When my dad died, I had to decide how I felt about death. To have my friend Mike call me the next day, and ask me to walk with him for the next three years as he approached death was a big challenge, because I was at a very dark point. Mike didn’t want me to sugarcoat my feelings.
Mike wanted me to be his travel companion through the end. That set us up for a cinematic journey, where Mike would decline and see things in ways I couldn’t. And I’d talk a big talk, but be healthy as he fell apart.
Our brains simply cannot stay in emergency mode all the time, so despite our best efforts, we inevitably wander through each day a bit, forgetting our mortality and shaking our fists at minutiae.
Mike required me to take my most serious moment of losing my dad, and carry it for three years with him… without lying to myself or Mike. If I didn’t think I’d see my dad again, I couldn’t say to him, “I’ll see you again sometime.”
So I got to reflect for three years straight, with Mike, about what I really believe. I don’t mean doctrine or religion. I don’t mean a pep talk or lying to myself. I mean in my heart of hearts.
Knowing I was walking with Mike to the end of his life. Looking my friend in the eye, and being sincere, facing both the darkness and the light without blinking.
Mike’s gift was absolutely amazing, and we did it! We held each other in our hearts and gazed into the abyss and found joy. We floated through space as particles. We soared in the clouds. We found the transcendental love of the human experience simply by being present, calm, and honest. We made sacred space in our hearts and nurtured it. While we were still alive.
Mike healed broken things in me that I never knew could be fixed. He gave me a foundation for the remaining years of my life. He lives in both my heart and my mind, and he keeps me safe, warm, and calm. Mike gave me peace. His memory is literally a blessing. Love you, buddy!
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