Life's Lessons

I like to think I learn something every day I am on earth in this body. One of my many -isms is that if you stop learning, or wanting to learn, there is no reason to be here... or anywhere. I typically pride myself on not having to be beaten about the head and neck with a lesson in order to "get it". I usually "get it" pretty quickly.

This morning, I found out an old friend from High School, Mike Mello, passed suddenly a few days ago. I don't know how, I will never know why, (it's not for me to know), but I know I missed an opportunity. And it's not the first time.

I looked Mike up on Facebook about a year ago. He flashed back into my memory for one reason or another. He was a tall guy with a broad smile. He exuded warmth. He was kind. He was a talented performer and as an upper-classman, he was a mentor to me. We were in Madrigal choir together for one year in 1991-1992. We were a true madrigal group, singing only renaissance music in the proper style, always with an eye on accuracy to the music and the times. We performed a lot during Christmas. We dressed in period costumes and looked ridiculous. Remind me to tell you the story of getting stuck in a ditch on my way to a winter concert in full regalia and the good ol' boys who stopped to help pull me out.

And we got laughed at. We were the Glee kids. It built character and it didn't hurt that we were good. We were very, very good. I wouldn't trade my time in that choir for any other time in my life. It was, one of very few bright spots in the four years of blight and darkness with which I regard my high school days.

When Mike graduated, he gave me his costume. He said he wanted me to have it. I still remember the moment in the robe room at the end of the year. It wasn't off-handed. He turned to me, got real close, (he was a about a foot taller than me, or so it seemed), and held it out to me. He wanted me to have it. He presented it to me, with that trademark wide smile. I remember that moment with such warmth, like I am being hugged. I gladly accepted and wore it with pride. I then bequeathed it on to someone upon my graduation. For all I know, it is still in use, today. The wearer may or may not know the great provenance that comes with that costume. If someone is wearing it, I hope that Mike's kindness and indefatigable spirit somehow comes through.

I had a dream about that moment in the middle of a mostly sleepless night and again filed it away in my box of mental resolutions that I would have to look Mike up. He lived at the time, according to his Facebook profile in Ferndale, MI. He was in a relationship with another man. Ferndale is where I essentially lived with my besties Greg and Dave for almost three years while commuting to the east side of the state. The gay community in Ferndale is pretty close. I never even asked Dave and Greg whether they knew mike. I put the information in my hat, and I decided I would get to it later.

After shoveling snow this morning, I came in to have my hot coffee and Facebook time. I saw some pictures of him, smiling. I didn't see that next to them said RIP Mikee. It was one of those moments where time ceases and consciousness struggles with reality. I was alone in the room and still verbally said, "Oh, no. No. Oh, no." I seldom speak unless there is someone there to hear me. This time, it didn't matter. I couldn't stop myself.

So, here it is later. And it turns out later is too late. I never even "friended" him on Facebook. I guess maybe I was afraid he wouldn't remember me. I have a complex about that. He was after all, Mike Mello! The Mike Mello. I was just,well, me. Why would he remember?

Another time in my life I missed an opportunity to connect with someone. We had a friend in New Jersey whose mother, I was told, I would simply love. I had to meet her, I was told. I had the chance one snowy night during Christmastime when we picked up our friend to go out to dinner. A barbecue place. Em encouraged me to come in and meet this woman who I was told I would just love. I was crusty that night. I remember being in a bad mood. Next time, I said. Next time.

She slipped in a pool on vacation in Mexico and died of massive swelling of the brain three months later. It was right before my 30th birthday. Em had solicited people to write me notes to put into a memory book for me to have. Her letter to me was in there. It read something like, can't wait to meet you. Of course that would not happen, as I had attended her funeral the day before. Hearing the stories about her, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss of someone I never even met. I surely would have been blessed to meet her. If even just the once.

So, I am feeling beaten, shaken and stirred. Mike was a genuinely good guy and I really am sorry I didn't take my valuable time to reach out. Even if he didn't remember me, we would have been friends again in adulthood.

Now, I am only a mourner. Along with dozens, and I am sure hundreds of other people privileged enough to have known Mike Mello. January 1973-December 2012. Goodbye, Mike. See you on the other side.