Some of you may remember reading a post in the Marmelade Gypsy about the death
of my friend, Mike Lewis, in late January. Mike was one of these people that everyone loved.
At his memorial, everyone had a story to share -- it was the
sort of thing that when one left, those who knew him
less than others did wish they'd known him more.
I've thought of Mike off and on in this interim -- his birthday popped
upon Facebook and -- because I think we all miss him
and know how much he loved birthdays -- wrote wonderful things on his wall.
When I posted a photo from an event that I'd put up
before and that he'd "liked," his name showed up again.
Mike was a large man, his girth matched only by the size of his heart.
We'd had many discussions over the years about weight.
He'd tried lots of things without success. I suspect he felt -- as I -- that when one carries the
extra weight, doing the exercise that so helps is
all the more difficult, painful even. So, it doesn't happen.
But there was always his vision -- not to be skinny, but just to be "less"
and certainly more healthy. It's a dream we shared. When his heart gave out,
it's more than likely his weight was a factor and it certainly was a wake-up call for me.
The other night I woke up with a start. I had seen Mike Lewis. I don't often remember dreams,
just bits and pieces that make no sense in the clear light of day.
But this dream was so intense, so real, I was almost surprised
to find myself awake and in bed, Lizzie curled up at my feet.
Mike opened a door and stood in the doorway. He didn't say a word,
but I looked at him -- surprised that he was there.
And the thing is, he looked just like he always wanted to look.
He was trimmed down, casually but nicely dressed. Yes. Just like he always wanted to look.
"How are you?" I asked, delighted to see him.
"I'm. Just. Great." Three words. Deliberately spaced for emphasis.
And he smiled and slipped out the door.
And I woke up.
I've thought about this a lot in the days since and have shared it with only a
few people, including my wonderful massage therapist, Sarah.
She said what I had thought but really hadn't dared to say aloud.
"He's sending you a message," she said. "That he's all right."
I think she's right. I'm not the only person who has thought of Mike in recent days.
Far from it. And as Sarah said, "Don't you think the other people who
cared about him would like to know that?"
And so I write. And maybe it was just a dream. Maybe it was something funky I had for dinner.
But I don't think so.
I needed to know Mike was OK -- and I think now, I do.
Here's to you, Mike. And thanks for stopping by.