The Thin Line Between Mike and Me
How one lunch with a stranger reminded me how little separates any of us from losing everything.
I went out for a burrito a while ago and met a guy named Mike outside the store. He’s homeless and was rummaging through the garbage can looking for something to eat. There was something about him that made me want to spend time with him.
I invited him to have lunch with me, he took me up on it and I listened to him tell his story. He’s a really, really nice guy.
Note: The point of this story is not to make me seem heroic for buying him lunch. I’m the one who’s benefited most from this experience.
We can all relate to the factors that led to him being homeless. A rough childhood, some unfortunate choices, bad luck and a lack of support.
Mike walks with a pronounced limp. He fell down the stairs in his walker as a toddler and it left him with a permanent, life-changing injury. His parents were addicts and his home life was violent and chaotic.
The older I get, the more grateful I become for my parents and the life they provided me. They were always there, they never fought and I always knew how much they loved me. I took it for granted when I was young, as only a self-centred teenager can. I see clearly now how blessed I am and how different things could have been. And how different they were for Mike.
After our lunch, I offered to help him but my offer was vague and probably useless. I wasn’t sure what I could do. Mike politely declined and I got the sense that he felt he needed to sort things out on his own.
I’ve thought about our conversation many times since then. And about how we’re all much closer to the razor’s edge than we’d care to admit. We’re one tragedy, mistake or bad decision from being in a much, much darker place.
When our lives seem to be going well, it’s easy to believe the illusion that we’re the captains of our destinies. We can buy our own PR about how we’ve got things figured out. It can be so easy to judge people who don’t.
I believed this lie in my early thirties. I had a beautiful wife, two gorgeous daughters, a great job, a nice home with a pool. Everything was great and the future was bright. It was all a testament to my greatness as a man.
Five years later, my wife was dead by suicide. I was an alcoholic, who had been demoted at work, standing in the wreckage of half a decade of hell, trying to make sense of what happened - to me and my wonderful life.
I’ve thought about all choices I’ve made that could have turned out much worse. There are countless moments that could have served as a fork in road that took my life down an even darker path. Luck is what separates me from Mike.
It’s obvious to me that without the support of people who love me, the deaths of my wife and daughter might have ruined me. I can’t imagine freeing myself from addiction without the support, encouragement and boundaries from my wife, Tanja. She’s always been in my corner as a safe person to lean on. She loves me more than anyone ever has. Too many people don’t have someone like Tanja in their life. Love is what separates me from Mike.
Despite the loss, I’ve faced, I’m damn grateful things have turned out the way they have. They could have been so, so much worse.
I think, in a lot of ways, Mike is us, and we are Mike. We’re human beings doing our best with what we’ve got. We never know what life has in store for us tomorrow. Anything can happen to anyone, at any time. And we can’t know how we’ll react until it does.
For a large part of my life, I would have judged Mike. I’d have thought he was weak, lazy and that he should get his shit together. I’d never have imagined how easily I could have found myself in the same situation. Now? I have a hell of a lot more empathy and compassion for people who are struggling. I know how pain can lead us into a darkness that feels impossible to escape.
I hope Mike’s doing Ok.
As for me, I’ll keep writing about grief for men, and the people who love them.
Maybe something I write will help someone the way so many people have helped me.
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I love your perspective. It helps me to reflect reflect differently on my life. My little brother died 3 years ago. He had been homeless for many years, addicted to drugs, stealing whatever he could. I watched him slip through the societal cracks as he was put back out on the streets after brief hospitalizations. I was told repeatedly, SC has no program or help for mentally ill homeless people. When he died I went to the funeral home to collect his belongings.. they didn't even cover the bottom of a plastic grocery bag. I pulled over on the side of the road and cried. I cried for the sweet boy he was and how life seemed to feel him a bad hand at every turn, mostly by wrong decisions in his life. I had a small life insurance policy mom paid on for years and I took over after he died. We cremated him and waited for his headstone to come in before we had a simple service and buried his ashes ourselves, right by mom and dad. I bought him a beautiful headstone I knew he'd love. I had them carve "Back in Mother's Arms" on it. He didn't have anything beautiful in his life for decades. I was determined he would be remembered with a beautiful marker. It was the last thing on this earth I could do for him. He was only 58 when he died. You are right when you say we are only a razors edge away from tragedy. My perfect life ended with the death of my son the next year. I'm sorry I wrote so much. There were things inside me this opened up and they had to come out. Keep writing, and thank you for helping me "see" inside this part of me I don't touch that often.
"And about how we’re all much closer to the razor’s edge than we’d care to admit. We’re one tragedy, mistake or bad decision from being in a much, much darker place."
This hits home. The fact that we shouldn't have to wait until tragedy hits to understand and appreciate what we have doesn't usually work because most of the time there's denial that it could ever happen to us.
I love that you took the time to hear Mike's story, and I also hope that he's doing OK. Seeing another's humanity and showing them love can change the trajectory of that person's life more than we know.
Thank you for writing about grief for men. It's a topic that is sorely overlooked. Your honesty, openness, and perspective is impactful. ❤️