.
But not once. Not ever, not through the treatments, not through the poking and proding and the tubes and the doctors and the nurses and the social workers... not during the coughing fits that would draw up blood mixed with life-choking mucous, did he ever complain about his life. He knew he was lucky, that every SINGLE day that he woke up, was a day to be grateful for.
He never cursed anyone for his condition, not his mom, not any god, not any doctor. He was just happy to spend time with people that cared about him, that's all that mattered to him.
To realize that, made me take stock about myself, to think of the silly, stupid shit that I sometimes complain about, things that, in a few months, weeks, or maybe days, wouldn't make a lick of difference.
Even in his last weeks, when he no longer even had the strength to do the thing he loved best, and was best at, did he complain or lament. He knew he had a good run, and he felt he had no reason to be upset about it.
Thursday, August 10, his mom called me. Mike was no longer waking up. It appeared he had gone comatose. The nurse said she'd be surprised if he lived through the night. At one point, his breathing was down to only 9 per minute.
When I arrived, I was elated to find out he had managed to wake himself up twice, if only for a little bit, and his mom told him that I was going to be there soon. He barely acknowledged her before passing back out. The second time he woke up, he told his wife and mom that he couldn't do it anylonger, he was tired of fighting, and through tears they told him it was okay, that he could go. ... he said no. He knew I was going to be there, he was going to say goodbye to me himself.
When I got there, it took a few minutes to wake him up. I wasn't sure if he'd still be lucid, from the lack of oxygen, and by the way he acted at first. But after a few moments, his eyes focused on me and I felt his hand twice as I held it, and he managed to whisper "Hey Vinnie, I knew you'd make it." and fell back asleep. At that point, I had to leave the room and pull myself together.
I stayed by him as much as I could, and he would force himself away for a few seconds to see who was there, or to try to get a sip of something to drink, which he no longer had the energy to completely do for himself, so his wife would hold a cup and straw for him to sip from.
He only woke up a few times more, each of those times either just looking around, or telling his wife and mom that he loved them. One of the last times I saw him awake, he said "Vinnie, I'll miss you." I fought back tears and through a warbling voice told him I'd miss him too. He was quiet for a moment, he was fighting to keep his eyes open. "Thanks Vince, I love you, man." and that point I didn't care who I cried in front of as I gave him the lightest hug I could, and told him that I loved him too.
It was the last time I saw one of my best friends awake. He passed away at roughly 4:30am, Saturday, August 12, 2006.
Mike, you did kick ass. You kicked through everything life threw at you, and never once complained. You beat the odds, time and time again. Anyone would have been lucky to have met you, and learned these same lessons from you.
Rest In Peace.
---------------
Weds. August 16.
---------------
Originally he wanted me to be a pallbearer. But because of his families financial strains, they decided on cremation instead, so I found out the night before the funeral, that he wanted me to give his Eulogy.
At the funeral, I kept waiting for him to... wake up. I managed to get through my eulogy without having to stop much. It was surreal, when the services were over, to watch them close the casket. His wife took his glasses as a keepsake.
He loved dragons, well, he loved fantasy stuff in general. I have a dragon urn that I got about three years ago because I thought it was just pretty cool looking. I talked to his mom and wife, offering it as a place for his ashes, and they both agreed, they knew it would have been something he'd have wanted if given the choice.
So the next time his mom is in town from a haul, I'll be going back over there with his final gift.
I feel so empty, drained. Everytime I leave someplace, I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. It all started at the funeral home, knowing that I was leaving without him, and trying to get used to the fact that he's gone.
So I just feel nothing, broken up by short waves of intense saddness. Thankfully at work I kept myself distracted enough where I didn't start crying. I've never cried this much in my life about any one thing.
I know he's not hurting anymore. If I were a religious person I'd say he was in a better place now. But it does little to ease the sense of loss. I know it'll fade in time, but still.