When a Giant Falls pt. 1... in memory of Mike Sterchele

When a Giant Falls…

Anytime someone dies, a part of you dies with that person.  Thankfully a part of them lives on in you, in your memories, in the fabric of who you are, the closer they were to you the deeper the interweaving of their lives and yours.  I think this is why it hurts so much when those who have touched you, shaped you, always been there for you die, the tear in the stitching, the rip in the fabric goes right up your spine detouring along your ribs and ending in your heart.  The whole process seems to bypass your brain, other than then the memories that come to the forefront some of which may be ten, twenty, thirty or more years old.

This is how it was for me when I got the news that Mike was dead.  It hit me in the gut, in the chest, but my head really couldn’t even begin to process the reality of the situation.  I was at work and both of my brothers called within the space of half an hour.  Though the Cassidy’s were a small St. Al’s family, it seems there was a brother or sister who was in one of our classes, or in between grades – any big news to anyone in any of the families tugged at the hem of our shared upbringing and our shared mortality.  This was the case with the Stercheles and us.  Chaunce was close in grade to Steve, Tim and Tony were in the same class, Mike was in the class ahead of me and Jackie was in my class.  The shocking passing of big, strong Mike was an instant rip, tear across the St. Al’s family fabric, and all words fall short, far short, “the spoken word is a jacket too tight... –the only thing that speaks the truth is the eloquence of passing time…”

I sat at my desk, paralyzed unable to work.  I thought the news must be wrong, but the network of friends and family was reaching out and word was spreading fast and it was real, Mike Sterchele was dead.  I’d witnessed the death and dying of my father first hand, arriving just minutes after his last breath, sleeping the last couple of weeks on the family room floor in vigil should he need anything – seemingly countless relatives had passed, even a few young friends dying before their time like Mike, but this was Mike, Meesh, Moose, Sterch, though not Irish, my honorary Big Fellah. 

I remember piling into the Sterchele station wagon heading out on an adventure, to the Warren Dunes, to my first concert – Bruce Springsteen 1986 Soldier’s Field - or just going to a party or a friend’s house in Palos or nearby – every time out was an adventure with Mike.

He pushed my edges, he took me beyond my comfort zone, he laughed with me, maybe even sometimes at me, but he always pulled back just in time so I knew he always had my back. 

The tough guys rallied around Mike, but so too did the sensitive guys, they all did.  Mike attracted action, sometimes trouble, almost always fun.  I remember one summer we let ourselves into a recently abandoned school on 127^th Avenue in Palos that has since been replaced by townhomes.  It took some doing to get in, but we got in.  Mike was the one who found the chink in the armor and he was also the one who boosted one of the slighter guys up to scurry in through a boarded up window near the roof.  He then helped us force open a door.  From there, for several weeks we enjoyed a secret gathering place, complete with air conditioning and lights once we turned the power back on.  There was a small atrium outside the bathroom window.  It was completely walled in by brick in the middle of the building and a weed tree had sprouted up through the opening. 

Mike went out the bathroom window into the secret space and climbed up the tree, then used the wall where there was a foothold, back to the tree, back and forth, laboring until he got his stomach over the roof and disappeared from sight.  Mike had a natural instinct to explore and to seek the higher ground.  “Cass, come on up.”  It was difficult to refuse Mike even though I wasn’t quite sure I could make it, I started up the tree, used the same footholds and handholds until I was very close to the roof… but my arms weren’t long enough to reach the lip of the roof.  I was stuck.  I considered my options, a possible path back down, but Mike read my mind, “come on, you can do it.”  He lowered his hand – I could only make it if I grabbed his hand and let loose my foot and handholds and trusted him.  I knew he was strong, but I hesitated, he seemed certain, but I doubted. 

“Cass… grab my hand.”  I did.  I let out some sound, looked desperate, something, and Mike started laughing.  While laughing he couldn’t pull me up, I was dangling a couple stories up, my life in Mike’s hands, at least my ankles and unbroken bones, Mike couldn’t stop laughing and he couldn’t pull me up, but he didn’t let go.  I swore at Mike and he laughed even harder, he didn’t mean to, but it was truly funny, he couldn’t stop laughing, I couldn’t stop swearing, so I swung from side to side and Mike tried several times to pull me up, but he had no air as he was laughing and he did his best to hang on.  He did. 

He hung on, dropping me wasn’t an option.  Letting me sweat a little may have been, but dropping me was not possible, Mike had my hand and eventually he pulled me up.  He was still laughing, I punched him in the arm then I started laughing too.  We were only a couple stories high, but we were on top of Palos, we were on top of the world.

The night of the wake I was anxious.  I was uncomfortable in my skin.  I had a vodka or two before we left I’ll admit.  I sat in my house and cried, I balled, hard.  I hadn’t really cried since my father died, before that probably not since being a kid.  I’ve contemplated death with the Buddhists in Boulder, I’ve alter boyed many funerals, and seen death many times up close, but this was Mike.  I hadn’t seen Mike much in the past ten years, really the last fifteen, but no matter, this was Mike.  When I did see him last, it was as if nothing had changed – “Cassssssss” followed by his laugh which would shake his body and move his head down.  Next his arm would be around me – “I love this guy.”  I felt the same, no matter how many years had passed no matter what differences in philosophy we might have; this was the Big Fellah from my childhood.  It was the Mullin’s summer party and Mike was there with several characters from our childhood.  Mike ended up driving me home with Brian Bandyk and we of course went over the time Brian pushed me into his pool, late autumn on a dare.  Mike’s memory was he said wouldn’t it be funny if someone went in – and apparently I dared someone to push me in, Brian did.  When I got out of the freezing water in shock I chased Brian, but he locked himself inside his house.  I think I may have thrown some lawn furniture in the pool in frustration, Mike laughed the whole while – looking back I can’t really blame him, but he brought forth mischief like a trickster Lakota Shaman or crazy wisdom lineage Buddhist monk without trying.  I think this night I made peace with Brian… we laughed, they dropped me off and they drove off into the night – that’s how life is, you never know when it’s the last time you’ll see someone, if you did you wouldn’t let the night end.  It was late, we did our best to keep the night from ending, but it had to end and it did.  I think back now and I see Mike pull himself up and over the roof edge at that old school in Palos.  Mike disappears from sight.  The sky is empty where he was, I tell myself he is on top of Palos, on top of the world, but there’s a hole in my heart as big or bigger than the empty sky where Mike was.