Elegy For Mike

Mike was a kid I used to know,
He came to Young Life pretty regularly
I gave him rides,
I hung out with him, Jason and Alex at times.

My wife tells me
his funeral Service notice
is posted on Facebook,
would have been only about 30 years old.
His parents must be heartbroken.

What happened in the past dozen years?
So much living, lived.
Did life unravel on him?
Choice were made, or not made.
Was it an accident,
or was it careless living?
I don’t know.

Now I’m writing a poem about,
a blond haired kid from Saratoga,
a kid whose parents loved him,
who I had some laughs with,
gave some rides to,
had some ice cream with,
drank coffee with in downtown,
just a small slice of life really.
He always seemed a little troubled,
but real and honest
in conversation.

He had called my friend,
at high and low points,
over the past couple years,
filling him in on life.
His life cut short,
is there anything
we could have done?
Maybe,
maybe not.

Regrets may remain,
but the grave does not care
and his parents’ hearts are broken,
with no more memories of Mike to be made.

May 12, 2009
"We get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can't even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless." ~Paul Bowles