He Was an Observer More Than He Was a Communicator: A Story of Quiet Strength

 He Was an Observer More Than He Was a Communicator: A Story of Quiet Strength

Those who worked with him said, "Mike's a good hand. He'll always cover you if you're in a tough spot." He was a steady presence on the factory floor for fifteen years, a man of quiet routine and dependable work ethic. But then something shifted. The monotony of the assembly line, the same tired jokes echoing through the break room, and the feeling of stagnation became too much. One day, Mike walked out of the factory gate, waved casually at the security guard, and never looked back.

When I heard about it, the first thought that crossed my mind was, "Life crisis?" It seemed so unlike Mike, the quiet and unassuming man I knew. But perhaps beneath that calm exterior, a storm had been brewing. A few days later, the news filtered through – Mike had taken a job installing aluminum siding. He spoke of scaling dizzying heights, twenty-five to thirty-foot ladders leaning precariously against downtown office buildings. "Gutsy," I thought, "That's one job I'd coward away from." But it seemed Mike had found a new challenge, a way to break free from the monotony that had stifled him. 

He stayed in that job until he retired, a testament to his newfound sense of purpose.  Mike was always a man of few words, an observer rather than a participant in the noisy drama of life. Maybe it's true what they say: still, waters run deep. I often felt that there was a depth to him that belied his quiet demeanor.  He would remain mostly silent even in a group surrounded by family or friends. But when he did speak, something magical happened. He'd deliver a perfectly timed one-liner, a dry observation, or a witty remark that would have everyone in stitches. Then, with a slight smile, he'd retreat into his comfortable silence.

He married young and had three boys, and for a while, it seemed like he had settled into the life expected of him. But the marriage eventually faltered. I never knew whether his wife failed to understand his quiet nature, or they grew apart. In his typical understated way, he said, "Just gotta move on."  There was a resilience about Mike, an acceptance of life's twists and turns without complaint or drama.

Some people learn by doing, getting their hands dirty, and figuring things out. Others thrive on books and instruction manuals, absorbing knowledge through study and analysis. Mike was a hands-on learner who understood the world through touch and experience.  He was a master of practical skills, able to fix anything, build anything, and navigate any challenge comfortably.

In his later years, Mike found a companion who seemed to understand him. Sadie May, a sweet and gentle soul, became his constant companion. She brought a smile to his face and a lightness to his step. They were inseparable, two quiet souls who found solace and joy in each other's company. Sadie May would curl up in his lap every evening, gazing up at him with adoration. He had finally found unconditional and unwavering love.

Gentle spirits like Mike have a way of enriching the lives they touch. They give more than they take, leaving a legacy of kindness and quiet strength.  And when they move on, it's as if they're embarking on a new adventure, their souls soaring to a higher plane. I like to imagine Mike that way, peacefully contemplating his next move, perhaps choosing when and where to rejoin the earthly realm.  Maybe someday, he'll decide to hang out with us again.

His passing was peaceful, like a sailboat gliding effortlessly across a calm sea. I can picture him now, carried by a gentle breeze, sailing towards a light brighter and more beautiful than any he had ever seen. He wouldn't have wanted any fuss, just a quiet farewell and the promise of new horizons.  

My brother Mike’s life reminds me of a line in a 1927 poem by Max Ehrmann called Desiderate: "Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence…”

Disclaimer:

This blog post is a work of creative writing. While inspired by a natural person, specific details and events may have been altered or embellished for narrative purposes. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This blog post is intended as a tribute to a unique individual and should not be interpreted as a factual biography. The author has taken certain liberties in recreating conversations and events, and the interpretations and opinions expressed within are solely those of the author.