Death and Friendship
I lost my friend Mickey today. Michael Sullivan. I first knew him as Stroker, because that was the name somebody put on the back of his baseball shirt. He was one of my first baseball coaches about 25 years ago. He remained a close friend.
Mickey was a great coach. He had us do all kinds of stupid plays like throwing to the shortstop when there were runners on first and third and the guy on first steals - the goal is to lure the guy on third to run home and then catch him at the plate. I actually pulled that throw off once.
When we’d win a game, he’d buy us all popcorn and pop. If we lost, he’d buy us hotdogs, too. There were a few kids he was particularly close to, including my brother and me. He’d take us to Cubs games every year. I felt like a king on one of those trips. His birthday and Christmas presents were usually the coolest things I got (my brother, too). Cubs jerseys with my name on the back. Bowling ball. A frickin’ Estes model rocket that I didn’t even know existed until he gave it to me. Heck he even gave my sister presents, and she never even played for him. He was a welcome friend to my whole family.
When I was in college and struggling, he bailed me out a couple of times. The guy didn’t make much money, but he sure knew how to give it away. After I got married and recently had our first kid, then he switched to spoiling my son. He had a gift for gifts.
Stroke introduced me to Jean-Luc Ponty, first by 8-track and then by concert at Fountain Street Church. We introduced each other to a lot of music over the years, but that was the most important one for me.
Once I moved back home after school and marriage, we enjoyed going out to dinner mostly. Usually a group of us would go, including his sister Kathy, his good friend Kay and later her husband. Many of my favorite restaurants in the area we scoped out together. I’m going to miss that a lot.
For the last couple of years, Mickey couldn’t eat spicy foods, which bummed him out a bit. His health deteriorated in a cruelly painful way. For years he had rheumatoid arthritis, which sometimes made his legs and hands puff up like balloons. It hurt a lot. It brought depression with the pain. Then he got the cancer that would eventually take his life. At the end, cancer got into his brain. He had no short-term memory and limited logic. He was still himself, but not fully himself. I am happy he is no longer in pain.
I don’t know how anybody could be a better friend than Mickey. I wish I could have been a better friend to him. In fact, I wish I could be a better friend to many people. I’m a good guy, but I’m not a great friend. I’m caught up so much in my own life and family that I’m just not always there for other people. My dad is a great friend. He’s always there for people. Mickey is a great friend. He was always there for me.
I count six other friends of mine that have cancer right now. Today I need to pause to think of Mickey. I’ll spend some of that time thinking about what I can do for these other friends - for all my friends - to make their lives just a little bit better. That’s what Mickey always did for me. I miss him already. I am glad he has found peace.