(NOTE: This is a very personal post for me. It’s not a rant, and it’s not really meant for everyone to read in some ways. It goes into some things that can be difficult to discuss, and because of that I have decided to post it after the leap. It involves some things I’ve wanted to say for a while and needed to get out of my head and onto the screen. Bear this in mind, should you decide to read it.)

It’s been three months since I lost a close friend.

I suppose it would be more accurate to call Mr. Mike more of a second father figure, instead of a friend. He was a man who I became close with over the course of 12 years. When I went back to Baton Rouge in December for his funeral, it was a very painful time for pretty much all involved. While we were all happy that his near-unbearable pain had finally ended, it did little to lessen the grief.

Fortunately, the immediate pain has since subsided- at least, for me. However, I’ve noticed something happening more and more of late that I’m not sure how to react.

In short… he talks to me.

Now, before you begin to question what little remains of my sanity I feel it important to state that I don’t intend this in the literal sense. Obviously, he’s not REALLY talking to me. What I mean by this is that I hear his voice in my head all the time, clear as day. Mostly, this is when I’m trying to figure out something difficult in my life. At that point, I hear his deep voice, rich with the authority and presence one only earns through the trials that give one strength of character. I see him in my head as well, sitting in his chair in the kitchen, a smile on his face as he imparts his wisdom upon me. Inevitably, it starts the same way as in life. “Now, Beau…”

From there, he becomes the voice of my conscience and intelligence. That may not be unusual in and of itself to others, but this is the first time in my life I’ve linked someone to those roles in my head.

Maybe part of it is that I miss him, a great deal. I’ve had two fathers in my life, the literal father and the figurative one. The literal father is someone with whom I’ve finally developed a good, solid relationship after many years of complete incompatability. The figurative one is the one I’ve lost in this world, but whom I’ve regained in my own world.

I suppose I’m lucky for that.

………………………………………………

When Mr. Mike died, I was offered the chance to speak at his memorial service. Ultimately, I accepted the offer but due to unforeseen circumstances I was unable to do so at the time. The service itself was memorable, as many friends and family members shared great stories about the man they had known. Most of these stories were funny, and all were touching.

I had two stories that I wanted to share, which I’ve told his son Chris about and which I want to share here. I’ve been debating doing so for a while, and I think time was what I needed to be able to share these stories.

The first story involves one of the first times I met Mr. Mike. It was my sophomore year of high school, and He and Chris were heading to a boat show in the Superdome. I was invited to tag along, and naturally I was happy to go. Now, understand that this is going to be the first time we actually meet face to face. Before I met him, I had spoken to him briefly on the phone when I was calling Chris. In my head, I pictured someone who physically resembled Chris at the time.

In other words- short, husky and a bit nerdy. (Sorry boy, but it was the truth at the time.)

Imagine my surprise when, in meeting Mr. Mike I meet this tall, thin, physically fit and larger than life guy with a smile that could charm an angry bear and a gregarious nature that instantly made him your friend. We spoke during the drive down and he asked several questions about me. The boat show itself was interesting, but this story is not about the show. It’s about what happened after the show.

We were going to get dinner, and were walking down this covered pathway in New Orleans.I don’t recall much of the conversation, but I do remember what happened when he said something to me and I responded sarcastically.

Shocking, I know.

Instead of getting angry, he turned to me and spoke calmly. “Beau, I hope you realize that wasn’t necessary.”

Understand, at that time I had the sarcasm but lacked real tact. Realizing what I’d done, I felt about as small as the period at the end of this sentence. I spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

That was the first and last time I was sarcastic to Mr. Mike.

The second story I wanted to share involved something far more amusing for everyone involved except for the butt of the joke at the time- me. About 6 years ago, I had a pretty low period in my life. I had quit both school and my job, and had become this lazy bastard who sponged off of my parents. After about a month of this, I went to work for Mr. Mike by doing various odd jobs and housekeeping roles around his house while he was recuperating from an auto accident. It paid $100 a week, which I was desperate for at the time. I would work in the house while the family was away, or run errands and such for Mr. Mike while he was home from business. It wasn’t great by any means, but it paid the few meager bills I had.

After a while, Mr Mike was working from home more and more. It was at this point that his social experiment upon me began. During the day, I would be doing something around the house and would have this feeling in the back of my head to go check on Mr. Mike in the kitchen. I couldn’t explain it, but it seemed like some subconscious thing at the time.

Years later, I’ve moved to Austin and am riding around town with Chris. The boy’s come up for a visit and we’re discussing various odds and ends. At one point he says to me, “Do you remember working for Pop?”

“Yeah, why?”

He smiled. “Do you realize how much fun he had with you then?”

I frowned, uneasy. “Uh, no. Why?”

It was at this point that it was explained to me that the little “subconscious thing” that led me to check on Mr. Mike was in fact… my ears. It turns out that Mr. Mike noticed that I would work in the kitchen more when Star Trek was on the Sci-Fi Channel in the kitchen. Many times, I would be working in another part of the house and he would test me by turning on the tv and putting it on Star Trek when it came on.

According to Chris, “Beau, within ten seconds (Chris snaps his fingers hre to make the point) you were right there, finding something to work on in the kitchen. He would wait for you to leave, and then laugh his ass off.”

I wish I could say it ticked me off, but in truth I’m as amused at the story as Chris was. Plus, it was Mr. Mike’s way. He could find humor in almost anything, and he would make sure we all eventually became in on the joke.

These days, the pain has subsided. The initial shock and flurry of those first few days after his death subsided to me remembering him in my head with a combination of humor, admiration and a twinge of sadness. I find that it’s not the tough times where I miss him the most, though I certainly find that voice in my head a bit reassuring. Rather, it’s the calm times where I have a chance to relax here at home, and think of the man who meant so much in my life.

In a way, I’m grateful for that.

Posted in General |

This entry was posted on Friday, March 10th, 2006 at 11:28 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.