You may remember a post I wrote about coffee creamers. It was May of 2020, we were barely into the covid lockdown, but it was already impacting our lives. I blogged about missing the little things like restaurant meet-ups with my writer friends, laughter, hugs, and free coffee refills with a bowl full of creamers on the table.
The next day, I received a box of creamers from Amazon. Given anonymously, the gift was accompanied only by a friendly unsigned note. It was the perfect pick-me-up. A small gesture with deep impact. Delighted, I kind of suspected who the generous donor was–but mostly I liked the idea of thinking it could have been one of many. Because I want to believe that many have such potential.
The giver was my friend, Mike.
When I texted him to ask if he’d sent them, I immediately added, no, don’t tell me.
And he didn’t.
But I knew it was him.
Mike recently died unexpectedly. He went into the hospital three weeks ago. He never came home.
I sent a card a few days before his passing, to his address, not the hospital. Inside I wrote, I’m not sure when you’ll get this, but luckily well-wishes don’t expire. I hope his family opens it and reads it. They could use some well-wishes about now.
I went to high school with Mike. We had a couple of classes together, art mostly. And we shared the same initials, lol. We’d known each other a long time, but it was really only through Facebook that we got to be friends. He lived in Nebraska and owned a flower shop. He was a genuinely nice guy. Smart, funny, helpful, authentic, spiritual. Since his passing, I have discovered just how many people experienced those Mikely traits. The stories we’ve shared through social media in remembrance are touching, humorous, silly, and honest. Heartwarming and heartbreaking.
Mike is not the first friend, family, or loved one I’ve lost during the past many months. Last year, I blogged about the little things I was missing during lockdown. I assume we’ll get most little things back.
Today I write about the big things I miss–this friend and many more, the ones we’ll never get back.
My heart aches for those lost during these isolated times and, until we can hug again, those left to mourn alone.