The death of my other Dad

Uncontrollable love. How fitting.

Last Sunday evening, the town of Monson lost an icon, and my wife and I lost a Dad. Michael Kane went to his eternal reward on May 2 after a heroic battle with cancer. I am grateful that Heather and I were able to be there with the rest of the family when it happened, but that certainly didn't make it any easier.

Mike was a lifelong educator who worked at Monson Jr.-Sr. High School for thirty-seven years, proceeding from teacher all the way to principal. After his "retirement" he made a second career at the Massachusetts Interscholastic Athletic Association, and volunteered for pretty much every education cause you could think of, and a bunch more that you can't.  He was also one of the finest woodcarvers I've ever seen. The birds, Celtic spoons, and assorted other figures he made for us over the years are among our most cherished possessions, and displayed a little more prominently now.

But I think the most important thing I can say about him was that he was more like Jesus than pretty much anyone else I've known. Giving and kindness were his default settings, so to speak, and whenever someone needed something, anything, his first answer was always yes. Even as his health declined and he had every right to start making demands of people, he continued to ensure that everyone else was taken care of first. I knew Mike for fourteen years (which still makes me the "new guy" in that circle) and while I heard stories of his flashes of temper, which usually occurred when someone refused to carry their weight or was acting strictly for their own advantage, I never actually saw him become angry. How many people have you known for fourteen years that you can honestly say that?

More evidence of what Mike was like came during the visitation time at the funeral home on Wednesday night. That was probably the most emotionally draining experience I've had, to say nothing of the physical challenge of standing and shaking hands for four hours. If that's anything like a political rally I am never running for office. Visitation started at 4:00; at 6:50 I noticed the line was no longer all the way out the door; at 8:15 we were finally able to stop, breathe, and attempt to sit down. To say there was an outpouring of affection doesn't do that evening justice -- this was more of a river, though I think deluge or burst dam would also apply equally. Some of the things I heard that night:

• "I was in the class of 1968, Mike was my science teacher. I'll never forget how enthusiastic he was about learning."
• "I was in the class of 2001, Mr. Kane was my principal. I'll never forget that he was always fair with us."
• "Mike was the only person who welcomed me when I moved to Monson thirty years ago. I'll never forget the kindness he showed me then."
• "Mike took our son, who was dying of cancer, to lunch every week. Mike was the only person who wasn't afraid of the machinery he had to travel with. We'll never forget how sweet he was."
• "Mike wrote an amazing letter of recommendation for my daughter. I'll never forget how much he did for her."
• "Mike was the most important mentor I had in life, and the reason I became a teacher."
• (From a former state legislator) "Mike and I worked on several education bills together, his dedication to students was amazing."
• "Mike was instrumental in promoting my anti-bullying book and program to the schools. I'll never forget how much he helped me."

I started to notice a pattern, maybe you saw it too. "I'll never forget." Not just empty words or expressions of sympathy, but a promise to all of us that Mike would continue to live in thousands of hearts, minds, and changed lives. Well, I'll never forget either.

I hope I made you wish you could have known my second Dad. I wish you could have known him too -- then you would never forget.

Bye Pop. We'll see you soon.

P. S. There are a couple of newspaper columns about Mike available here and here, there is an obituary with a guestbook here, and the legacy.com guestbook is available here.