Just one life

     A friend of mine died the other day. Not a close friend, to be sure; we only actually met two or three times about fifteen, sixteen years ago. He signed a couple of books for me, cracked some jokes. Later, with mutual friends, we ate dinner at a wonderful Mongolian barbecue place, and then retreated with those mutual friends to read Shakespeare out loud together. I spent perhaps five or six hours together with him in his actual presence.
     But I still called John M. "Mike" Ford a friend. He was that kind of a guy; while he was signing my copies of The Final Reflection and How Much For Just the Planet?, he made me feel like I was the only person in the room, put me at total ease in spite of my enormous nervousness. He chatted with me, asking questions about my life, my career in the Air Force, stuff he'd learned in tangents from message board posts in a science fiction forum we both participated in; I'd had no idea he even took the time to read my posts. He'd talk to you, and it was like he'd known you all his life.
     He was witty, he was funny, we was kind, he was disarming, he was brilliant...and he was perhaps the only real mad genius I think I've ever actually met. He knew something about everything, a talent he frequently put to use with his "Ask Dr. Mike" seminars at conventions. His mind was razor-sharp, all the time. He wrote in just about every genre there was, and won awards for a lot of it. He even won an award for a poem that had been, not too long before that, the verse he'd written for a Christmas card.
     Yeah, he was that good.
     As powerful as his mind was, though, his body was fragile. He'd been in ill health for most of his life. He was diabetic, and had undergone a kidney transplant. He often said that he probably wouldn't live to see 40. He did, though.
     But not much longer than that. Mike died over the weekend, at the age of 49, of unknown but probably natural causes. He left behind an all-too-small body of work...and a staggering number of friends who are still trying to get used to the idea of a world without him in it.
     And though I scarcely knew him, I count myself as one of those friends. I'm going to miss him terribly.

I did not know you, our lives never touched
'Til the day they gathered, to bid you farewell
And they painted your picture, and as I looked around
I felt I saw you in the words and the sound

Your talent came flowing, through the stories they'd tell
And through the faces of those who loved you so well
Your life gave them a treasure, a piece of themselves
Something they carry, and it still serves them well

Just one life, just one life, just one life
That is born, and is, and is gone
Just one life
And I'm so glad to know you as I know you now

Perhaps inside you, you were messed up like me
But to them you were whole and strong, a friend in their need
And what you left behind you and what swept over me
Says that your life's work rolls on and on, a piece of eternity

Just one life, just one life, just one life
That is born, and is, and is gone
Just one life
Did you ever have a chance to find out
What life is all about

I did not know you, our lives never touched
'Til the day we gathered, to say our farewell

-- Brian May, "Just One Life"