Mike Hunsucker was my friend.  That was it.  We worked in close proximity.  I as a school counselor and English teacher.  He was a school bus driver and custodian.  He did great work.  I hope he thought I did at least good work.

Today I sent his wife, Bonnie, a text message.  I asked how she was doing.  I told her Carrie, my dear wife, and I miss seeing her.  She replied in part with the following:

“Been thinking about you both and all you did when Mike got worse. How you brought dinner up to us on Derby Day and spent time with us…one of Mike’s last good days.”

It took a calendar to reiterate my suspicions as I write this on the evening of May 3, 2017. Three years ago today was that Derby Day Carrie and I spent with Mike and Bonnie.  Did we ever have fun.  We laughed and talked good sense to one another.  But that was all Mike and I ever did.  We had fun.  I couldn’t drive a bus and he couldn’t teach English.  We didn’t care.

At Mike’s funeral two weeks after Derby Day, I was fortunate enough to get up and hold forth about our friendship, our faith in God, our families, our extended families, and what he meant to me.  Mike was not a great conversationalist.  He usually did most of the listening while I did most of the talking.  He wanted it that way.  But when he spoke…it was like E.F. Hutton was in the building.

One time on a field trip, I know I have told this story here before, we visited a college with a group of seniors.  The kids were taken care of with leaders from the school on their long and informative tour.  I asked Mike if he wanted to hear a good story?  I proceeded to tell him about some of the roadblocks I encountered on the way to finishing my college education.  He sat wide-eyed and never moved.  He told me he appreciated that I felt like I could share with him.  How could I not?  He was Mike!

One of the things I said at Mike’s funeral is that there is a frame around each of our lives.  None of the frames are completely straight and narrow.  There are imperfections.  There might be a burn mark or two.  There might be a narrow place.  Some parts may look immaculate.  All the features matter.  Mine frame includes a nice spot reserved for Mike and Bonnie Hunsucker.  Mike was 58 when he died.  To me, he will be that forever young I spoke of in a post or two back.

Lord knows I miss him.  I truly do.  I asked Carrie today how three years can seem so long about some things and so short about others.

The last conversation I had with Mike is planted firmly and clearly in my framework.  He barely had any strength.  He raised his head up and looked at me and said two words.  The first was “Kids..” as in a question…”(How are the) Kids (at school)?”  He paused and looked up at me again and said “Thanks”.  That was thanks for being my friend.  I thanked him and told him I loved him.   That was a great way to end things.  I am so fortunate.

But I am still sad.  I will be for as long as I can remember how this happened.

Taking us on a field trip.  He took us everywhere.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson