A Death in the Family

We heard yesterday afternoon that Mark’s brother, Mike Hall, had died. He and Bob, Mark’s second brother (of four) had been visiting us here in Vallarta until a week ago. In many ways Mike’s death was not a shock. He had been in very poor health for the past several years and had already had a heart attack. At the same time it was shocking to us, happening as it did so soon after we had spent a couple of weeks with him. Winter in Kalamazoo, like everywhere in our known universe, has been very hard. Mike hadn’t planned to come south but as the cold and the bleakness of the season persisted into January, he decided in a sudden burst of defiance to visit us when Bob was coming. They shared our second bedroom, not a commodious space for two bachelors accustomed to their own brand of privacy.

But it was a good visit. Mike’s mobility had been challenged for some time but he set out each day with Bob, or with Bob and Mark, or even on occasion by himself, to perambulate about our immediate environment. He spent a lot of time sitting on our balcony, gazing out to the ocean, smoking interminable cigarettes, and contemplating whatever internal thoughts circulated within him. He was rather quiet; he would respond if asked something or would laugh when a joke was made, but rarely, at least not in my presence would he venture a topic for discussion. Still, he appeared to enjoy himself.

Of my four brothers-in-law I think that I knew Mike the least well. My first encounter with him in the first year or so of my relationship with Mark took place in East Lansing where he was then living. He was a widower with two grown daughters, Jennifer and Stephanie, and two grown adopted sons, Kyle and Mike. At the time I was struck by an unhappiness that I felt in him, a sense of something indefinably gone wrong. There didn’t seem to be frustration or rage associated with the feeling, just a sense that he was sad and that nothing could be said or done about it. I don’t remember if I spoke to Mark about this feeling at the time, but very likely not as I may not even have fully articulated it to myself.

Over the years I saw Mike mainly in the context of the family gatherings at their mother, Evelyn’s place or at Terry’s. He was always congenial though not emotionally forthcoming in the way that I experienced with Bob and Terry. More and more like everyone else in the family I was aware of the gradual deterioration in Mike’s health. He drank too much and smoked too much. He kept his own counsel. He and Bob worked together on projects after he moved to Kalamazoo. His job as a social worker had been terminated over some controversial practices that he had used while assisting families wanting to adopt from foreign countries. This I believe was a crushing blow to him, the loss of a solid profession in which he would have been generous and helpful. Its loss meant a considerable diminution of income, but also would be experienced by anyone as a humiliation and a loss of status.

I don’t believe, however, that this was at the core of the unhappiness that I felt in Mike. I think that he struggled with depression, that multi-faceted and not especially well understood syndrome that has dogged many of our families over the centuries. Happily, various forms of “mental illnesses” as we call them, are emerging from their closeted spaces and treatments are giving people hope. I just regret that that didn’t happen for Mike. I think that Mike was possibly the most sensitive of the siblings. Being with his brothers, especially Mark and Bob, the two that he had grown up with most intensely – the three of them born within roughly a year and a bit of each other – was very important to him. I’m happy, as is Mark, that his last experience was with these two men who truly loved him. I am happy as well that I shared some of that experience, having a chance to talk with Mike in a context more conducive to sharing than that of a party. It gave me a sense of his own particular quiet grace, intelligence, and humour. We had talked with him about coming to Vallarta again next winter but this time for a longer stay. It clearly was good for his health and spirits and good for the connections of this family of which I am also a part.

When someone you know, someone a part of your own world, dies either suddenly or after a long illness, it brings especially people of our vintage closer to a sense of our own mortality, but also to an awareness of the preciousness of life and of all that makes it beautiful.