Mike
I’ve finally gotten to the point where I can write about Mike. I don’t know why it took this long. It wasn’t like he and I were that close, because we weren’t. There were other people in the family who were a lot closer to Mike. I wasn’t much of an uncle and really never did much with him. I could’ve taken him fishing and always meant to, I just never got around to it. I took him for a ride on the tractor once but we soon ran out of fuel and he never got another ride. There were lots of things I could’ve done with him, but I was always too busy with all those important things, most of which have been forgotten now. But this isn’t about my angst and guilt, it’s about Mike. I guess the closest I ever felt to Mike was the Christmas before last when he accidentally tipped over the tree.He was fiddling around rearranging ornaments and lights (Mike was a fiddler, couldn’t keep his hands off things) and the tree toppled over. We rushed into the family room and there was Mike, a look of horror on his little face and huge tears rolling down his cheeks.I instinctively put my arm around him and felt his frail shoulders shuddering with each giant sob that wracked his body. I told him it wasn’t a big deal and the tree could be fixed. But I could tell it was a big deal to Mike. He took things hard, his emotions always close to the surface. Everything seemed important to Mike.
Most people, myself included, figured Mike wasn’t good at knowing what was important. In fact, I usually didn’t hear Mike when he talked to me, or at least I didn’t listen very closely. I am an adult and he was just a kid. I’m smart and Mike wasn’t. It was easy to dismiss Mike and disregard what he said.
I’ll give you an idea of why it was easy to overlook Mike or just dismiss what he said. Mike had an IQ of 82. He was a people person though. That is one of the paradoxes of life. He was a little guy who could have easily resented the whole human race since people caused all his problems and yet Mike loved everyone. He was the first to hug me when I walked through the door and insisted on a big hug before I left. His hugs were always heartfelt, I’m afraid mine often fell short of the mark, but he still loved me.
Another reason it was easy to overlook him or not take him seriously was his appearance. He was tiny for his age. For most of Mike’s short life he didn’t weigh enough or stand tall enough to be in the lowest percentile for his age. He wasn’t even on the charts. His frail little body was susceptible to every germ that came along and he was in and out of the hospital many times, my sister, his Mom, right beside him. She knew him and understood him and fought to make a life for him despite the overwhelming odds against him. If you happen to be one of those people who believe in angels, then I guess you could say she was his angel, the one sent to him.
He had Tourette’s Syndrome and asthma, fetal alcohol syndrome and a laundry list of defects and challenges that a kid from alcoholic, drug addicted parents comes with when you adopt one. People had started him so far behind the eight ball he couldn’t even see it. He wore glasses, was hard of hearing, and had a speech impediment. Yeah, Mike was easy to ignore. He was a bundle of trouble left on life’s doorstep and it was my sister who opened the door.
The Tourette’s caused tics he couldn’t control. His body and face were small and comical but that wasn’t all. Mike loved badges and dressed funny. The picture of the family on my refrigerator door shows Mike, in front since he was always the littlest, dwarfed by his younger cousins and sibling, wearing a bright orange vest. He’s the one snuggled up to Grandma. He liked the vest for its bright color and because he could load it up with badges. He made badges out of paper and also had a badge collection. When you saw Mike his clothes were often on inside out because the seams and tags hurt him and he was festooned with badges. The “normal” kids at school had a lot of fun with that.
A badge reminds me of cops and trouble, but to Mike they meant law, order, someone who helps other people. He liked to help people. When Grandma tried to walk across the yard with her walker or cane it was Mike who rushed to her side to help out. Mike could see the good in anyone. He loved sheriffs and firemen. That was what he wanted to be when he grew up, so he could help people. We all knew he didn’t have the intelligence for it. We were all so much wiser than Mike.
He struggled to hang onto life, spreading love to everyone he met regardless of age, race, or anything else. People were just people to him, he didn’t have all the filters we use to decide who is good or bad or who we should be nice to or take seriously. He suffered every day of his life, but I never saw him when he didn’t bless me with one of his toothy grins.
Mike finally lost the battle when he was just eleven years old. He left home to go to the library with his Mom, got sick and never made it home. Like many lives, his ended abruptly. When I went into his room his little cars were still on the floor where he’d been playing with them. His pj’s were on the floor. He would’ve picked them up and put them away when he got home. Mike was neat.
It’s humbling to look at Mike’s life and see how far he went and what he accomplished in eleven short years with so many challenges. He loved completely and was loved. He accepted everyone. He smiled when he hurt and still cared about other people. He hugged more in eleven years than most people do in a lifetime. He even hugged the busdriver when he got off the bus.
I believe in my heart that Mike is still alive somewhere. We are energy and consciousness both of which can’t be destroyed. I can still hear his voice saying, “Uncle Wil do you want to see my badges?”
When the children crowded around him, Jesus said, “For as such as these is the kingdom of heaven.” I’ll bet there was a Mike in that crowd. Whether you’re religious or not, you’d have to agree, whatever was in Mike that made him so kind and loving, despite the pain and challenges of his life, was heavenly. It is human to be angry, bitter, depressed, but to be so good with so many knocks against you is not of this earth.
I think knowing Mike was the closest I’ll ever come to seeing God on earth. He wasn’t perfect, but he was a grade “A” nephew and one hell of a human being.
There’s nothing pithy I can say here. This ends abruptly just like Mike’s life. But maybe you’ll think of this and Mike for a long time after you’ve read it. Just like some people remember Mike and marvel at his simple wisdom and childlike faith in goodness. I’ll never forget him and wherever I go I’ll always be proud to say that I’m Mike Langford’s Uncle.
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