My son, Mike Funk, would have been 38 yesterday. I miss him. Mike had a hard young life and came into our lives wounded with spirit, charisma, determination, and wackiness. The terminal diagnosis came shortly after finding love in his life. So thrilling, so sad. I’ve been blessed with an appreciation and curiosity about death and dying, so we explored the mysterious adventure together for almost a year. Breath taking stuff. Yes, he suffered from pain and grief watching his carefully cultivated physique melt into a prednisone balloon. He was disappointed that he’d never have kids. He never said, why me? Rather, I wasn’t born with a tattoo on my ass telling me how long I’d live. Lord, I miss that guy! Monster hugs, prodded me into the music world, If you want to be a musician,you gotta play.
Mike shared his soul with us, still shares his soul with us. Bittersweet, bittersweet. To get a taste of someone’s soul, you need an open, receptive heart. The challenge of an open heart is that anything/everything passes through-the joy, lust, humor, pain, fear, disappointment. Not just of the moment, but of all stored history. Scary and exhilarating. Oh, Mike, we feel it all, we love you.
Grief is an inevitable lever of health.