To Mike ~Sunday’s Inspiration

Photo of the Smokey Mountains, Tennessee. R.J. Pawlick, "Mike was a man of convictions, values, and uncommon kindness."

G’day everyone,

It seems that 2019 is the year for saying goodbye. Today, I write yet another eulogy - - this one, for our neighbor and friend,

Mike J.

My first memory of Mike occurred six years ago, as we were closing on the purchase of our house. There, stretched taut between our properties, was a long pink surveyor’s line. “Uh oh,” I thought, “we’re already off to a rocky and confrontational start with our new neighbors.”

I reacted by having the property surveyed properly, the outcome of which proved a much different path marking the boundary of our adjoining properties.

However, I learned something else about Mike from this experience - - he discretely removed his pink line. Although often brash and abrupt Mike was a humble man who, when wrong, strived to improve the situation.

Another early on example - - soon after moving in, Mike and I formally met. He grumpily grouched about keeping our children out of his yard along with a few more related demands. So, our kids stayed out of his yard, respecting Mike’s few rules and boundaries.

Never again was there tension between Mike and me nor our families. He made his expectations perfectly clear upfront, didn’t soft-sell anything, and yet could also be quite humble and kind. He was a man of convictions, values, and uncommon kindness.

Two months ago, Mike took his wife on a bucket-list cruise around the Mediterranean. Through it all, Mike was weary and weak from all the chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Amazingly, he hiked around Rome, Gibraltar, Spain, France, and Monaco, spent over a week on a cruise ship, and survived the round-trip flights without catching pneumonia nor even a cold. Any illness at such a late stage would have ended Mike’s life even earlier, and yet he persevered. His wasn’t a dare to God; rather, the journey was simply a vacation that he and his wife really wanted to share together. Looking back, it’s obvious now that this was their last good event together.

Upon returning home, Mike’s body gave up, and although the cancer had infected every organ, his mind remained clear and his sense of humor was as wry as ever.

I had the pleasure of sharing a few private discussions with Mike. We talked about religion, humanity, world events, God and the afterlife. Later, as he lies in a hospital bed, his body supported by a mess of tubes and wires, he kept his wit and compassion.

He bragged about his wife and shared how much he was going to miss her. He marveled at the fantastic way his employer, LHP Capital, looked after him - - even the company’s CEO visited Mike in the hospital. LHP Capital has its own chaplain, and this man became one of Mike’s strongest and most vocal advocates. LHP Capital benefited greatly from Mike’s expertise and skills, and they showed their appreciation earnestly and sincerely. Theirs is a refreshing departure from stereotypical corporate American greed.

At the hospital, I told Mike that, in honor of him, I was going to set the deck of my lawnmower down really low and then scalp the s**t out of a strip of our adjoining property. Mike chuckled, as this small ridge of grass was the one issue that went back to when we first met.

Mike was a hard-working, caring, and passionate man. He didn’t have to be - - his was a choice. He had more than his fair share of emotional and physical dramas, and he could have turned inward and bitter, but he didn’t. I leave you with this lasting memory I have of Mike.

Though he suffered his last few years, he remained dedicated to ensuring that the properties LHP Capital bought and managed always delivered high-quality conditions for its tenants. He could have pinched pennies to improve the bottom line, and controlling improvement costs was one of his responsibilities, but he never cut corners as he delivered the best solutions for both tenants and his employer.

In his last selfless act, Mike donated his corneas so that a transplant recipient could see again. This one made me misty-eyed because it seemed that Mike made this gesture as if to say “thank you” to me. He helped a fellow blind person, like me, see. The rest of his body was so riddled with cancer, but he still gave of himself - - a final caring, compassionate act of kindness.

Mike, we all miss you. Enjoy your rest. Thank you for the impression you made on me. Thank you on behalf of everyone whose life you touched.

Now, I challenge everyone to make each day meaningful.

RJ