Michael Sanzone

An obituary has a dreadful finality about it. We had heard about his death before we read it of course. But it didn't seem real somehow. Not that we were telling ourselves that he was alive or that the news was some terrible prank. Just it didn't seem real somehow. I told my friends that I knew it was likely, that it could happen any day. His health was poor, threatened. But you never think it will happen this week; today. He was here, in my kitchen on Saturday. Sometime between Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning he died.

I have known Mike for 27 years. I met him when he and his wife, Margaret, volunteered to help with the plays that I directed as fund-raisers for our church. As I was to learn, they did nothing half-heartedly. In the years that followed, I witnessed much fun and giving. They attended classes and Mike became a deacon. When Margaret started a soup kitchen, he assisted. When he chose a project, he chose to work with the mentally handicapped in the SPRED Program. Understand that he did not pick the easy path, but chose to provide services for the profoundly handicapped, institutionalized adults who lived not far from our church. In his ministry, like the rest of us, Mike was not perfect. When he preached, there were mis-pronounced words and made small mis-steps. He was always ready to laugh at himself. I'd like to think that others were better able to join in when they saw that ministry was a human and forgiving business. He was always ready to pick himself up and start over. Maybe he'd make another mistake, but that was ok too.

Over the years, he and Bill became friends. Together they built bookcases and computer equipment. The two of them were the best of Ham Radio buddies. They put up a tower in our back yard and in his and climbed them. They were both younger then. I was beside myself. They had great fun renting a bucket truck to put up an antenna. They built radio devices, installed them in cars, in the houses, in the garages, and even in suitcases. They joined a club and traveled all over to attend Ham-fests. In the summer it was not unusual to find them on the patio, listening for signals from far-away places, or in the yard stringing antenna wire from the trees.

When I think of Mike, I also think of his way with children. He was always good with kids. He cared about them and was able to encourage and have fun with them. I recall that he once was between jobs and spent some time working as a substitute teacher. He really enjoyed that and confided that he wished he had become a teacher like Margaret. We all wonder about the path not taken. He loved his family, his children, his grandchildren. I know he brought that same good humor and concern to his "retirement" job, driving a school bus, which is why he was so successful at it.

When people die they leave a hole in the universe that can't be filled by anyone else. Having done this so many times before I know that there will be many days when many people think that they haven't seen him lately, or that they will call him or wonder why he isn't in his usual place and time, then catch themselves and remember that they will not be seeing him again, at least not in this life. Then they will remember his smile, his laugh, his kindness, his manner and the things that were pure Mikey. I know I will do it. I'll cry a little but I will also smile.