It’s been a week and half now since our friend Mike DeWolfe died, and I still can’t quite bring myself to believe that fact to be true. As Erinn acknowledged in her blog about Mike, he wasn’t at all well near the end of his life. I can’t even remember how many different hospitals/rooms we went to in order to visit Mike. But because he had survived so many close calls, it seemed that he would always survive the next one. The finality of death is something that seems incongruous with this friend who, in many ways, seemed larger than life.
When I first started working in Parkdale I would hear stories about famous “Iron Mike”, a ring leader and neighbourhood institution. Even then his brushes with death were legendary. At that point he was living in Newfoundland, and doing really well. He was healthy, working, and in a relationship.
Then Mike came back to Parkdale for a visit, and ended up staying. It was during this time that I got to know Mike. While I gather that the Mike I knew and loved was a dialed back version, he still had a huge amount of charm and charisma. He loved his friends, and would always ask how things were going for us at The Dale. He had a special spot in his heart for Erinn, and felt a great deal of concern for her and her family.
While I know that Mike was far from perfect and lived with much regret, he was an important part of many peoples’ lives, mine included. I was reading a Walt Whitman poem the other day about grieving the death of friend, and he used the phrase “large sweet soul that has gone”… and that made me think of Mike.
The photo below was sent to us from Mike’s son, and was taken decades before I met him. But this is how I imagine him now– with a huge, somewhat cheeky grin.
Peace to you, Mike.