We mark time in diverse ways. The easiest way for me to mark time now is through Julia. When she was but 2 weeks old — sleeping fitfully, eating ravenously, crying in a tiny, shuddering way — my good friend Mike Andrews learned he had ALS. Unlike most diseases, his doctors that day almost certainly told him precisely how this would end because they could. ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease, is predictable. It does the same thing every time and always has the same outcome. So as my daughter was starting her life my friend learned that his was ending. And he learned that it was ending in possibly the worst way you’d want it to end.
About 4 months later (note: that one has some angry language because, well, I was angry) Julia was developing her personality. She grinned, laughed, and enjoyed baths. Mike was seeing more and more debilitating effects of his disease, struggling to speak and walk.
My daughter is now 3 years and 8 months old. She’s a growing girl. A person with all that word entails: walking, talking, eating, snuggling and loving. In the starkest of contrasts my friend, Mike Andrews, died on Friday at age 45.
It is not hyperbole to say that the world needs more Mikes not less. Caring, humane, witty, sharp. When Mike came into work on Mondays and happened to ask how your weekend was, he wasn’t asking to be polite. He looked you in the eye and asked you how your weekend was because he wanted to know. He listened. He spoke, in a rich Texas drawl that was never tamed, and he laughed a laugh free of malice or embarrassment. I laugh as I recall him putting on his “professional façade” when reporting his status at meetings but always just under the surface was that wit and laughter, waiting and looking for an opening.
He contributed of his time and energy in all aspects of his life, from work and family to his community. I’ve met people in my career that I consider to be honest, hard workers. Mike headed the list, without peer. Even when this disease took most of his physical abilities away, he used what little he had left spending, quite literally, hours typing emails to people, lobbying to support his efforts for conservation and better stewardship of the environment.
I’d like to say I knew Mike well but I didn’t, not nearly well enough. What I do know makes me wish I knew more.
Farewell, my friend. May you finally rest in the peace you so utterly deserve.
(EDIT: removed my complaining… doesn’t belong here.)
Hi Jana! I’m very sorry to hear of your loss. You are an inspiration to me as your irrepressible spirituality breaks through the adversity. God bless.
Sorry to hear about your friend. I just recently started reading your blog and came across his story and the information about ALS. I was saddened to read this post today. Diseases such as this are devastating and for too many people they happen “to other people” and so they don’t pay any attention. My thoughts are with his family and yours.