This is my writing for comments I delivered at a service for my best friend, Michael Patrick, on January 6th, 2019. What I said in the moment differed slightly from the text below. -CC
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It’s now my time to talk about Mike — something I hoped I would never have to do.
When someone passes away into their elder years, there is usually time to have explored many aspects of their life, and if we’re lucky, say goodbye.
But Mike’s death was sudden, so we didn’t really get that opportunity. And many of you might only have known the plainly visible signs of him.
He was difficult to ignore.
Talking about how funny and outgoing Mike could be is easy, and no discussion about him would be complete without a good story or two. But getting into how brilliant, profound, loving, and genuine Mike could be is much harder. I hope you’ll forgive me if I stumble around those parts.
Mike was my best friend for over 25 years, so I know where the bodies are buried, so to speak. But he was also my legal counsel, and he advised me to keep my mouth shut until the statute of limitations had passed.
If you thought Mike as an outrageous personality, you don’t know the half of it.
There’s no way I can match Mike’s presence. He had a beautiful gift with words and people, and getting into a battle of wits with Mike was like showing up to a gunfight with a wiffle bat.
What I can do is try and provide some context about Mike based upon the gift I had of over a quarter century of talking to him on an almost weekly basis.
Which reminds me. I have to say that I’m a little pissed off at Mike. I mean, who’s going to speak at MY funeral now? I guess I’ll have to see if Louis CK has an opening. He’s the only one I know who could be simultaneously funny, offensive, and wildly inappropriate.
So, let’s start with the obvious stuff.
Mike’s generosity was legendary.
He would regularly shower friends and strangers alike with random gifts, usually in large quantities, and then he would stand there grinning like a proud 10 year old while you unwrapped your present. It was one of his biggest joys in life.
I can’t count the number of times I had first hand knowledge of Mike taking care of those around him with an unexpected gift. Whether it was simply a dozen donuts in the morning or extensive pro bono legal work. He told me about it regularly because he loved doing it so much.
Mike was so generous he would get you things you didn’t need, and occasionally things you were pretty sure you didn’t want.
He got me not one, but two George Foreman grills, because, “Dude, sometimes you just want the little one to make sandwiches.”
He bought me a handgun. I’d never expressed a need, or desire, for a handgun in my life.
And not just any handgun. He got the two of us matching 9mm Sigs that the special forces use, which come specially made without a safety to prevent accidental discharge.
Because what every novice gun owner needs is a special forces-caliber firearm without a safety.
One time, he was in love with this particular cranberry sauce that he would pour over the steak or chicken he would grill up on one of his numerous Foreman grills.
It was the nastiness, most vile, chemically altered “cranberry sauce” I think I’ve ever encountered. He got me 4 bottles. Thanks Mike.
It didn’t matter what it was — if he thought I needed it, and he was able, he got it for me. Over the years he sent me sunglasses, knives, airline tickets, money, CDs, clothing, music subscriptions, women….
I wish I were making this up.
Mike made it clear that he viewed life like ordering out for pizza. If it could be procured expediently and without TOO many “moral inconveniences”, why not? There was plenty of time for atonement later.
As you were probably already aware, Mike didn’t know moderation.
Case in point: my wedding day.
Mike was my best man, at what was supposed to be a very small, elegant, and intimate event.
My bride and I had written and choreographed the whole ceremony, held at a beautiful pavilion within a nature preserve in the Austin area. We had deeply personal notes written for every person in attendance, given to them during the ceremony.
My brother made some remarks about the transitions and accomplishments in my life that had led me to that moment.
My two, soon-to-be step-daughters read touching passages and spoke of their love for their mother.
And then, there was Mike.
In retrospect, I made a couple of serious mistakes.
Number one, I left it completely open for Mike to say whatever he wanted in the time allotted. What was I thinking?
What I might think to say at a wedding, and what Mike could conjure up were as different as The Golf Channel and Saturday Night Live.
Mistake number two. I was dumb enough to believe that if I asked Mike to hold his comments to a 2 minute time limit, he would actually adhere to that.
I can still hear him telling me, “No problem Collins. 2 minutes. Got it.”
Which brings us to the content of his monologue.
Mike was an exceptionally gifted writer. He wrote a beautiful, one-page reflection of what he had observed between me and my fiancé.
I still have what he wrote here:
In this age when anything seems possible –
an endless variety of twists and turns
that at times can bewilder me, surprise me,
shock me, titillate me, dismay me, anger me –
Science, religion, politics, commerce
these relentless waves in endless variations
amidst all the hullaballoo of everyday life –
I watched something natural and timeless
happen to my best friend – the unfolding
of love, the roots of a relationship, seize the
soil with the sureness of shoots of grass
leaning towards the sunHow much has been written about love – not enough
How many movies have been made about love – not enough
How many songs have been sung about love – not enough
because to be a witness to love –
the simplicity and the strength
to be a witness to the timelessness of love
and how it shows itself right here
washes over me, and erases the ebb and flow of time.
Beautiful, isn’t it?
Yeah, so, he didn’t read that.
He wrote that AFTER the wedding.
Instead, Mike decided to lead us all through a 10 minute fictitious story. Not about love, or honor, or the beauty of our friendship, or the struggles in a relationship.
No, this one was about Lance Armstrong.
You may know of Armstrong as the famous, now notorious, blood-doping American cyclist who at that point had already won 5 Tour de France titles.
In Mike’s remarks, he explained how Lance’s record-breaking feats were fueled by his angst over having been beaten in a bicycle race by ME when we were both 4 years old on the streets in Texas.
Let me remind you, this wasn’t a fantasy sports meeting, this was my wedding.
And it wasn’t like Mike tried to keep it dignified and appropriate for the occasion. Oh no.
To quote from his speech, in which Mike was reading as if he were Lance Armstrong, he said:
“With [the goal of beating Chandler], I was able to overcome my debilitating illnesses. I could be found eating food from dumpsters so I could spend all my money on aerodynamic moldings for my bicycle. I was selling blood, plasma, and semen at the local medical center, to support my biking habit.”
I was mortified, but my family and friends in attendance were eating it up. Looking at my own mother in the audience, it was as if she were about to say, “Don’t worry honey, we’ll get back to your wedding in a minute. Mike is talking now.”
Everyone knew Mike had such a big heart, he could get away with anything.
Like talking about celebrities selling bodily fluids at your wedding.
But this idea of Mike having a big heart is an interesting one.
I don’t think anyone would deny that Mike was a big-hearted guy. But what does that mean?
Here’s what I think it means to have a big heart:
- You are open to those around you, whether they’re friend or stranger
- You readily laugh with them, make them laugh and smile, amplify their joy, and ease their pain
- You do this with no expectation of payback
- This spirit isn’t an occasional thing, it’s clearly part of your being
These things don’t just describe an open heart. They largely define who Mike was, and I am so, so lucky to have experienced a soul as beautiful and giving as his.
To get a complete picture of Mike, however, you must also acknowledge his struggles. Like me, or any human being in this room, Mike had deep flaws. But they were flaws he faced and worked on regularly.
Over the years I watched Mike battle drug and alcohol addiction, obesity, dishonesty, family conflict, financial and legal issues, and personal heartaches. Which is to say, he lived life, with all of its pitfalls.
But it was rare to see anyone approach these challenges with more energy, grit, or genuineness.
He was not perfect, but he bettered himself in every area. From learning to approach his personal problems by speaking more honestly, to availing himself of regular meetings with support groups, and learning slowly and steadily to find solutions for situations that were unhealthy for his body, his pocketbook, and his heart.
Through it all I felt honored and lucky that we were able to support each other from foolish boyhood, to becoming more experienced and weathered men.
Mike made mistakes, and occasionally wronged another person, the way we all do. Though in 26 years of being Mike’s friend, I never witnessed him not come around to the right and honorable thing eventually. It might take weeks, months, or years, but he would get there.
So if any one of you here have an unfinished grievance with Michael, or something you just don’t understand, I promise you the only thing Mike lacked in getting it right was time.
For a lot of people, the struggles they face seem to create unbreachable walls that make relating to them very difficult. I don’t think this was the case with Mike, and I put something down in my journal recently that I’d like to share with you.
I wrote:
“I feel pretty deeply flawed right now, and Mike was maybe the only person I could routinely turn to to admit that in my darkest moments.
I guess that’s part of the problem. In so many areas of society, we are conditioned to believe that vulnerability, that showing our flaws and weaknesses, is not ok. As a result we turn to other outlets: alcohol, drugs, sex, or the self-gratifying judgment [or criticism] of another human being.
All of these activities provide a release, but they don’t provide a path away from whatever behavior generated it in the first place — invariably one born out of pain or fear.”
I wrote that on New Year’s day.
And what I realized was that the tenderness that Mike regularly expressed, and the open vulnerability that made him so approachable, came from a deep humility which was forged in the fire of the demons he faced on a regular basis.
His struggles aren’t things to be glossed over or ignored for the sake of looking at the brighter side of things, or only celebrating what was “good” in Michael. The battles he waged were an integral part of what made him beautiful, and what made his love so radiant.
He wasn’t an amazing human being in spite of his flaws. He was an amazing human being, in no small part, because of them.
Having a friend like Mike is a lot like having a steady and generous paycheck. It gives you security, comfort, clarity, and confidence to do and be things in your life that wouldn’t otherwise be possible.
But just like being financially secure, it’s easy to forget that that source of security can go away. So I’m going to honor the final gifts that Mike gave me.
I will be regularly reminded of how precious a friendship like his is.
I will not only express gratitude, but I will ask myself the simple question: what would I do if this person was gone?
And from that question I will take action to be better at being big-heartedly open, like Mike, to the world around me.