Reaching (First Valentines Day After My Father's Death Twelve Days Prior)

Recent events hover over today
I’m still numb, reaching for words
I’m mad at myself for not talking to him more
Mad at him for not talking to me more
Mad at him for just giving up
And mad at the world for how helpless it all makes me feel
My pride in you and your hard work eclipsed by one phone call
A flower-smelling championship, forgotten
But there was a reason the first thing I did when I heard those words was reach for you
It is because you are the one I reach for 
The one I need, the object of all those clichés about love
You do, in fact, complete me
And if I had the words right now I could frame that in some metaphor
Telling you about the way we fit together but the words are not there
But the feelings of companionship and need and desire burn
A compelling to hold you close and to never let you go
An eruption of feeling in the mere nearness to you
And your scent and the way my arms wrap around your body
An animal requirement to have that closeness every day, 
You in my arms fragile yet strong and my arms strong yet grasping
A desire to crush you with my overwhelming tide of emotions
But I hold you clumsily – a child presenting a feather or a bird’s egg.
As I reach for you, first, every day. Not just in the ill light.

The Coffee Cup

I saw my father
In a dream last night
He stood there at the checkout
Buying a coffee cup
To donate to my charity drive
But he was much younger
The age I remember
Both my parents
So that every time I visit them
There is a little shock about
How much they have aged
It is the same shock
I have when I look into
A full-length mirror and wonder
About how much I've aged
And the weight I've put on
The only comfort now
Is that he will not be able to
Age any more

Charles Joseph Mihelic: A Life in Outline

It is with a heavy heart that we must share with the world the passing of Charles Joseph Mihelic, MD. On the second of this month, after a short illness, he slipped the confines of this mortal coil to challenge the deities of all canons to fistfights and matches of wits. We wish him well on his quest, but there are many here who mourn him. We have called him by many names: Joey, Chuck, Babe, Dad, ToeToe - maybe even Chas at a point in the 70s but a lot of things happened during the seventies that not everyone remembers. But we do know that in the seventies he met the love of his life on an April Day in a small town in Alaska. With her, Mary Douglass Bowman, he lived a life that would be hard to contain between the covers of a book, let alone be done justice within the limitations of this mournful missive. Any roll call of the lives he touched would be incomplete as he lived a life of service to the communities he lived in, seeing people sometimes in the worst day of their lives and using his training and native intelligence to save lives and try to mend what was broken. We can note those with holes in their hearts never again to be filled. Mary, with her constant companion gone. John Patrick Mihelic, a little brother now without his boyhood protector. Children Amanda Marie, Catherine Ann, John Edgar, and Norman Joseph left with only their memories. Grandchildren Bonnie, Joe, and Lilly for whom he will live through our stories. (Integrate this better w/ spouses and married names w/r/t genre conventions and those who proceeded in death).

We mourn Doctor Mihelic because of these stories. We mourn a man who saw the world as it was and tried to create a new reality around him. He did things his way. He did this in part because he had to. Born in the South End of Saint Joseph, Missouri, options were limited. You could work at the slaughterhouses, or you can seek your story in the wider world. His ticket was the military, signing up to serve his country in 1969.

Charles Joseph MIhelic: Obituary

Charles Joseph MIhelic, MD, most recently of Shinnston WV, passed away on the morning of February Second, 2020. Doctor MIhelic lived a full life that would be hard to summarize in the space here. Joining the Army in 1969, he left his hometown of Saint Joseph, Missouri where he was born October 19th, 1951 and saw the world. With the experience gained as a medic, he was inspired to continue his education at the University of Missouri - Kansas City where he graduated with both a bachelor's degree in chemistry and an MD.  During this time, he met the love of his life, Mary Douglass Bowman while they were both living in Alaska, marrying September 13, 1977. The couple moved back to the lower 48 and he served communities in the midwest as an emergency room physician. From there, he rejoined the Army as an officer, serving in various capacities including aiding in the liberation of Kuwait in 1991 during Operation Desert Storm. Leaving the military, he made a home in West Virginia, touching many lives in a quarter century of work prior to his recent retirement.

Doctor Mihelic was preceded in death by both his parents, Carl and Catherine “Mimi” Mihelic (Waitkos) and his stepfather Cecil “Babe” Waitkos. Many are left who mourn him and in whose memories he lives on. A complete roll-call here would be impossible, but it starts with his loving family: Wife Mary MIhelic of Shinnston; brother John Patrick Mihelic of Saint Joseph; Daughters Amanda MIhelic and Catherine Schlobohm; Sons John Edgar Mihelic and Norman Mihelic; Niece Emily Mihelic; Nephew John Joseph MIhelic; Son-in-law Scott Schlobohm; Daughter-in-law Anita MIhelic; and grandchildren Lilly Rae Wissler, Joseph Gary and Bonnie Louise Schlobohm. We are remiss not to mention the many friends of the family for whom he served as a mentor and a father figure. He will be greatly missed.

Visitations will be held from 2 pm to 4 pm and 6 pm to 8 pm at Harmer's Funeral home in Shinnston, WV on Thursday February 6th, 2020. On Friday the 7th a Celebration of Life will be held at the American Legion in Shinnston from 5:30 pm to 9 pm. We invite all friends, family, and past coworkers to attend these functions and celebrate the life of a wonderful husband, father, healer, and friend to many in the community.

In lieu of flowers, he requests that donations can be made in his name to Wounded Warriors or the Harrison County Humane Society.

The day my father died

The day my father died was an unseasonably warm day where I lived.

The sun was shining for the first time in what felt like months.

We had stayed out late the night before, so we lingered in bed, and the cats enjoyed the sunbeams. We did our normal morning things - made love and I cooked pancakes and eggs.

We were watching a random episode of Bob’s Burgers and digesting as I reached over for the phone to mindlessly play with it, putting off the moment I would have to start my homework.

The day my father died was notable for others. The Chiefs were playing in their first Super Bowl since my father was a young man. Though I think almost thirty years of living in northern West Virginia made him more of a Steelers fan than the team of his youth in the northwest Missouri. 

The groundhog was to make an appearance, but the groundhogs are many and I still haven’t seen their answers. The date was funny, a palindrome of note.

None of that matters because I picked up the phone and I saw my sister was calling. I love her but we don’t chat on the phone. Not a good sign. She asked if I was in a good place to hear bad news, a thoughtful touch we learn in sales training applied to a different sort of phone call.

The day my father died was today, and I’m still not sure what to do. I cried. I cleaned some dishes. I took a walk. Just last night in the shower I was thinking of how little time there is left, for all of us. I lamented that I wasn’t closer to him but wasn’t sure how to start a conversation - he is very taciturn. Was, was very taciturn. Now more so. 

The good thing religion does is give us community, I thought. But then I realized today that it gives us ritual, a guidance on steps to take to mourn when we want to reach out but there’s nothing to grasp.