Michal Lee Riptide Juruc (29 June 1988 – 4 October 2007)

Dear Michal,

I am so heart broken to know that you, my dear youngest cousin, are gone. Joshua and I are both so sorry that we are not in Toronto to say a final good bye to you.

I feel especially full of sorrow because I am not there for your dad, my wonderful and irreplaceable Uncle Paul; for your sister, my beautiful cousin Samantha; for your mom Karen and your brothers; for Nonna Anna and Zio Vittorio, and for my parents and sisters and the rest of our amazing family.

Mike, I want you to know that no matter where I am or what I am doing, my family is always in my thoughts and in my heart. This is the case because your parents and mine have all taught us the value of our family. I feel my connection to our family more profoundly right now, even though we are several oceans apart. I know your loss hurts us all so much because we cannot stop thinking you are too young, too full of potential to not be living anymore.

I have some things to tell you, some things I never thought to voice before now and some realizations I had since I learned of your passing.

Mike, I’ve always thought that you had the coolest name: Michal Lee Riptide Juruc. And your dad is the coolest uncle for naming you that, and also for making sure we all got to hang out and have fun together as we grew up.

I know me, my sisters and your sister teased you sometimes for getting out of washing dishes and for getting better gifts from Nonna because you were the only grandson. I hope you know that the teasing was only a silly way to give you our attention and our love. We were grateful that you were you and present in our family, even if it took until you were taller than us to begin washing the dishes.

Perhaps it sounds a little embarrassing for you to hear that since you were little I’ve thought your big doe eyes, crazy long eyelashes and often flushed cheeks made you look like a cherub-faced angel.

In the last couple of years during family gatherings for holidays and my wedding, I noticed that a tall and handsome young man was replacing your cherub-baby face.

I had the great fortune of last seeing you when I was home in July at a birthday party for your dad, our Nonna and you. I was rather startled to see how much more of a man you seemed than a boy. You made such an impression on me that I had to take your photo. You kept ducking my attempts, but I finally caught your full face in a frame, long eyelashes and all. I was quite curious about this man you were becoming.

I was thinking at the party how much I was looking forward to coming back to Toronto after my travels to reconnect with our family. I even said as much when, while washing dishes after the party, I mentioned to my mom and Uncle Paul that I wanted to be part of a family trip to a cottage, the one your dad likes to rent in the summer for a week or so on Sauble Beach. I hope we still get to do this. I think you would have wanted us to continue having fun times like this together even if you can’t be there.

I learned of your passing while I was in a place in India called Kanyakumari. I tell you this because Kanyakumari is a profoundly spiritual place. It is the southern-most point of India, where three bodies of water meet: the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea. People flock to these waters to bless themselves. Even some of Gandhi’s ashes were scattered in the blue waters of Kanyakumari. All this inspired me and Joshua to each toss a flower garland into the sea and light candles at a nearby church to remember you.

The winds and waves in Kanyakumari are tremendous and a sight to behold. I tell you this because as I watched those huge pounding waves, I was overcome with sorrow. You would never see what I was seeing, and I wouldn’t even be able to share my experience with you in person. You are fresh and green; a full life was before you. You are not supposed to go before the rest of us. We are supposed to go first so we can welcome you when it is your time. But as the sun set and those waves began to mesmerize me, I realized that you were not alone when your time came.

You are the namesake of our Nonno Mike, who unfortunately you never met in life. But I knew him and I know his heart was so full of boundless love for all his grandchildren. Whenever I would visit him as a child, which was almost everyday, he would have a couple of squares of Jersey Milk chocolate for me. After he died, our family found a whole drawer full of that chocolate. I think he must have been stashing it for all the grandchildren who he knew were still to come. As the sky became streaked with orange, pink and red at Kanyakumari, I knew for certain that you were with Nonno Mike. And I’ll bet he greeted you with a piece of chocolate when you met him.

This all said, Mike, there is still a hole in all our hearts that can never be filled. Although our family and this world will not be the same without you, I also know that any pain and suffering you may have had in life is over. I truly believe that death is not the end, but a new beginning. It just really sucks that those of us still living can’t still talk to you and hear your voice, and give you a big hug when you’re in this new place.

So my cherub-faced cousin, watch over us, especially your parents and siblings. Say hello to Nonno Mike for me. And perhaps save a little chocolate for the rest of us.

I love you very much.

Your eldest cousin,
renée

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For more photos of Mike, which can be viewed as a slideshow, see the Michal Lee Riptide Juruc photo set.

A version of this post will be read at Michal’s funeral on 11 October 2007, in Brampton, Ontario.

With the support of Michal’s father and sister, the Mercuri family are establishing The Michal Juruc Memorial Scholarship, to remember Mike. If you are interested in supporting our efforts and have a few dollars to spare, please contact me or my parents, if you already have their contact info, for details.