In Memory of a Truly Great Guy...

This week I'm going to wax a little philisophical with y'all. Bear with me. I have nothing original to say here, because what I'm feeling right now is as old as life, and death, itself.



One of my co-workers, Mike "The Machine" Denman, a magnetic, lively firecracker of a person, died suddenly this last Tuesday. He was ill very briefly, and although I don't know exactly what the initial illness was, I believe he died from a secondary complication. It's shocking and sad, always, when a person young and healthy dies. The Machine was only 34 years old.



Okay, so I work on an ambulance for a living, and I get that death isn't always a long drawn-out process and sometimes it's sudden and unexpected. But what I'm feeling right now has far less to do with that the fact that he was young and far more to do with the fact that he was good.



Just good.



A sweet, kind, wickedly witty and funny, crazy intelligent good guy. A guy who always, literally, always, had a bright, beaming smile on his face. A guy who was so smart and would share his knowledge in a way that made you feel like you were as smart as he was, as if he was just reminding you of something you already knew. A guy who left a good feeling with all the patients, families, hospital staff, and co-workers he encountered. All the time. In a workplace that can be petty and riddled with gossip, he did not engage. He would far sooner laugh at his own expense than someone else's. If he had an issue with a peer, he would gently, skillfully weave it into a conversation and that peer would soon be nodding along in agreement, having been shown the error of his ways, in the most respectful of manners. Mikey had mad people skills to go along with his street smarts and amazing clinical knowledge. Last month, he and his partner spearheaded a food drive that involved sitting in an ambulance for 48 hours and accepting donations with the hope of filling that ambulance with food. They got over a ton, I think it actually ended up being 2600 pounds, of food donated. The month before, he and his partner (in crime!) organized a competition called "Splintfest" that pitted two employees against each other in determining who had the best mad skills with wounded limbs. It was so fun, and such a boost to morale. Who else would have done these things? Well, other than his terrific (and heartbroken) partner, no one.



He was the whole package.



That's the saddest thing.



When young people die, we murmur of our shock, we express condolences about the children and spouses left behind, we speak of the unfairness of parents burying their children. But I'm going to be honest here. We don't always necessarily miss that person, even though we're caught up in the "youngness" of it all. Now, here's where I go all cliche on you: Some people, not many, make a difference. Some people leave a space behind that is frighteningly impossible to fill. I don't think Mikey did anything with the intent of being remembered someday as a great person, he just was, inherently, good.



Do you ever wonder how you will be remembered? Once in a while, I have... Since Tuesday, I have A LOT. The pain of Mike "The Machine's" loss is a reflection on how he lived his life. A ray of sunshine is burned out, and it hurts. But Lord, does it also inspire. Mikey left the world a better place than he found it, and I pray that out of his death, the people who knew him may choose to be a little kinder, a little more patient, smile a little more, and exercise the goodness within that we all choose to suppress sometimes. In your memory, Mikey D, I post this and wish you Godspeed until we meet again, one sweet day.


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