Michael Claude MarcusOctober 16, 1947 ~ September 10, 2017 (age 69)
Michael Marcus died on September 10, 2017. He was 69 years old, far too young to be taken from us. He would have turned 70 on October 16. I write this as Michael’s friend, companion and husband.
Michael was a singular man among so many men in the world. Ethical to a fault, he’d never, not even once, been known to lie – about anything for any reason. He was a generous man and a fair man. And when responsibility called, he wouldn’t stop until the job was done completely. That’s not to say he didn’t complain. He did, often and loudly. But these are attributes that could describe any number of men among us.
Just what is it, then, that separated Michael Marcus from the rest of us? Michael seemed to be governed by a predestined duty to family and friend, and never veered from it. Michael was innocent and worldly at the same time: He was comfortable in any country around the world, and yet cried when he sold any of the many cars he’d owned – he loved cars.
Michael believed that everything possessed a soul, and he lived his life accordingly. This was a large part of Michael’s allure: the Yin and Yang shining so brightly within one man.
First impressions are often just that: temporary impressions that are subject to erosion into some baser form. But not with Michael. The more time you spent with him, the richer the experience would become. If there were ever magic in the world, Michael embodied it. He made the world more fun, more comfortable, more loving, more generous, more secure, more rational and irrational at the same time…more beautiful.
But this is just the frosting of a life well lived. What made Michael truly unique was how he touched the people around him. This is the one shining, blindingly brilliant attribute of the man that was Michael Marcus. He was loved without reservation by every person who’d ever known him. He was truly a singular man.
I am honored to write these words about this man I loved so well. But I have struggled with it, not for its content, but just to keep the prose in the past tense. I would gladly give my own life for just another few minutes with Michael in the present tense.
Life can sometimes be reduced to simple sets of opposites: black/white; hot/cold; yes/no –Michael/No Michael. Even though it’s impossible at the moment to see the world through No Michael glasses, I’m told that he can be with us again whenever we want. We can always have Michael. He’s here in our hearts, smiling his broad smile, loving us as always. A light was lost this past Sunday, and thankfully not forgotten. Not ever. I love you, Michael.