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A Mother's Reflections
Michael passed from this life on Tuesday, March 24th, 1998, just eight days after his 29th birthday. He was living and working in New Orleans at the time of his death. Michael's death was the result of complications related to AIDS. He was admitted to the hospital with double pneumonia and remained there for one month and one day. He fought hard, but his lungs were just too badly damaged. His immune system totally ravaged. He never regained even the strength necessary to get out of bed. Michael was born in Washington, DC, but spent most of his youth in University Park, Maryland. As an adult Michael lived and worked in Washington for a period of approximately seven years, moving to New Orleans in March of 1997. Michael was a charmer, gregarious and outgoing. He got along with people of all ages. A co-worker in New Orleans dubbed him the King of the Riverwalk. Michael was a good employee. He enjoyed a varied and successful career in speciality retailing. He held responsible positions with Kemp Mill Music, Macy's, the Hecht Co., Universal Gear and Sam Goody. Michael had a strong work ethic, dedication and enthusiasm that brought him well-deserved commendations and referrals throughout his career. When Michael passed away, the Musicland Corporation sent a manager in from Atlanta to cover his store so that all of his co-workers could attend the memorial service. Michael was a paradox. He was anything but predictable. He loved Madonna, but one of his favorite CDs in his collection was "Honky Tonk Angels" by Tammy Wynette, Loretta Lynn and Dolly Parton. He special ordered this CD at work and then talked about it so much that he ended up having to sell it to a customer and order himself another copy. During his hospital stay Michael was not above taking full advantage of what he called the "pity factor" to obtain special attention from those in and out of the hospital. But when I was moved by the austerity of his life in New Orleans to offer to try to find a way to help him buy a bed, he wouldn't hear of it. He told me that if I had extra money I should use it to buy furniture for his sister's room. He said, "Little girls need to have a pretty room." Michael was a good friend and a loving brother. His best friend of 13 years flew in from Jacksonville, Florida, twice during his final illness to be with him. His half-sister, Patty, rode 18 hours on a bus to be with him during his last days. Another friend from Jr. High drove from central Florida to say "goodbye" to Michael. After moving to New Orleans, Michael developed a passion for Barbies. Yes, that's right, Michael collected Barbie dolls. When chided by his friends for "playing" with Barbies he would counter by saying that he didn't "play" with them he just "changed their outfits periodically." True to form, when I returned to New Orleans for the last time it was the first day of spring and Michael had us remove all the winter trappings and dress the resident Barbies in spring outfits. Michael also used his Barbies as a means to reach out to those around him. When Michael was moved to a ward with black nurses he became very concerned that they would feel left out so he had us go to his apartment and bring back two of his Afro-American Barbies. Michael, a sensitive, artistic male, who collected Barbies and Beanie Babies. But, oh, if you could have seen the courage, the sheer guts, with which he faced the illness that ultimately took his life. He fought to the end. He hung on to life because Michael never doubted that life was worth living. I was with him twelve hours a day during that first stay and around the clock when I returned at the end of March and I never once saw him give in to self-pity. In fact he spent one of the last weeks of his life doing what he did best, spreading happiness to others. From his hospital bed he issued directives so that his friends and co-workers would still receive the annual Easter baskets they had come to expect from Michael. He oversaw the decorating of not one but five different hospital rooms, plants, posters, Barbies, Beanies and Mardi Gras beads, everything had to be just so. He planned his own 29th birthday party with a Barbie motif where he insisted that everything be as "festive" and "upbeat" as possible. I don't think I'll ever hear the words "festive" or "upbeat" again without thinking of Michael. "Upbeat" was a particular favorite. It was the litmus test that he used to measure those around him. The doctors, the nurses that were "upbeat" were the ones he looked forward to seeing. Spare him the "doom and gloom, please." That just wasn't his style. The hospital chaplain was relieved when I told him that Michael considered him "upbeat" because he knew that meant he was all right in Michael's book. Michael's life counted for something. He was a true and devoted friend, a loving son and brother. He brought a lot of happiness into the lives of many people. Those of us who love Michael would like for his passing to count for something too. We could have pushed this AIDS thing under the rug. The "official" cause of death could have been listed as respiratory failure or pneumonia. But then we would have lost an opportunity to ask you to join the battle against AIDS. Choose the strategy that will work for you. Become an advocate of more responsible behavior, encourage your friends to seek testing and early treatment, work for more funding for research and education, sew a square for the AIDS quilt, attend a rally or just talk about it more openly but please do something. Do it to honor Michael's memory. Do it so other mother's won't have to experience this tragic loss. But just do it. | links | | view guestbook | | email | |