Saying Good-Bye
It's been nearly a week since Cory and I made our long, sad journey to Athens, Georgia to say goodbye to Mike. I think I can finally talk about it without getting too sappy, which Mike would absolutely have hated. His favorite nickname to describe me when I got all weird and emotional was "Lame-o." You have to say it in a funny voice to get the full effect.
So, I'm going to try not to be too lame as I describe the events of last week.
We took my car for the drive, primarily because I have XM Radio. Priorities, right? Got to have the music for the road trip, even if it isn't a particularly fun road trip. But nearly every single song we heard on the drive up made me think of Mike. Poor Cory had to listen to story, after story, after story... I'm sure I probably told the same story three or four times. I lost it on the drive when we heard an Elvis Costello song. For those of you who didn't have the honor of knowing Mike, it's hard to imagine that Elvis Costello could have had a bigger fan.
The next morning, we headed out to the funeral home. At that point, the whole experience became kind of surreal. We walked into the visitation room, and there were dozens of people, milling around, talking, sharing. To be honest, I felt a little lost. After a minute or two, Mike's friend Meredith walked up and introduced herself. I think I just kind of stared at her blankly. I've talked to Meredith via email before, and back when she was blogging, I was a regular reader. I guess meeting her, seeing someone that was a part of Mike's life made it all too real. I hope she didn't think I was rude... I just couldn't handle it at the moment ("Missy," if you're reading this, I'm sorry if I came across a little odd). Eventually, I ran across some of Mike's other Atlanta friends... Holly, Cassie, Sansanee. Mike's best friend from college, Dennis, walked up (I didn't recognize him at first). Then I met Stephanie, the woman Mike had fallen in love with during his last months.
The irony of the whole experience didn't escape me. There we were, some of Mike's closest friends, many of us meeting for the first time. Mike would have wanted us to all meet... but he wasn't there.
Well, actually, he was there. In an open coffin, on the far end of the room. I kept sneaking peeks... but I couldn't go see him. I just couldn't do it. It wasn't like when my Grandmother died and I felt like I had things I needed to say to her (that's another story altogether, and I'm not going to get into it here). Mike knew how much I loved him... how much all of his friends loved him. Seeing Mike, laid out like that, just seemed too morbid. He was too young... too alive... for that to be him.
Next to Mike's coffin was a photo of him... his senior class picture. That's right. God love her, but Mike's mom had put a picture of him from 1988. I would guess it's probably the last formal picture taken of him, so I can't blame her... but still, I could see Mike rolling his eyes.
Mike also would have shaken his head at another picture in the room... him as a March of Dimes poster child. I could just hear him saying "Can you believe it? I didn't think I'd ever have to see that picture again."
We all eventually filed into the chapel for the service. After a few brief readings (which I couldn't listen to... my head was spinning), the Pastor asked people to get up and tell stories about Mike... particularly funny stories. Apparently, he had a pretty good handle on Mike's personality. Dennis and I both spoke... and I'm pretty sure that we had the same problem... telling a story that wasn't too risque for a Christian service. Almost all of my favorite Mike-stories end with his favorite punchline... "In my pants." (If he'd been on a sitcom, that would have been his personal tag-line).
Then, the procession drove to the cemetary. More tears, more laughter. After that, a luncheon at Mike's parents' church, where we shared more stories.
It's funny. People grieve in such different ways. From the moment I found out about Mike, I couldn't stop eating. Filling the void, I guess, mostly with chocolate. Other people couldn't eat at all... they lost their appetites in their grief. We all tried to stay upbeat, but it was hard.
In a weird way, we didn't want the day to end. Leaving the company of Mike's friends and family was kind of like giving in, and admitting that Mike wasn't part of our lives any more. I was like the guy who doesn't want to leave the party because he doesn't want the fun to end. For me, I didn't want Mike to end.
Halfway home, we stopped in Atlanta and met up with some of Mike's friends at The EARL, one of Mike's favorite bars. Both times I visited Mike in Atlanta, a trip to The EARL was involved. (In fact, if you look down about five posts, that picture of Mike with Cory and me was taken last May at The EARL.) We had a few beers with Mike's friends, toasted Mike several times, and stayed and shared stories for several hours. As a finale to the evening, the girls wrote a little good-bye note to Mike on the bathroom wall. We thought Mike would get a good laugh out of that.
In a horrible, horrible way, it was a great trip. We met some really great people, some of us with very little in common except for the fact that we loved Mike.
It's been nearly a week since Cory and I made our long, sad journey to Athens, Georgia to say goodbye to Mike. I think I can finally talk about it without getting too sappy, which Mike would absolutely have hated. His favorite nickname to describe me when I got all weird and emotional was "Lame-o." You have to say it in a funny voice to get the full effect.
So, I'm going to try not to be too lame as I describe the events of last week.
We took my car for the drive, primarily because I have XM Radio. Priorities, right? Got to have the music for the road trip, even if it isn't a particularly fun road trip. But nearly every single song we heard on the drive up made me think of Mike. Poor Cory had to listen to story, after story, after story... I'm sure I probably told the same story three or four times. I lost it on the drive when we heard an Elvis Costello song. For those of you who didn't have the honor of knowing Mike, it's hard to imagine that Elvis Costello could have had a bigger fan.
The next morning, we headed out to the funeral home. At that point, the whole experience became kind of surreal. We walked into the visitation room, and there were dozens of people, milling around, talking, sharing. To be honest, I felt a little lost. After a minute or two, Mike's friend Meredith walked up and introduced herself. I think I just kind of stared at her blankly. I've talked to Meredith via email before, and back when she was blogging, I was a regular reader. I guess meeting her, seeing someone that was a part of Mike's life made it all too real. I hope she didn't think I was rude... I just couldn't handle it at the moment ("Missy," if you're reading this, I'm sorry if I came across a little odd). Eventually, I ran across some of Mike's other Atlanta friends... Holly, Cassie, Sansanee. Mike's best friend from college, Dennis, walked up (I didn't recognize him at first). Then I met Stephanie, the woman Mike had fallen in love with during his last months.
The irony of the whole experience didn't escape me. There we were, some of Mike's closest friends, many of us meeting for the first time. Mike would have wanted us to all meet... but he wasn't there.
Well, actually, he was there. In an open coffin, on the far end of the room. I kept sneaking peeks... but I couldn't go see him. I just couldn't do it. It wasn't like when my Grandmother died and I felt like I had things I needed to say to her (that's another story altogether, and I'm not going to get into it here). Mike knew how much I loved him... how much all of his friends loved him. Seeing Mike, laid out like that, just seemed too morbid. He was too young... too alive... for that to be him.
Next to Mike's coffin was a photo of him... his senior class picture. That's right. God love her, but Mike's mom had put a picture of him from 1988. I would guess it's probably the last formal picture taken of him, so I can't blame her... but still, I could see Mike rolling his eyes.
Mike also would have shaken his head at another picture in the room... him as a March of Dimes poster child. I could just hear him saying "Can you believe it? I didn't think I'd ever have to see that picture again."
We all eventually filed into the chapel for the service. After a few brief readings (which I couldn't listen to... my head was spinning), the Pastor asked people to get up and tell stories about Mike... particularly funny stories. Apparently, he had a pretty good handle on Mike's personality. Dennis and I both spoke... and I'm pretty sure that we had the same problem... telling a story that wasn't too risque for a Christian service. Almost all of my favorite Mike-stories end with his favorite punchline... "In my pants." (If he'd been on a sitcom, that would have been his personal tag-line).
Then, the procession drove to the cemetary. More tears, more laughter. After that, a luncheon at Mike's parents' church, where we shared more stories.
It's funny. People grieve in such different ways. From the moment I found out about Mike, I couldn't stop eating. Filling the void, I guess, mostly with chocolate. Other people couldn't eat at all... they lost their appetites in their grief. We all tried to stay upbeat, but it was hard.
In a weird way, we didn't want the day to end. Leaving the company of Mike's friends and family was kind of like giving in, and admitting that Mike wasn't part of our lives any more. I was like the guy who doesn't want to leave the party because he doesn't want the fun to end. For me, I didn't want Mike to end.
Halfway home, we stopped in Atlanta and met up with some of Mike's friends at The EARL, one of Mike's favorite bars. Both times I visited Mike in Atlanta, a trip to The EARL was involved. (In fact, if you look down about five posts, that picture of Mike with Cory and me was taken last May at The EARL.) We had a few beers with Mike's friends, toasted Mike several times, and stayed and shared stories for several hours. As a finale to the evening, the girls wrote a little good-bye note to Mike on the bathroom wall. We thought Mike would get a good laugh out of that.
In a horrible, horrible way, it was a great trip. We met some really great people, some of us with very little in common except for the fact that we loved Mike.
Labels: music, the daily grind
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