The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.
- Joseph Campbell
If we are to accept Mr. Campbell's quote as true (and why wouldn't we?) then Michael Frederick Titus was one of the most privileged people I have ever had the honor of knowing. While he lived simply, gently, and with few personal belongings, I never knew him once to falter in living an authentic life. Beloved son, brother, uncle - cherished and valued friend - writer, creator, jokester, champion of the underdog, and defender of reasonable intellect...and so much more. The sudden and much too early loss of this great gift of being has shaken all who knew and loved him to the core.
I became aware of Michael one summer waiting tables between college at a restaurant we both loved, Aldos Out to Lunch. He was ten years older than I was, so I only knew him as one of many town people in our small city of Spencer, WV. A mutual friend was throwing a festive event far in the woods and I had no car, so Michael offered to drive me there. On the way we chatted non-stop about books, writing, the arts, and various social injustices that we found highly offensive. Somewhere between that conversation and the party's end, we fell in love. Our tumultuous five year relationship, which included a marriage and a divorce, was built on those wonderful things we talked about as friends but also on a great deal of personal pain that we had not come to terms with as individuals. The latter, and how we dealt with it caused the demise of the relationship and most painfully a friendship destroyed, or so I thought.
I have my second husband to thank for the friendship revived, in part at least. He is a cradle Catholic and was uncomfortable getting married until I had annulled my marriage with Michael. It was difficult reaching out to him with a request that I didn't fully buy into, but wanted to fulfill, for my fiancée. Dear ones, I was so nervous, but I found Michael as I had remembered him originally...charming, gracious, accepting, humorous, and kind. We laughed a the ludicrousness of annulling the marriage and I reveled in the return of a dear friend. A few years later, when my second marriage took a bad turn, it was that dear friend who was there for me. Between mothering two children and seeing a second marriage crumble, my self-esteem had taken a hit. There are very few people who I would allow to see me so vulnerable at the time, but Michael was one of them. I knew I could trust him to be both honest and kind. At the point I had come to in my second marriage, I wasn't even sure that I was a person that could be loved, that was lovable. Michael was right there, assuring me that we had shared in the responsibility for our marriage and that I indeed was lovable and worthy of love. There are not many ex-wives who can boast of such dedication and friendship when it comes to the their ex-spouse, but anyone who knew him would not be surprised to hear this about Michael.
And so it goes in the last twenty-four hours as I have dried my endless tears, railed at my dear friend for leaving so soon...in between my chastising the heavens I have gone through many Michael files in my brain and been warmed by the volumes of good memories. I mentioned before that we were both in painful places when we met and married. Soothing those wounds for one another was what first connected us. Bear with me as I tell you briefly about an episode of "The Jefftersons"...trust me.
Because I was so full of pain, and not dealing with it at all, any little thing could be a trigger for me for the sadness and angst to pour out. One day Michael and I were watching said television show together. In the episode Louise goes back to her old building where she grew up to say good-bye. When she leaves, she takes the doorknob off the front door with her as a keepsake.
Dear ones, I was leveled by this episode. BAWLING. Michael was beside himself attempting to comfort me. You see I was facing the loss of our family home myself. The home on 510 Market street, built by my great-grandfather. I was the third generation of my family to be raised there. It had never occurred to me that I would not raise my own children there. My grandmother's death coupled with my mother's recurring mental illness made it impossible for the home to be kept. It was out of my hands, I had no say or control, and there was no reason why I would. But the loss was devastating to me.
Over Thanksgiving break Michael and I took a U-Haul up to Spencer (he had moved to Huntington to attend college as well) and moved as much as we could take in one trip, anything I could get to hold on to my beloved home and the many memories that had been made there. It was stressful and chaotic. My mother had been living a bit in the margins, and the house was a mess. I was on auto-pilot, filled with rage, grief and denial.
I'm not sure when he gave it to me, but somewhere after the move and maybe when we got back to Huntington, Michael, dear sweet, kind Michael handed me a precious gift. He had removed the door knob from my bedroom door as a keepsake for me, just like in the show. This is the kind of thoughtful, loving person he was, that he would think to do something like that for me.
Yesterday I searched in a panic for photos, notes, keepsakes, something from Michael. I had left so much behind when I moved to Seattle. I lost family and I lost possessions. I have almost nothing from the home I grew up in and it seemed nothing from those years that we shared, nothing tangible. I was kicking myself. Then, oh sweet baby Jesus, then I remembered. I still had my doorknob...and I knew exactly where it was. It sits with me now as I write this tribute to him. A lasting memory not only from my childhood home which I cherished and miss to this day, but also from a friend whose absence will never, never be filled by another. MFT you were one of a kind my precious sweet friend, one of a handful of people who actually got me...thank you for all that you gave me and others we have been so blessed to know you. I chose the Campbell quote not only because of your affection for him but also because your privilege was also ours...love and peace to you.
