Chapter 32

Our children and grandchildren returned to our house on December 12, having left on November 30, after Thanksgiving. The busy days ahead included two visitations, two exhausting hours each, on December 13. Even Nancy from Atlanta, her husband and daughter flew in for the day on December 13, just to visit for a few hours before returning to the airport in their rental car. Such unselfish love. Other family and friends drove up from North Carolina. The love I felt covering us enabled me to put on foot in front of the other, until the required visitations and Celebration of Life was accomplished on the 14th.

I could feel my children’s and grandchildren’s worried and watchful eyes on Bruce and me to see if we were ever going to be “normal” again. Once they determined that we were going to survive, and even have joy again, then they were okay too. One picture my five year old granddaughter drew epitomized the days they spent with us. There were many tears, of course, but there were also smiles and proof of joy.

The two two-hour visitations with a one hour break between them were exhausting. Greeting friends and strangers, standing and talking like a robot numbed my fogged brain. The long line snaked out the door and around the building.  Four hours, with a break in the middle to dash home and feed the kids with the food our neighbors had prepared.

Long before he reached us I noticed an unfamiliar man, maybe in his fifties, with swollen eyes and blotchy red face back in the line. Although I was talking with , I people standing with us, I glanced at the man who kept pulling out tissues to mop his wet face as sobs escaped his shaking body. He was flanked by other people supporting him. I knew this must be Roma’s boss, Bobby.  

When he finally reached us, he was unable to speak for a moment. Then all he could manage was “I’m Bobby.” Bruce and I both hugged him as Bobby all but collapsed into his sobs in our arms. “Bobby, it wasn’t you fault,” Bruce and I both tried to console him, as we had many of the people in that line that squirmed toward us as afternoon faded into evening. Bobby asked if he could visit us in our home one day later, because people waited in line behind him. We agreed.

The next rainy morning, on December 14, our family piled in cars to head to our church, a five minute drive away. I had so hoped for a sunny day to finally complete the required difficult steps of Roma’s official service of “celebration. ” Even knowing it was a celebration of his Home-going, my heart was not in a celebratory mood. But God had shown Himself to me in so many comforting ways in the past week, I felt strengthened and upheld. 

As the large church filled with people I did and didn’t recognize, my intention to go up front and speak during the service wavered. I had never expected to be a speaker at Roma’s service, but as we planning the service, I kept “seeing” myself up there in front of the congregation to honor my beloved Roma. If I didn’t, I knew I would regret it later. But I had not expected a packed church, and a gloomy day, and I suddenly felt uncalled to attempt it.

Roma’s school friends, many of whom I had last seen as gangly teens were now young adults, comforting each other. I saw former teachers here and there. A large contingent from his years at Fork Union, three hours away, sat together, his football teammates and coaches, and parents. I couldn’t process it all. Could I stand long enough, could I find the strength to say the words that came to me in the sleepless nights since Roma took up residence in Heaven?

But when our friend who had watched Roma grow up, who had driven with his family from their new home in North Carolina to officiate the service nodded to me about coming forward, I didn’t pause. I went right up as if I did this every day. I knew I could not miss this once in a lifetime opportunity to memorialize my precious Roma, and glorify God, for He was the only One who made it possible that I could still breath in the overwhelming grief of saying even a temporary goodbye to Roma. So, over a quiet, packed, large church, I scanned the compassionate  faces, took a deep breath, and began, a bit shocked to hear my amplified voice in the silent.

 Today we are celebrating Roma’s life.

Who can think of Roma without smiling? I’m not surprised to learn that everyone who knew Roma loved him. But I am astounded at the sheer number of people he knew.

There has been a repeated theme of the many messages, texts, calls, and visits we have received since last Sunday night (the night of the accident.) One friend said it like this: “Everyone loved Roma, but God chose the Michaels to be his family.” That was God’s extravagant love for us.

But God knew this honor of raising Roma was way too big for the Michael family alone. We would need helpers. LOTS. Of. Helpers! To aid in the recruitment of many helpers, God armed Roma with a BIG hearted personality, a sweet deposition, disarming smile, and fabled charisma. And oh, those sparkly green eyes. 

Yes, the helpers came. In droves. Neighbors, teachers, coaches, teammates, friends, mothers and fathers of friends. All assisted us in the joyful task of raising Roma. And we are infinitely grateful for the help! God intended Roma to be a blessing to many. He touched more lives in his brief twenty-one years than most people encounter in a lifetime!

Roma loved life. He loved his family and his friends. He loved sports. Roma LOVED. He spread himself thin. He packed a lot into his 21 years, as if he knew his time here was limited. He careened through life, as though he had a check list. “Football. Yeah, that was great, do more of that.” Some things on his vast list were ONE and Done, Thank God! He was like a kid in a candy store, on a stopwatch, arms open wide. He didn’t always have time to be careful. He just wanted to experience all life had to offer, the good, and sometimes the not-so-good. He didn’t want to miss anything!

Sometimes I would wring my hands as we tried to teach Roma to be a man of integrity. Raising a son sent from God was not a job to be taken lightly! We wanted him to learn to be a good husband and father, do his laundry, and remember him to brush his teeth. 

Lately I’ve sensed that God was telling me not to fret, but cherish the immense GIFT of Roma. It was as if God said, ” I didn’t ask you to FIX Roma. All I asked you to do was LOVE him. And, oh, that part was easy.

Remember Roma, and do NOT let his bright but brief life and his untimely death leave you unchanged. Make his life count. He would want it that way. Roma was a shooting star. Such LIGHT! But oh so brief. No matter what mischief Roma was getting into, there was no darkness in Roma. No malice. Roma was pure LIGHT.

I look out on this crowd this morning. Most of you I would have never known without Roma. I am so grateful the role each one of you embraced in teaching him, and being taught by him. 

Many times on Facebook this week I’ve read “rest in peace, Roma.” Really? Can the words “rest’ and ‘peace” be used in the same sentence with Roma? Hardly!

(As I hoped and predicted, the whole congregation laughed.)

I think Roma is embracing Heaven with the same gusto he embraced life. He’s up there endearing himself to angels, insinuating himself into important Heavenly roles, like sending pink roses, my favorite, to my red rose bush, in December! After a week now, Roma is probably trying to be God’s top adviser.

We are all so blessed to have been touched by Roma. We always knew there was something special about him. Roma was God’s boy. I didn’t know how hard it would be to send him back.

I have prayed that something good will come out of this heart-breaking tragedy. I’m confident it will, for God redeems it ALL! He will not waste our pain. Let Roma’s life, and death, make you a better person. Never allow the LIGHT that was Roma, to be extinguished in you. 

Until we meet again, dear, sweet boy! Thank you Lord for your Gift of Roma. And thank you for all these willing helpers.

After I returned to my seat with my family, Taylor nodded that he wanted to speak. I didn’t know what to expect. Taylor and Roma had sometimes a strained relationship. Roma wasn’t always an easy brother for introverted Taylor. Roma got more than his share of attention, the good, and bad.

But in the past year, and final weeks, when Roma thought we were unreasonable about house rules, he would storm to Taylor’s apartment in our lower level, threatening us with, “I’m going to talk to Taylor.” Taylor, 26, would take him for a walk around the block and Roma would come home a little more contrite. Taylor had a calming effect on his 21-year-old brother who thought he was too old for rules.

Taylor bravely stood at Roma’s service to honestly share his reflections. Not a sensitive eye remained dry in the church. Many people in attendance, some because they also had sons with difficult relationships, asked him for a copy of his tribute to his brother. So, I did too. With his permission, these are Taylor’s words . . .

I’ve been wracking my brain for a good moment from my brother’s life to talk about. He affected so many people in his short life, but I don’t have that one good moment. The truth is I didn’t know him that well.  Most of you knew him better than I did.  I’ve spent this last week trying to get to know him.  And, as awful as this week has been, it’s also been enlightening, getting to know this kid that through fate became my brother.  

We were very different, Roma and I.  He was loud, and he needed people.  I always felt like I thrived in the quiet and solitude.  And he could be frustrating.  I was a very angry young man, and when I made the choice to come down from that, I did so largely by distancing myself from a lot of the things that triggered that aggression.  To a large extent, it worked, but one of the casualties of that decision was Roma.  I didn’t have that sibling relationship I did with my sisters with him.  I remarked recently, before his death, that he only ever called me when he needed something, ignoring the fact that I never once called him.  I didn’t think I needed anything from him. 

Anyways, the moment I landed on to talk about today, may not seem like such a great moment.  Last year, I’d gotten a used snow blower from some friends.  It only needed a belt replaced, but I was proud of myself for fixing it up, and I was looking forward to using it.  We got that one big snowfall last year, and I go out, ready to fire up my snow blower, and I find that the gas can in the garage was empty.  I’d filled it up earlier in preparation for this, and I knew immediately what had happened.  Roma had filled up his car with it.  And it made me angry.  Like, really angry.  And I let him have it. 

And as I thought about what had really upset me, I mean, this was par for the course for Roma, and I’d robbed the gas can before, in high school. I realized that I was angry because I cared.  When I lit into him, it wasn’t for the gas, but what I felt he was doing with his life.  So much potential I thought he was wasting.  I was mad at him because I cared about him, and I was even angrier that I cared. I didn’t want to care about him.  It was much easier when he was just the kid my parent’s adopted, that I wasn’t emotionally invested in.  

But somehow, despite all my efforts and the walls and barriers I erected, he’d slipped in.  He always did, in everyone he met.  And he let everyone in, too.  

This week, as I’ve been amazed by the outpouring of caring that this community has shown in the wake of his death, I’m fully realizing something that I’ve been suspecting for awhile.  Roma had it right.  He was by no means perfect, but he lived every day experiencing everything that came his way.  You can’t cut out the pieces of life that are inconvenient.

For all those years that I never called him just to talk, I’d love one last chance to just call him up, see how he’s doing, and just tell him that he was doing something right, and I’m going to try to live a little more like him.  And that I love him.

Goodbye kid.

Although Roma’s friends had asked it they would be allowed to speak during the service, and we assured them they could, no one had the fortitude to volunteer and follow Taylor’s humble words. They saved their funny memories during the luncheon afterwards.

When Roma’s service was ending, the stain glass windows dramatically lit up as the sun suddenly came out on that rainy morning. There was an audible gasp, as those attending the service were encouraged by a visible and hopeful sign to brightened their spirits.

Continue with Chapter 33