Happy Birthday, Mike
“So I have some news,” I say, fidgeting with the door handle and looking at my feet. “You’re gonna be an uncle soon.” I peek over to see his reaction. He’s confused at first, but slowly the realization sets in. As the milliseconds tick away, I lose my confidence and regret my confession.
As I’m concocting ways to change the subject, his face contorts into a grin. “Aw, that’s awesome! Congrats, bro!” He’s punching the steering wheel and hooting, then turns to me. “I hope it’s a girl.” I nod, breathe a sigh of relief, and we bro-hug. Then I sit back and tell him the whole story.
Five months later, my daughter, Adelynn Rose, is born.
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I was 23 years old, recently laid off, single, and a soon-to-be father. Angry about my lost dreams, terrified of the responsibility, embarrassed about my situation, and clueless about the next steps, I kept the secret for as long as I could. But I had to tell someone. Someone who would be supportive and positive, who wouldn’t judge or scorn or, god forbid, laugh. So, I laid the burden onto my closest friend.
Michel Ray Davis (AKA “Gameday” AKA “MRD” AKA “M. Reezy”) was always one of a kind. Even to me, a lucky S.O.B. blessed with a bounty of incredible friends, Mike stuck out. The kind of guy who was first on the dance floor (man, this MFer could move) and last to fall asleep. Always laughing, never complaining, he was the life of the party and then some. Needless to say, everyone was under his spell: grandmas, co-workers, strangers at the bar, it didn’t matter. He was so damn charming they couldn’t help it.
Mike was also kind. And selfless. And caring. He had no problem giving you a ride (in his tiny gray Hyundai), making you a drink (a former bartender), or helping you move (any excuse to wear a tank-top). He was also a great listener. We would talk on the phone for hours - an extreme rarity for two dudes fresh out of college - about our lives and our loves, re-hashing the weekend and planning the future. We leaned on each other (I usually and selfishly leaned harder), with an implicit understanding that nothing was off the table.
—
Less than three years after breaking the Big News, Mike was killed in a car accident, and his many his fans became reluctant mourners. Over the years, we’ve hosted golf outings and fundraisers, attended birthday parties and weddings. We’ve kept his memory alive and experienced that particular form of sadness a young person feels when losing one of their own.
Mike, who I met when we were 18 years old, would have turned 38 this week. I like to think he’d be married by now, with a bunch of kids and a house (we used to talk about living on the same street). Or maybe he’d be traveling the world, having adventures (his alter ego was a professional soccer player). Either way, he’d have his niece, Rosie, to dote on. And he’d still be my great friend.
Happy birthday, Mike. We miss you.
Devin Faddoul, CFP® is the founder of Adda Financial | Outsource your financial life. Focus on your real life.