Missing Michael

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This is not one of my usual stiff upper lip posts so you might choose well to sign off now. I am in a melancholy and deeply reflective mood to be precise.

A pall of untraceable sorrow has been hanging over me for the last few days. It wasn't until late yesterday evening that I realized its source when my cousin drifted visibly into my thoughts. After I did the painful memory calculations, I realized that he had left me exactly six years ago. So this post's for you, Michael, where ever you are.

The prospects of the 2000 family reunion had me engrossed for six months in a family history book to mark the occasion. I researched fanatically and added to what little the family had provided until I had found interesting highlights dating back nearly one thousand years. I would couple this with the bios of the last four or five generations and publish the results in a memento for everyone who attended. In the process, I found a branch which had been curiously absent from my memory and set out to find them via the internet. With the help of my sister's snail-mail follow-up, we located a lost cousin. He was overjoyed at the prospect of a reunion and booked flights as soon as he knew the details. This was my Michael, soon to become my most precious family.

I survived the reunion well enough but spent most of it dodging the dagger-filled glares from at least two family members and the icy countenance from their minions. My only regret is that this lessened my ability to spend any comfortable time with Michael. I made an indelible mental note at that point that I would never go to the expense and effort to rejoin family ever again. Mum had departed two years prior, what incentive was left? I don't go out of my way to smash my fingers with a hammer either.

Michael and I kept in nearly weekly contact thereafter. During the following six months, I realized that I had finally found kin who I adored and felt it returned a hundred fold. It was a new and priceless experience. He was a positive soul without a negative bone is his body. Given his background, I will forever marvel at his loving and forgiving attitudes.

His father had worked for an intelligence agency and was constantly away in far places. Said father went missing completely for a time during the Iran hostage crisis. By the time he did show up at the door, unannounced and with only the clothes on his back and a foreign passport, the stress and strain had become more than Michael's mother could bear and she died not long after. The father then 'retired', later becoming quite talkative about his various exploits and died soon afterwards. The two boys were farmed out briefly within our side of the family before being left to the care of their mother's only surviving family, a much younger sister. But Michael seemed to bear no trace of resentment; it was simply within his remarkable nature, you see. I rejoiced at being openly, truly loved by a blood-related family member. He had a way of making you feel like you were the most special person on the face of the planet and you knew you could turn your back to him and not feel that inevitable jab of a dagger. It was a giddy and sublime euphoria which I suspect people take drugs to achieve.

He called me unexpectedly one night in the middle of the week. I was thrilled to hear his voice so soon again after our weekend call and we talked as usual like those who wish to frantically make up for lost time. I told him of our new plans to head to New Mexico, closer to his Colorado home. He excitedly exclaimed "Maybe I could move down there, maybe we can form our own family of two! What do you think about that?" I replied pragmatically "And wouldn't you get bored in the middle of my desert?" His deep and soothing voice took on a certain playfulness, "Nah, you and I can fight dragons or something. Hey, you aren't the only oddball in the family, you know. I don't mean to brag but I was named for Saint Michael, you know." I could feel his cherubic face beaming at the other end of the phone line and I joined him in his great amusement.

He taunted and pressed me to come visit him soon; "It's a snap, you just fly to Denver and it's a skip and jump from there, c'mon ... please?" "Michael, I love you dearly but I dislike flying immensely and I am certainly NOT flying through Denver, thank you very much." His suddenly serious tone and following words have haunted me to this day "I think you will be dealing with Denver sooner than you care to, whether you like it or not." For the usual and ever frustrating reasons, I did not question that odd remark at the time.

to be continued
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