I’ve got a note to write about a man.  A man I didn’t get the opportunity to know nearly as well as I’d have liked and because of that, I’m sad. He was good man.  A smart man.  The kind of man who you knew within one minute of meeting that you liked him and respected him.  His name was Mike.

Mike was the kind of man who told it like it was, whether you wanted to hear it or not.  He managed to do that without being offensive, if that apparent contradiction seems possible.  He just didn’t mince words so this made lying impossible. So you trusted him. And when he spoke, people listened because he wasn’t given to inane bluster – just calm sharing of facts in a way that made you not want to miss whatever it was that he was saying.

Mike was in Seminary earlier in life but chose to leave the church in order to have a family.  It was a good thing because it allowed him to have four great kids and two amazing grand-kids as a result. Much to his chagrin, in his words, he “Only got two” grandkids.  But that would do just fine.  All of his family seems to share his wit and lightly stinging sarcasm. I guess, the apples don’t fall far from the tree as they say.  Mike’s wit was actually more like a hot pepper; it might burn at first but you get addicted to the taste and keep coming back for more for some compulsive reason.

I liked talking with Mike.  Those early years in Seminary seemed to have provided the introspection that gave depth to his personality.  He was thoughtful, gentle, and selective in his ways.  Not much happened by accident in his world.

Mike was a mechanical engineer of the highest order. I regret I never got to watch him work in his shop.  He reminded me of my grandfather how he was always creating something, fixing something, or improving something.  I’d love to have had the opportunity to see his soul on fire while he was in the process of creation.  Hands furiously molding or shaping metal.  Bending it to his will.  He was focused and intent on bringing his ideas to life.  It’s hard to not want to learn more about a person with passion like that.

Mike suffered later in his life from lung cancer and COPD.  Even in the throes of his impaired breathing from these diseases he remained sharp and lucid. These are terrible diseases that rob the victim of life-giving breath.  It wasn’t just smoking that caused these diseases.  A lifetime of working at a job with poor air quality was to blame as well.  It’s dismissive to blame a person’s lifestyle choices as an indictment of their character.  We all make mistakes.  Despite his health challenges, the lights were always on upstairs and shone brightly even when the foundation of his body was crumbling under him.

I remember the mischievous twinkle in Mike’s eyes when you got him thinking about something. It was fun to make him laugh.  I always loved to hear him laugh. And he was a tough grader so, you weren’t going to pass his test without giving it some effort.  If you were going to make a joke, it had to be clever.  But if it was, you were rewarded by a deep belly guffaw that was completely worth it.  I always felt like I had to be careful because a really good joke might send him off on his own for a little while to catch his breath.  I wasn’t sure if I was being selfish or malicious by enjoying a laugh with Mike.  If I was, he didn’t seem to mind or shy away from any opportunity for a chuckle.

I remember the last time I saw Mike.  It was Father’s Day. We were leaving after our visit.  He lay on his bed and looked back at me as I stood in the door of his bedroom.  We were still hopeful of a recovery so were avoiding contact with him and the subsequent sharing of germs that could ensue.  So, I stayed back a safe distance and didn’t shake his hand. I remember how he looked back at me, his eyes still sparkling.  Little did we know then, that we were nearing his final days. But he still gathered the energy to look me in the eye and wish me a heartfelt goodbye too.  I won’t ever forget that look. He listened to every word I said and never interrupted.  Just a bright, happy soul peering out from within a broken and spent body.  I thought at the time I’d see him again.  In retrospect, I should have shaken his hand, germs be damned.

Goodbye Mike.  I miss the times we never had but value forever the ones we did.

*In loving and respectful memory of Mike Bialzik, father, inventor, entrepreneur, and all-around amazing guy.