Michael

“He was adamant that bubbles be blown.”

Michael would have preferred a big disco party and a food fight, but because his mother was there, we had a more traditional Jewish funeral. We said prayers together and threw dirt on his coffin.

It was a gorgeous day. Hot and sunny. The kind of day he loved. We blew bubbles and watched them float off into the sky. He’d bought the individual bubble blowers months ago specifically for his funeral. He was adamant that bubbles be blown.

We took care of each other, Michael’s friends. I gave a ride to one friend, gave another friend, mostly blind, guidance to the graveside so he could throw his dirt in.

Michael had been very happy when I started dating Clay. Told friends how happy he was that Clay had found a nice girlfriend. Told me how happy he was that I had stuck by Clay through all his troubles, even when it got hard. So, in the last weeks of Michael’s life, we were together with him, a team again briefly while we sat by his sickbed.

There was a picture Michael had of us in the album he kept next to him in bed. It was us on the way to a wedding, Clay in his suit, me in a colorful Boden dress. Knowing Clay would wear his suit, I wore that dress to the funeral, re-staging the picture for Michael one last time. When Clay started crying, I held him because Michael couldn’t. We were what we had been again, just for a few minutes. We even sat together at the reception, teasing each other like the couple we’d been. I told him to eat, he brought me a cup of coffee.

Michael loved the Love Boat. We shared that. His favorite show was Gilligan’s Island, but the Love Boat was in his top ten. Everything always works out on the Love Boat. The squabbling divorced couple boarding the boat will find love again. The lonely, awkward people will find each other on deck.

Michael was a travel agent back when being a travel agent was the coolest job in the world. He took advantage of all the discounts. He loved, loved, loved trains, At the funeral, his rabbi and friend told us he would buy the deeply discounted first class Eurail passes regularly. He’d board an overnight train without looking at the destination, excited to discover where he’d wake up in the morning. He could always leave on the next train out if he didn’t want to be there, but he always stayed and explored at least until the next overnight train out.

His body betrayed him in the end. He’d been sick with Crohn’s since he was a teenager, and it had spent years breaking him down. He hadn’t expected to live past his thirties. This is what fed his urge to explore. He went through men like he went through continents, always counting on there being an outgoing train.

He held on to friends, though. He was so sad to leave us. He wrote us all letters before he died, for us to read when he was gone. I haven’t gotten mine yet. He told some people off in the letters, he told me. A final pie in the face. I don’t think mine will be one of those, but who can say. Michael liked surprises.

I don’t really believe in heaven or some sort of afterlife until someone I know dies. Then I hope there is one, and I imagine what it might be. I hope Michael’s is the Love Boat. I hope there’s a Lido Deck and a captain’s deck. I hope Ethel Merman is there and Patty Duke and Tina Louise. I hope there are lots of young men in tiny swimsuits with ridiculously enormous biceps.

I sang the theme song to myself a lot in the last weeks of Michael’s life. It takes on a certain profundity when you think of it as someone’s great reward:

Love, exciting and new
Come aboard. we're expecting you.
Love, life's sweetest reward.
Let it flow, it floats back to you.

The love boat soon will be making another run.

The love boat promises something for everyone.

Set a course for adventure,
Your mind on a new romance.
Love won't hurt anymore
It's an open smile on a friendly shore.

I hope nothing hurts for him anymore. I hope Michael finds lots of smiles on lots of friendly shores and all his love flowing back to him. Amen.