Missing Mike

               Nine years ago my brother Mike and his giant slobbery dog Nellie came for Christmas.  Mike didn’t believe in breaking a dog’s spirit through obedience training.  Nellie was a good-natured beast with tons of play energy.  She and our elderly mutt Ginny got along just fine.  However, when one of our cats would peak around the kitchen corner Nellie would explode in a thunderous bark attack.  Mike politely held onto her collar, heaving against her lunges, to avoid a blood bath.

               Around twilight the house filled up with a small group of in-laws and a few friends who joined us for our traditional Christmas Eve barbecue and an evening filled with clumsy animal antics, torn wrapping paper and laughter.  His gifts to the girls were always unconventional – that year an assortment of red, green and white 4 foot ropes neatly finished off on the ends which they STILL play with today. Late in the evening after company left and the mess contained, Mike helped put out the cookies for Santa and he and Nellie went to sleep on the futon downstairs. The kids went to bed and we all dreamed of sugar-plums prancing.

               Christmas morning Mike and Nellie joined us under the tree to watch the little girls squeal in delight over their Santa gifts – fancy new mermaid and historical dolls.  Nellie’s habit of unpredictably lunging at whatever caught her eye kept our oldest, most skitterish daughter on edge, so Mike was sure to keep this lanky pooch within his own arms reach.   Yet I can still hear that devilish giggle from him each time the dog lurched, causing Delaney to clutch her new doll in fright.  After an indulgent breakfast Mike and I took our dogs on a long, soaking walk in the Bellingham rain.  All four of us were dripping wet down to our skin by the time we returned home. 

Once they dried off, Mike and Nellie piled into his car and took off down the road.  Later we met up again at our parents’ house for more indulging in presents, food and family.  A pleasant and unremarkable Christmas, the kind so many of us take for granted each year.

Then, eight years ago sometime in mid-December Mike called late one evening, as was his habit, just to let us know that he and Nellie had broken out the Charlie Brown Christmas music and were decorating their Christmas Rock.  We were busy wrestling the kids to bed and let the machine take the call.  I could hear the tinkling piano music in the background of the phone recording.

I made a mental note to call him back soon to reiterate the invitation to come for Christmas.  He was a bit of a holiday nomad, so you were often unaware if he was coming until the moment he knocked on the door.  But this was full-on Nutcracker season and we were buried in tutus, ballet shoes and very tired little girls.  I didn’t get a chance to make that call.

Mr. Stone, the sixth-grade teacher, had been fighting a bug and entered Winter Break feeling poorly.  With his girlfriend on a business trip and his own stubborn independence, Mike declared the next couple of days as his own to rest up.  Those couple of days passed and his quiet became suspiciously silent.  Meningitis had swooped in and taken Mike from us.  Nothing could fix it or change anything.  Our sailing, mountain climbing, biking and hiking Mike was gone.

I had learned two important things.  One was that you don’t leave someone who doesn’t feel well all alone to get better.  The other was that you sometimes don’t get second chances to talk to someone who matters.  I’d like to say that my life has changed for the better and now I am the Diva of Keeping in Touch…but I’m not.  I try a little harder, but my efforts are still kinda lame.  And I still miss my brother terribly.

I’m not a resolution-y kind of person, so I’m not going to declare that 2014 will be the Year of Keeping in Touch.  But maybe I’ll call someone today, just to say hello.