bogeyandruby

My friend Mike died four years ago. He was an outstanding person, smart and funny, the best conversationist ever, a romantic whose blurts were legend. Short in stature, gigantic in personality.

He could fill a room with cheer and his facebook page with brilliant political commentary and humour. He delighted in spraying cards with his signature Polo scent before mailing them leaving us with wafts of Mike for months afterwards.

If I’m honest, I have many regrets over the tragedy of his death, the awful kind that ponder, what if, and, if only.

I find comfort in the connections made with friends who cared for him as I did, those left bereft by his absence. It is the lasting, loving thread he wove through all our lives.