Today was the official memorial gathering for my old friend
Mike Tambornino who died tragically two weeks ago today. I went to T.J. Maxx
and picked out a vase, then to Cub for some nice flowers which I carefully
arranged to look like I hadn’t purchased them from Cub, and I donned my Sunday
best and headed to his house. I had envisioned a few people gathered together
in his living room, reminiscing and making small sandwiches and eating them
around a coffee table. What actually went on was something far more
substantial, not just for him, but for me.
I opened up the door after knocking to see the house packed
full of well-dressed people. It’s strange to walk into a room and instantly
recognize people you haven’t seen for two decades, and that’s what happened. Of
course I didn’t know everybody, but some faces certainly stuck out. I was
greeted by his mother who graciously accepted the flowers and gave me a huge
hug. She had tears in her eyes which I imagined had been there for two weeks.
Then I turned to find his Dad, a man who had never been lost for words, silent.
He just stood there and grasped my hand. We looked into each others eyes and I
could see his pain. After all, this was the house where he had found his own
son in a pool of his blood just out in the driveway.
I was given a tour of the house by a mutual friend who
currently lives at the house which was under construction and had been for
quite some time. This house had history. It had burned down a few years back
and Mike narrowly escaped through a back window. He and his family and friends
had now spent years building it back up, and the plan was for his parents to
move into it when it was done, and he would move on to another house. He was
building a fucking house for his parents.
The tour was over and I could feel the love for Mike
everywhere I went. Every ten feet I would have to stop to hug somebody new, and
to share comforts. Mike had such a warm, kind heart, and I saw its effect on
over 100 people that came and went throughout the day. Most people did just
that, stopped in, made the rounds, and left. I couldn’t do that. There were too
many opportunities to talk to friends that I had left back in 2001. These
people that I had grown up with, people I had used drugs for the first time
with, people I had committed a plethora of crimes with over the years, now had
grey hair, children, and great sorrow in their faces. It was true that they
seemed happy to see me, and we talked for hours, but it was unfortunate that
this is what it took to get us all together again.
We stood outside on the boulevard of his house and recounted
our childhood malfeasance, almost all of which included Mike, because we were a
close group of friends. There was laughter and crying, anger and love. At the
end we parted ways knowing we would see each other again sometime in the near
future.
I found out toward the end of the conversation that when
Mike died, he had been completely sober for nine weeks. He was sick of the
party lifestyle, and liked how his mind cleared up without weed and alcohol.
I hadn’t seen him in years, and I really miss him after
today. Of six billion people in this world, there are maybe three that I’ve
been as close to as I have with him and I will never have a chance to tell him
in person what a great friend he was, and he will never know how much people
loved him, and wished they could have the chance to say goodbye. But he will
live on through our stories and our memories of him.
We love you Mike. May you rest in peace.
