Two years ago today, God called Michael for his final curtain call. “Exit Stage Left.” In true dramatic style, Michael took his last breath of life at the stroke of midnight. That was the day, the music died for me.

I miss you, Sweet Man. My Alaska Sourdough. I am so glad that we connected initially through letters,  where we became good friends. Phone calls would soon follow and as the Internet wasn’t available back then, we would resort to cassettes passed back and forth from California to Alaska. We went from good friends, to Best  Friends with God staying in the center all the while.

I will never forget landing in the Anchorage Airport for our first in-person meeting. No one was there to meet me as I deplaned. “Maybe,” I said to myself, “because this is Alaska, they do it differently here. Perhaps you have to go to baggage claim first?” So I went downstairs to baggage claim. The only thing there was my luggage.

Going back upstairs to the Gate, still no one to meet me left me feeling a bit confused. I had a 24 hour turn-around on my ticket (just in case something happened). I sat at the gate for about 20 minutes and then decided to just give it up and go back home. The joke was apparently on me.

Going down the airport corridor, I saw to the right of me, a line of airport phones. I stopped, picked up the receiver with the full intention of calling you and giving you an earful before I returned to my life. Just as I lifted the receiver to my ear, I heard this loud wolf whistle behind me. I turned, to see you and Dennis hustling as fast as you could towards me. I could barely make out your face behind the bouquet of red and white roses you had clutched to your chest.

You told me that they had given you the wrong instructions of where my plane was landing. You were upstairs at the last terminal, and I came in downstairs at the first terminal. Anchorage is a big airport and by the time you had arrived at the gate, I was already gone.

We hugged each other, Dennis grabbed my luggage and we were off on our first date (after saying goodbye to Dennis). We jumped into the motorhome with your bayrunner being towed behind. Our first stop, Hidden Lake for three days of camping, boating, fishing and hiking. Why didn’t the sun ever go down that day?

Sitting with you in the  middle of the lake in your boat, I listened patiently to your 45 minute lecture on how to bait, cast and catch fish. You told me that the Miller family had a long traditional bet when fishing. It was $1.00 for the first fish and $1.00 for the biggest fish. I took the bet.

You handed over your treasured and “seasoned” pole after first showing me how to cast. Did you not think that a girl from Southern California did not know how to fish?

First cast out, I caught a 16″ Rainbow! The look on your face was priceless! Wish I would have captured it on film. By the end of that Endless Day you had reeled in the biggest fish, so the bet was a draw.

That began the time where we fell further in love with not only each other, but also with Hidden Lake. Snuggling on the couch together, learning about each other and listening to the Loons haunted cries on the lake, we knew we would be returning to this place in the future.

It was a week to remember as you shared with me all your secret spots of Alaska that you loved. I met your three boys- Doug, Dave and Dennis and we both agreed that I should come back in the wintertime to see how I would cope living in complete darkness.

Little did I know at that time, what loomed ahead of us, that would test our relationship and later our marriage. A very deadly, silent killer disease:  Diabetes.

When Diabetes first hit, we were not prepared for the fight that would ultimately claim your life. You soon tired of the restricted diets you were placed on. i would catch you cheating when I cleaned out the truck and found multiple empty candy wrappers under your seat. I think the problem with Diabetes for you became the hardest part for you to accept. You did not feel or look sick back then. You were resistant to anything the doctors wanted you to do to get better. You wanted to live life on your terms, but the disease got the better of you. You hated the finger sticks, the shots in the belly three times a day. It took over our lives- and ultimately cost you, yours. They don’t call it “The Silent Killer” for nothing.

In 2019, honoring your last request, I asked the kids to spread your ashes on Hidden Lake. It was one of the last things you asked me for before you became caught up in two worlds- the world of the living and the world of the dead.

The kids almost didn’t make this happen because of a forest fire raging nearby. But Annette, determined as ever, tracked down a fire marshal and explained the situation. Your kids were then able to go into the lake, launch the boat and quickly disperse your ashes before they had to leave.

Michael, Y.S.P.C.B. misses you. I love you so much and I hope you can hear me when I talk to you at night. I miss your goofiness, your April Fool pranks, your corny jokes. I miss how you opened up car doors for me, and helped me on with my coat. You used to trap one of my arms in the sleeve of my coat as I was putting it on. It took me awhile to not fall for that trap. I miss your kindness and our conversations. I miss our daily prayers. We had a good life together. I will always be grateful to you for sharing your world and your family with me. I can’t wait to see you again.