Jenn's Eulogy

If anyone had asked me even a year ago where I would be today, this is the last place I would’ve dreamed I’d be. It’s been a long and difficult journey, and hard to see what good may come of it, but we are blessed to have been able to share it with Michael. I was blessed to be his sister, honored to be his friend.

In the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” the angel, Clarence, tells George, the main character, “Remember, no man is a failure who has friends.” By that measure alone, I think we can all agree that Michael was a rip-roaring success. But more than that, he was a self-made success. He determined the kind of person he wanted to be, and then he became that person. I know first-hand that it did not come without some struggle, but through his struggles, he became stronger; a better man, more loving husband, son, brother, and friend to us all.

When I was about 4- or 5-years-old, all the neighborhood kids were in our yard playing a version of hide-and-seek that Michael had invented, called “No Ghosts are Out Tonight.” I had gone around to the side of our camper that faced the street, and was hiding there. I saw a car with two people inside approaching, and when they saw me, they began to slow down. The car came to a stop in front of me, and very slowly, the driver began to get out, while the passenger kept her eyes on me.

This was right around the time of the Adam Walsh kidnapping, which shocked the nation and gripped parents in a vise of fear. I remember my mom would make me hold her hand whenever we went somewhere, so no one would take me. So as I watched the driver of the car easing toward me, I knew he was going to take me. I stood riveted to the spot, in disbelief, but unable to move.

Suddenly, from around the corner of the camper, came Michael, at a full gallop. He scooped me up in his arms and, without ever breaking stride, kept running until I was safely back with the group.

How did he know I was about to be taken? He couldn’t have seen. In the mind of a little kid, that made him a superhero.

I asked Michael not long ago how he knew. He said “I don’t know…all I knew was that you weren’t with me…and I needed you with me.” In the mind of a grown woman, that made him a superhero.

So from the beginning of his illness, it’s been very hard for me to comprehend how this could happen to Michael, my hero. But he has been an example of strength and courage, and how to fight this horrific illness with dignity and grace. He never asked “Why me?” as so many others of us did. He remains a superhero.

Our emotions run the gamut from sadness to bitter anger, and everything in between. We question why and how this could happen to someone so young, so vibrant, so strong. The senselessness is overwhelming.

But in our hearts, Michael can live forever. Share a memory of him with someone. Take time and dance with your wife--or your husband--or even by yourself--to a song that means a lot to you. Remember him in an act of kindness. Tell someone you love him or her. Forgive someone who has hurt you. Make up your mind to be the kind of friend to someone that Michael has been to us all. It may not make this loss any easier, and it won’t make it make sense, but it will leave your world a little bit brighter, which was Michael’s goal, one he achieved over and over each time he smiled.

Michael and I had a game. We didn’t have a name for it, but we would text each other whenever we saw a dumb license plate. Our favorites were the ones that made you want to go “DUH!” One of Michael’s favorites was the one on the pickup--the plate said TRUCK. Or the one on the PT Cruiser convertible that said CNVRTBL. Then there was the one on the beat-up, rusted-out, old heap that said 82 IMPLA--like THAT was going to impress someone. It was fun to laugh at those, but we also liked the really clever ones, and as Red Sox fans, truly appreciated the one that said YNKE H8R.
I’m going to miss that game.

But I invite you all to come see me later--let’s trade cell numbers, and the next time you see a really dumb license plate, please text me. We’ll laugh, and remember Michael together.