I just wanted to share these two memorials to my Uncle Mike and Uncle Dave. I so wish I could have been with everyone for Mike's funeral over the weekend but it meant a lot to me to receive these from my family via email and feel like I could share in the celebration of Mike's life. It feels like appropriate timing that today is Día de los Santos (All Saints Day).
Thanks Steve, for a wonderful eulogy, and Carol, for the wonderful video :)
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Before I begin, I want to say a word of Thanks to the community at the Cardinal Kroll Center at the Don GUANELLA Village. Our family could sleep at night knowing how deeply loved and cared for they were. You became their second family. We would also like to thank the Wissahickon Hospice for their unbelievable love and dignity as Michael prepared himself to let go. To go home. Thank you.
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We are poorer today.
We have lost something special.
We have lost someONE dear.
Michael Redmond was many things, but most of all, he was a big sweetie pie. The things I remember most about him are his hidden sweetness, his willfulness, and his zest for life. His enthusiasm: for dancing and for laughing, for being loved and for being loving with others.
My favorite memory of Michael is the way he would touch my cheek with one knuckle and say, with a huge smile, "Aww, You Sweet".
Some people call me Steven. But to Michael I was Besson. Oh, we practiced saying “Steven,” but Besson it was, every time. But, I couldn't take it personally. It was just his way. My mom's best friend, Rosemary McGee, was Shibby McGee. For many of us in his family, our first foreign language was Michaelese.
But speaking Michaelese had its rewards—for Michael was our family historian. He knew who was born first, who was born when it was cold or hot out, and who was born far away. He would also teach you things you never knew: For Example: “You’re handsome because you were born first.” OR “You’re bossy because you were born first”.
Michael himself was the baby of his family, a fact that his brother David never let him forget. David called him “Baby.” “Baby” turned into “Bobby,” and that is how some of the older cousins knew him. Then, one day, in true Michael fashion, he decided, enough was enough and insisted that everyone call him Michael Jerome. And thanks to his Will, which was considerable, by the time I came along, I only knew him as Michael Jerome.
Michael came from a large family, full of loving people. He spent time with each of his sisters and their families. And they all loved him in their own ways, but Michael had his own way of showing love to his family: he would always leave their houses, just a bit cleaner. Well, actually ALOT cleaner. Michael loved to vacuum. Full of vigor, at high speed, he would clean every inch of every carpet in the house. Move the chairs, move the beds—heck, many a time, he would move me. "Move, Please" he would say. He would look at me, clear his throat and say, "Excuuuuse Me"
He loved to vacuum but he loved to make beds more. I would come back from school, and my bed would be made for the first time in months, and I knew Michael was home with us. Now, getting your bed made is nice, but it sometimes came at a price. First, the admonishments for a messy room (I think mainly cause it interfered with both his vacuming and his bed making). But also, if you slept in just a little too long, you'd feel this banging on the bed and you'd look up and there he'd be, "Up" he’d say. "Time to Make the Bed."
He never viewed these chores as a task, because to him, it was all “A Piece of Cake.” He wasn’t Picky, or so he told you. And his phrase “I N’Mind” is still used in my family on a regular basis. He would also let you know when he was done with a task: “I DONE” and a toss of the rake to the ground. And I heard “Knockie Off” more times than I could count.
Michael's zeal for the good times was amazing. He could barely sit still when thinking of dancing the night away. He reminds me of someone, full of energy, full of spunk. "Oh Yeah Baby" with a little butt wiggle, the wide grin. Yes, my Uncle Michael was the Original Austin Powers. Gleeful at the idea of dancing the night away anywhere, the living room, the school—heck, if he heard a tune he liked on the radio, he would start in the wiggling around in the back seat of the car.
We would go to Charcoal Pit, and we would order a chocolate sundae, and he would smile his wide smile up at the waiter or waitress (with Michael it didn't matter) and he would say , "Pile it high, sweetie! I like all DAT!"
When we were at the beach often one of us cousins would get "Roller Coaster Duty". This involved taking Michael up to the boardwalk, buying as many ride tickets as possible and riding the most shaky and most gut wrenching rides you could find. And riding he would cackle, laugh and “WOOOO” with all his might. Because Michael Liked ALL DAT.
And that was one of the great things about him. He enjoyed living. He enjoyed the good things with glee and zest. He loved a good whiskey sour, the perfect drink for Michael: A little bitter, A little sweet, and very, very strong.
Because Michael was strong. Strong willed, Strongly dedicated to those he loved and cared about. I think of him living alone with his mother in their small townhouse for a while. Him reminding her what to get at the store. Him reminding her when chores needed doing. And of course, him cleaning the house from top to bottom. Rest coming finally on Sunday nights, watching Lawrence Welk, singing along and dancing on the sofa.
Hunter S Thompson said: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow! What a Ride!’" That sounds like the Michael I grew up with.
I said at the beginning that Michael was a big sweetie pie. And beneath his sometimes frustrated manner, he was. He had such a loving way about him. He enjoyed life. He loved the people that took care of him. He loved his family. And I know that Michael, having skidded into heaven, with a huge grin, is with his loving brother, father and mother.
So we are poorer now, but for the lessons Michael has taught us.
Pile it High, Sweetie, Love All Dat, and Dance wherever you are