Grief Poetry

Grief always seeks expression. Elegy and lament are poetic forms that have been used as expressions of grief. David’s lament for his friend Jonathan in the Hebrew Scriptures is an example of this kind of grief poetry (1). Recently, I was asked to say a few words at the celebration of life for a dear friend who was killed in a small plane crash. I will miss him.

Elegy for Mike

Mike was the richest humble guy I’ve ever met. When his wife first introduced us back in 2011, I had no idea that this tall geologist from Cincinnati, Ohio—Do you know they eat chili on top of spaghetti up there?—this guy would become one of my closest friends and the most courageous personal champion I’ve ever had by my side.

My friendship with Mike developed over the many pounds of raw fish we consumed at Tokyo Harbor during our weekly lunches for several years. My first act of mourning when she told me Mike had died was to go the next day and eat some sushi and raise a cup of hot green tea to my friend and to the connection of love I still feel with him.

One of our frequent topics of conversation during those lunches was personal freedom. Freedom from enslavement to our ego; our conscious thinking sense of being an isolated, separate self. And how it can be harmful to over-identify with the roles we play in life. Mike loved the traditional Jewish feasts, and his favorite was Passover. I have been able to participate in several Passover suppers Mike led so passionately, and the part that still sticks with me is how he identified the Egyptian Pharaoh with our slave-master ego-mind. One gift of Passover is the mystery of deliverance from that slavery and the rigorous pathway of freedom that follows. Through much trial and error over the years Mike walked this way of freedom in his own life, and one of his greatest desires was to help others experience that freedom for themselves. He sure helped me.

Now, I am a diplomat by conditioning, training, and long practice. Mike was not known for his diplomacy. He said what he thought, and he did what he saw needed to be done. Whether he was right or not was a separate matter. He made a lot of people mad, including people close to him. It wasn’t easy, but he was okay with it. Mike taught me that if you say something it must have needed to be said. Don’t be afraid of the consequences. You will be okay even if you don’t like what’s happening. 

He also taught me that the most helpful response to something—or someone—I feel like avoiding, judging, or rejecting is to bring it in close—to embrace it. Because it is difficult to attack when you’re hugging. 

Mike was many things, and in my opinion, the thing he was best at was being Mike. I want to be like Mike when I grow up. Not to mimic his personality or talents or interests—in fact we disagreed about a lot of pretty big things, especially around politics and religion. No, I want to follow Mike’s way of being in the world. I want to be a more free and fully functioning me.

I remember Mike telling me about going through a tough time a few years ago. He was worried about something. Probably to do with his business. And he told me he received a message of gratitude from a Cardinal singing outside his house. Because one of the Cardinal’s calls sounds like, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He called it, “My thank you bird.” Some people believe that Cardinals, particularly, are messengers from the other side of death. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that whenever I hear a Cardinal singing, “Thank you” I remember Mike, and I feel close to him.

“How the mighty have fallen!” Lamented King David when his dear friend, Jonathan was killed. Today I join my own voice in that lament and say of my friend, Mike. “How the mighty have fallen! I am distressed for you, my brother Mike; very pleasant have you been to me, dear friend; your love to me was extraordinary, surpassing the love of women. How the mighty have fallen.” Mike was mighty, and he was my friend. 

Thank you for letting me share.

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Notes:
(1) 2 Samuel 1:17-25.