Mike Welker

Three months after my discharge from the Marine Corps, at 22 years old, I met my wife Megan, on December 10th, 2002. The very next day, I was drawn like a moth to a flame into dealing with a long term, terminal illness. Megan had Cystic Fibrosis, and after 8 years or declining health, she received a double lung transplant, and a new lease o life. Our daughter Shelby was born in 2007.   In early 2014, those recycled lungs, which had brought our little family three years of uncomplicated health and happiness, finally began to give out.  She died from chronic organ transplant rejection on November 19th, 2014 while I held her hand and let her go.   I'm a single father and widower at 34 years old, and no one has published a manual for it.  I don't fit the mold, because there is no mold.  I "deal with it" through morbid humor, inappropriateness, anger, and the general vulgarity of the 22 year old me, as if I never grew up, but temper it with focus on raising a tenacious, smart, and strong woman in Shelby.  I try to live as if Megan is still here with us, giving me that sarcastic stare because yet again, I don't know what the hell I'm doing.


White Noise

I’m going to (try to) keep this short, simple, and to-the-point.  Megan’s birthday was yesterday...the third since her death.  She would have been 36, which, for someone born in the early 80’s with Cystic Fibrosis, is twice the normal life expectancy.  

The first thing I thought of when I opened my eyes in the morning yesterday was Megan’s birthday.  It was the last thing that went through my head as I closed them in the evening.  Her birthday cycled through my head off-and-on all day, just as it had been doing for the past few weeks.  

It is what it is.  It’s white noise.

 

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Life Getting in the Way

It’s not exactly a secret that sometimes, I just can’t foresee a good subject for my weekly writings here.  I’ll pine over ideas to see if they spark something, thinking about if there were any milestones, anniversaries, or triggers in the past week.  More often than not, I’ll find a nugget of something and expand upon it, and sometimes, a halfway decent writing comes out of it.

But sometimes there just isn’t a good inspiration.  I’ll “pocket” some ideas for later, like Megan’s birthday (next week) and our anniversary (three weeks from today), knowing full well that the emotions, and subsequent words are going to flow easily at those times.  Still though, it leaves me sitting here on some Tuesdays asking myself the following question.

“What should I be thinking and writing about right now?”

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Of the many titles I've held (Marine, Husband, Engineer, Brother, Son, Uncle), the one I am most proud of is "Father"
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