"The Evil Exists is a Pair of Train Tracks, and the Devil is a Railroad Car"

Dear Readers,

I'm not sure I've told this story to you or not, but I'm going to tell it regardless. When my nephew Sam was small, around 4 or 5 years old, he got in trouble. Hands over his face sobbing, I asked him what happened. His answer: "I have choices!" followed by more sobs.

Sam taught me a great lesson that day. Choices aren't always easy, in fact the older I get the harder they are. A few short weeks ago, I had this conversation with my dear friend Michael Birkenshaw. If you haven't had the great pleasure of knowing Michael, let me paint a picture of him for you. Tall, curly haired, extraordinarily handsome and charming, known for hitchhiking, fighting hobos, finding love everywhere from the streets of Oakland to my living room in Boise. His stories reach epic proportion, and to those of you who don't know him would find them completely unbelievable; those of us who do know him shake our head and say things like, "Only Michael."

Sorry to digress, back to my conversation with Michael. He had just returned to Boise from his adventures in the Bay Area. "Michael," I said, my nurturing instincts kicked into full gear, "I know you think my life is boring. Working a regular job, coming home and making dinner for my family. I know that a conventional life is something you can't fathom. But I worry for you, I worry about the decisions you make. I worry that you don't have food or a safe place to sleep. It's okay to have food and a safe place to sleep. You have people who love you that would take you in. You don't have to take the burdens of street life on." He smiled his heart melting smile at me and said, "Heather Plummer, I love you. I love your family. I'll find stability eventually. Please don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

I knew that talking Michael out of a life of self discovery wasn't possible, but I wouldn't be me if I hadn't have tried.

I wish that it had been surprising news yesterday morning when I found out that Michael had died. He was trying to get back to Boise by way of hopping trains, and somewhere in Oregon they found him by the tracks a broken man. I can't help but stand by Michael in his reckless choices now, even though I tried to talk him out of them. It is tragic but true that he was destined for a life less ordinary. Often with extraordinary experiences and moments of beauty, even more often with harsh realities and strange circumstance. One of the last things I said to him, sitting in Alia's eating bagels and drinking IPA, was that I wanted the rights to write his book. He said he would write his own and I could be his editor. It's sad that we won't have that chance now.

The last couple of weeks have weighed heavy on my heart. I don't like thinking about or watching my friends suffer. But with great pain comes great opportunity to love. I have never in my life had so much heartache. But I have never in my life been so grateful and full of love either.

Loren had me play the piano for him yesterday, and the only book I recognized was the LDS Hymn book. He asked me to play "Be Still, My Soul". What a comforting song, whether you're a pious person or not. "When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone, Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored. Be still, my soul: When change and tears are past, All safe and blessed we shall meet at last."

I love you Michael Birkenshaw, it was a pleasure to know you. I hope you found what you were looking for.

Sincerely,
h.