January  4, 2025

Michael E. Whiton 

June 30, 1944 - January 4, 2025

    I always talk about patterns, it is my researcher's brain.  This morning I texted with my niece, Grace, and asked her what her 12 year old was really into. She told me math.  He plays the flute in his school band.  I had an epiphany when the 2 things got put together.  To grow up with music as a constant all through your childhood you are exposed to patterns.  You become aware of what can follow what.  My 3 year old great niece makes up little songs, repetitive musical patterns.  Her father repeats them or adds to them.  She already knows how to put notes together.  That's math.  That's what Liam does.   

    So what does all that have to do with Michael's leaving us on this plain today.  Well, one pattern is that we all seem to be good with babies.   When Mike was 21, Jason was born.  He was good to babies.  As his mother was.  (And his sister.)  

    He was a talented music engineer.  His ear was as precise as his technical understanding of his camera.  There are patterns.

    Waiting for someone to succumb to death is so very hard.  I've done my fair share of it.  I wouldn't give those experiences up for anything because of what they have taught me about life.  I'm glad Mike could go out quickly; he didn't need to suffer anymore.   He was a gentle soul who suffered too much at his hands, but at others, too.  I loved him.

Jean and Mike, 1944

    Yesterday I also learned that my friend, Doug Noyes passed in December.  It shocked me.  Dougie and I laughed and were mischievous together.  Fun memories.  He was the younger brother of a very close college friend who I am still lucky to have in my life.  

    We also shared an early friend death in about 1985.  Peter Wolfe was murdered in Guatemala while serving in the Peace Corpse.  Peter was Doug's very close friend and a lover of mine, in the old days when I had those.  Doug came to me when he heard.  He came to me with a bottle of champagne so that we could toast a man we both loved.  That evening was filled with compassion and love, just the 2 of us gratified that Peter had been in our lives.

    Now he's gone, we haven't seen each other in years, I'm not sure when the last time was.  I will think of you old friend.  And at some point I will go laugh about you with D.  RIP

 

    When I started this blog this week, I believed that I had done enough grieving for the year and could start a new project and within hours grief returned.  My body disassociates and I become very calm and placid.  But stories and more stories flood my mind.  So many people, so much love, so much life.

So my photos are few, but kind of illustrative of my self.

Calm, placid, caring love.  Good night.