In Honor of Mike

O.K. guys, I really dropped the ball on this blog thing. I got so far behind that I just gave up on my attempt to keep you informed and up to date. Intentionally looking for out-of-the-way places to travel certainly didn't help the internet blog efforts.

Truth is, I'm back home now and quite a few of you have requested that I complete the blog despite the trip being over. I'm going to just sort of pick up where I left off at the Arctic Ocean. I've intentionally changed the dates to reflect the actual dates I travelled to these places. Here goes and I hope you enjoy the rest of the trip with me.

July 30, 2008:

This post is devoted to my friend:

Michael E. Boulton (May 14, 1944 - May 11, 2005)

I've been carrying part of my friend's cremated remains since I left Michigan. As I mentioned early in the blog, part of the reason for coming this far north was to fulfill my promise to Mike's wife Loretta, that I would get his remains here and scattered at the Arctic Ocean.

The blog stalled out at this part, in part, because I just couldn't seem to find the words to say exactly what I was feeling. It wasn't until today (late August) that a dear friend's (Momma Marsha) email, helped me find the words I wanted to share concerning this moment and Mike's passing. I'm going to borrow and modify a few of those lines because they help me convey what I've searched to say.

If you take a look at the dates next to our friend's name we'll see the date his mother delivered him into this world. I have only known Mike a few short years compared to some of you reading this and whom have considered him your friend also for much longer than myself. Some of you may agree with what I have to say, some may not.

The second date, the day of Mike's passing, is the one that wrings so much sadness from the hearts of those who knew and loved him. But what matters most is not the years 1944 and 2005, but rather, the little "dash" between those two dates, for it represents all the time Mike spent alive on earth. And now only the people who knew him can appreciate just how significant that little dash truly is. It represents all the lives he touched, the smiles he shared and the laughter he created.

When we lose a friend, it's a reminder that life doesn't go on forever, but that it always draws to a close and in most cases, sooner than we expected. This was the case with Mike as well. It was unexpected and we didn't see it coming. I know I would have made my way to the hospital that day if I would have had any idea things were going to take a turn for the worse. But I never imagined his condition could so rapidly deteriorate, that I would lose that opportunity to see him another day. That is a mistake that I'll have to live with. That doesn't sit well with me, never has and probably never will. Life does go on and we can't change what we did or didn't do. We can only move forward.

So think about this long and hard. Are there things you’d like to change, for you never know how much time we each have remaining on this earth. If we would all just slow down long enough to consider what's truly important in life and try to think of others instead of ourselves. If we'd be slower to anger and feel more gratitude for all the things we're blessed to have in this life. We should love the special people in our lives and respect those around us, for we never know when our time with that individual will end. And we all know, they usually end too soon.

Remember that this special dash may only last a short while longer. Maybe it'll be years, or only a few months, weeks, days or even hours remaining. Unfortunately, we don't have God's time table to guide our actions. My guess is, that's intentional so he can see what's truly in our hearts and to prevent us from rushing to do good at the very last minute. All the while ignoring his directives until the moment we think he's looking and it counts most.

Live every day like it's the final act and treat your loved ones as if were the last opportunity you'll ever have to share with them. Then, when our inevitable day comes and our eulogy is read aloud, we can be proud of the things people would say of us after we're gone and how the world felt we spent our "dash."

Mike was quick with humor and full of laughter. He could be stubborn and hard headed as hell. He pretended to have a touch outer shell that was impenetrable, but if you stuck around long enough and sought it out, one could find the crack to get inside. There, deep inside and well protected by that tough persona, was the part of Mike that many never found. The old softy that he never wanted anyone to know existed. He could be tough to get to know, but worth the effort for the fortunate few who did. He could be a total ass at times, but a wonderful person the next. I suppose that could be said of many of us. If he liked you, he would do anything to lend a hand and help out. Like most everyone, he just needed to feel his efforts were appreciated. I learned that firsthand and for that reason, I feel that at some level, he must have liked me at least a little.

There were times that I remember being so frustrated with him that I didn't even want him around me, but his big smile and belly laugh would quickly make me forget whatever it was. Mike used to love making fun of my southern accent and it brought him great pleasure to tease me about it. One of his favorites was to have be say the word "bearings" in my typical slow southern style. He somehow got the greatest kick out of hearing my version of "bearins" that he would request it on a regular basis. Despite all that, our friend is gone and I will forever long to hear his laughter and see that bigger-than-Texas smile of his.

This is a sad moment for me but I feel privileged and honored to have been entrusted with getting Mike to this special place which he always wanted to visit. Death took him from us before he could ride his bike to Alaska so I hope he enjoyed the journey as a passenger aboard mine. Not everyone understood Mike and I'll never know for sure if I did, but this I do know. Despite all, he was my friend, he made me laugh and I will forever miss him!

The first two pictures are of Mike and his beautiful granddaugther Brieanna. The third is the day he and Loretta took me to see Michigan International Speedway (MIS) for the first time. Next are just a few of Mike being Mike. The final two represent the little prayer I offered for Mike before spreading his ashes to the winds of the Arctic. I only wish I would have had a handful of "bearins" to toss out to sea and solicit one last laugh from my dear friend.

Mike, I hope Alaska is everything he ever dreamed it could be!