I did not have the privilege of knowing Mike Prichard all my life, the way I have with some of my friends. I had known his wife Chris for years, and in fact we had just taken an apartment on Grand Avenue, when she and Mike first met. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about all of that. Chris and I were supposed to be hanging out and having fun, but she was now spending most of her time with Mike, and I was spending most of mine sulking over losing my friend. Over the next couple months, as I got to know him better, I came to realize that I wasn’t losing my friend Chris, but rather gaining another named Mike.
I could see right away, that they were a good fit. Chris was an artist; a gifted photographer and painter. Though I knew Mike was a musician, he also had a creative sensibility about him that was recognisable. His medium of expression wasn’t necessarily the traditional canvas or mass of clay, but rather the things and places of everyday life. It was expressed when he cooked a really good meal for us, or when he restored an old piece of furniture. It was expressed in how he saw the potential of beauty in the most ordinary of places. It was expressed in how he viewed the world.
It came as no surprise, that he and Chris would marry. After they moved to Birmingham, we stayed in touch as long-distance friends do. Emails, phone calls, the occasional visit to Minnesota. I was proud to be able to witness the events of their lives- the arrival of the children, careers, the new restoration business. My mind’s eye could easily see he and Chris standing in some old, dilapidated house, looking around, then one of them asks “Well… what do you think?” Then a few months later, under their great care, eye for aesthetics and hard work, comes a beautiful house.
He, Chris and the kids were up for a visit just a couple weeks ago. How special I felt that they were making time just for me, in their busy schedule. I was invited to dinner. Mike was creating quite a spread for us, and as he did the three of us got caught up and the current events of our lives. All the while, he and Chris addressed with love and patience, the little dramas that unfolded with the kids. Who wanted what to drink, then changed their mind again…. Someone wasn’t playing nice with the air hockey game…. Mike and Chris are really good parents, I thought. When we sat down for dinner, Marley saw something curious on her plate, picks it up and says “Whats this?” “Its called courn (sp?) honey” Mike says. Looks like chicken, feels like chicken ands tastes like chicken. Only its not.” Marley rolls her eyes and drops it back onto her plate with plink. What a nice visit it was, and how I wish I would have stayed longer.
The world, especially my world, is a lesser place without Mike Prichard being part of it. I cannot what has happened. But I will promise Mike that I will care about the well-being of Chris and the children for as long as I am able.