So Long, It's Been Good to Know You

My pal Mike Britten passed away peacefully on Sunday, December 3, the day before his 56th birthday, in the company of his dear wife Ann and a host of friends. He had gone into the hospital on Friday, with serious breathing problems during a regular bout with pneumonia, and had taken a bad turn Saturday night. I got there around 4:30 Sunday morning, and spent the day with a very fine group of people, trying to help Ann and each other however we could, and say our goodbyes.

I first met Mike back in 89 or 90, I think, I had had a little elf living next door to me, Mark Gold, who told me about a friend of his who lived near by who was also a big Dylan fan. I usually blow those folks off, because, truthfully, most don't measure up. I still remember when I first really met Mike, which was at a Solano Stroll in the fall. Mike was oddly, I thought, wearing a heavy coat on a warm day. As I learned, he was suffering from an inexorable cruel disease, Multiplle Sclerosis, that had all sorts of effects on him.

When we got together soon after that, it turned out that Mike wasn't the casual Dylan fan, with 4 or 5 albums, but a guy who had been with Bob for as long as you could be with him, who had all his albums, who knew the songs and the bands. Better yet, Mike had a love of music that was both deeper and wider than anyone else I know. One of the common threads on Sunday and yesterday, talking to his friends, was how were we going to learn about new music without Mike?

Over the years, the MS took its slow inexorable toll. When I first met him, he was able to work, and get around; we lived just a few blocks apart, and he'd walk over quite often, as I was working at home, too, so we'd have lunches and talks in the afternoons. Gradually he needed a cane, then a walker, then a scooter, then, finally, the chair. Though this was really difficult for him, and he was often in pain, it was always amazing how well he bore up. This isn't to say that he took it stoically or didn't rail against it; there was plenty of that. But sometimes when you have a severe disease like this is that you become identified with it; it takes over your life. I don't know how many times I referred to Michael as "my friend with MS." And sometimes that's the way I thought of him; he sort of disappeared into the disease, became a sum of its symptoms. Of course, that's not fair to the man. But when you were around him, even when he was really bad, that wasn't usually what he wanted to talk about. Instead, it would be Bill Frizzell, Leonard Cohen, Bob, Iris Dement, Townes Van Zandt, or any of a hundred other artists. That's what kept him going. Harry said the other day, that he didn't know anyone who had taken as much pleasure from music as did Mike.

In 1992, Dylan hadn't performed in San Francisco in 3 years, so it was out first opportunity to go to a show together. We went together to the first of two nights at the Warfield. Our plan had been to get together around 5, do something about dinner, then head to the city. Instead, and I don't remember who it was who called first, we were too excited, and ended up meeting at around 3:00. We were like adolescent girls heading to our first Beatles (though they probably didn't have the herb we had). By the time the show started, we were flying high over the Sierras and the show was almost an anticlimax. We saw other Bob shows together, and other shows, but that one was pretty special.

Mike was one of the few people I knew who was able to really reach out to young people. When my oldest son Lyal was in high school, he worked at a local bootleg record store, and Mike dropped in often and they became pretty close. Mike got to know most everyone that worked over time at that store. Often I saw him deal with young people in ways that other olders, like me, were not able to do. Mike would say something funny and disarming and direct to them with a half grin on his face, and win them over. All my kids liked him, and stepped up to help out when they could, and support me, as did Margaret. I'll never forget when Mike fell from this chair in the bathroom of his old house, and how Richard and Margaret struggled to get him up. And I'm very proud that all my kids went over to the house last night and were able to deal with him. They fit in well with the group, and I'm grateful to everyone there for the kind things they said.

Some years ago, Mike and Ann set up a Share the Care program where a number of friends took turns taking dinner to Mike, so Ann could work or get out in the evening, and he could have some social contact. Sometimes those visits were difficult -- we'd need go lift him out of the chair into his bed, or he would be pretty sick and we'd have to take care of him -- but I always looked forward to them. It's a real testimony to Ann and Mike, and the circle of friends that this program lasted for 8 years. Karen, Beth, Marc, Maggie, Tansy, Kate, and others did a great job of holding it together, and I really appreciated the reminder emails from them. (I'm sure I left some off the list, sorry.) I was due to go over last Thursday, but he was sleeping mostly, so I didn't. I was due to go over Monday the 4th (last night as I write), his birthday. I did go over last night, but of course it was different. One of the benefits of the Share the Care program is that it formed the group of us who were with Mike on Sunday and yesterday. When we care for others, they benefit of course, but we also benefit. It's good for us to care for others, and then when the end comes, as it did, there's a community that shares the common bond. Talking on Sunday and yesterday, we had common experiences of sitting in the evening with him -- watching crappy TV shows, listening to good music, feeding him. To anyone who reads this, if you have an opportunity to participate in something like this, I heartily encourage you do it.

Beyond his circle of friends, Mike was very fortunate in his doctors, his wife, and his nurses. Long after many people would have been institutionalized, Mike was able to live at home with regular and steady care from Evelyn, Boola, Dinesh, and Anthony. They weren't just nurses, they were like family, and had their own unique relationships with him. His doctors made this possible by going the extra mile to help everyone out. This is the way care should be, and I wish everyone was as well cared for as he was.

None of us want to go, of course, and most of us don't really think we're actually going to go. But Mike knew he was going to go and got to prepare for it better than most. I don't think this was easy, in fact I'm sure it wasn't. On Saturday, unconscious as was, you could see him fight it. Evelyn pointed out times when he was trying to open his eyes; he was fighting it. A while back, we were talking about pain, and Mike talked about the kind of pain he was in -- serious pain, worse I think than I can imagine, and that didn't go away. He said that the only time you were in no pain was when you were dead. Pain is the cost of being alive. In his case that was often physical pain, but of course he was also speaking a bit more broadly than that. Seeing him Sunday and yesterday was to see him, for the first time, in no pain.

Last night we paid a visit to Ann, along with many others. She had brought him home, and had him in a futon in the TV room, after the computer room, Mike's favorite. We could go sit with him and say goodbye. It was a party in the house, and it was good he was there for it. We thought of it as his 56th birthday party, and it was.

My year ends nearly as it opened, with the death of a close friend. Throughout the year, I've thought of John very often, running across emails in my inbox, seeing a web story I wanted to send him, encountering a book I wanted to recommend. That'll happen with Mike, and while these are reminders of loss, they're also reminders of something shared.  These memories are, I think, about all the immortality we get, and when you think of it, that's not too bad. All in all, I think Michael did pretty well for himself.

© Copyright 2006 Steve Michel. Last update: 12/6/2006; 5:30:16 PM.