"Michel"                                                                                    photo by Chris S.

September 15, 2007

I only just found out that Michel has died. It was three in the morning of this very day.  My throat clenched and my tears spilled immediately. Then I threw up repeatedly.  I had just spent five hours on the Internet doing online searches and had come at last to him to read some of his online publications.  The last entry I found for him was a singular post in a scientific forum announcing: "It is with deep sadness that we inform you that  Michel S.  passed away at the age of 66, after a long illness, in Sauvenière, Belgium on Wednesday August 29 2007."  The post went on to speak about his education, his research, and that he was survived by his wife and two children. ( No mention was made of his grandchildren. I believe he now has two. )

This announcement  seemed like such a sparse summery for such a great man. So I humbly extend it here, knowing in advance that I cannot really hope to express the actual depth and true spirit of this gentle being: 

Michel Semet was one of the greatest human beings I have ever met. He was intelligent, subtle, and kind with a very dry sense of humor.  He was compassionate, curious, contemplative, and careful with his words. He knew how to say a lot distilled into just a little.  I never heard him raise his voice or get angry at anyone.  He was  one of those people who could just sit there observing silently, yet comprehensively.  His eyes always seemed to hold a sparkle of laughter. 

I had known Michel since I was eight or nine.  He was iconic to my childhood in that he seemed to represent a state of sublimity that was well worthy of imitation. The impression that he made on me was so profound that his way of being has remained an inspiration to me through out  my life. To be like him and to find others like him has been one of the larger motivations in my life, one that has proven to be much harder than I had originally thought it would be.  I must admit that I have come no where close to his example nor have I ever met anyone else as kind and as soft-spoken as articulate Michel. The world now seems like a colder place without him warmly in it. But I do believe in the persistence of spirit, so I believe he still exists, if not actually then,  in the hearts of all those others with whom he has come in contact and impressed with his manner.  My husband, then fiancé, met him only once, at a dinner at his home outside Paris, but walked away from that meeting with the knowledge that he had met a substantially different human being - someone unique and very evolved.  Michel did not say good bye that night but instead said to us upon our parting,  "Do that which is meaningful for yourself and others."  I suppose now I will think of that as Michel's epithet, even though no words can approximate him or summarize him. 

I remember  that he used to play the flute, to take little breaks from mowing the lawn to smoke his pipe and that he used to make coffee for his lovely wife, every morning.  He was as handsome as he was charming.

A million tender blessings of love and light to you dear Michel, may your character meme become the norm and the world at last be at peace.  I  will seek to do good deeds in your honor and to never ever forget you.

While I am deeply moved by sorrow at your passing, I do rejoice that you existed.

I send you my eternal love and respect and my sincerest condolences to your family, 

Victoria

                                                  
         e-mail to victoria@sciencevixen.com

And now I have just lost a member of my own family as well. Just last week on the 23rd of June, 2008, my uncle, David Vaughn died. He was an English Professor, beloved by all for his kind disposition, his sharp wit and his vigorous spirit. He was still cracking jokes from his hospital bed just hours before he passed. He survived for years with five different cancers, which finally pulled him down after a long and heroic struggle.  

He was an avid gardener, an enthusiastic birdwatcher, and he loved cross-word puzzles. Orange was his favorite color. As I was looking over his things, I found that he had more entries from friends in his high school yearbook of anyone I have ever seen.  

He died in the early morning during a thunderstorm.   I kissed him goodbye on the forehead, later in the day when the funeral home said it would be okay to come view the body, the first corpse I have ever kissed. He was very cold to the touch, as they refrigerate the body as soon as it goes to the funeral home.  I told him that I love him, hugged him. I stroked his cheeks and hair. I asked for a pair of scissors so I could cut a small lock of his hair to take with me.  I hoped that I would see him again. 

He did not believe in an afterlife or any continuation of the spirit at all. He just believed that we humans are all just clever monkeys and that when we die it is a final fall. He said that we might as well throw his ashes in the trash for all he cared. But even so, with a small group of his friends, we sprinkled his ashes in the garden he loved so well, the same place that he had scattered the ashes of his life-mate less than a year before, the same place where he had scattered the ashes of his mother, my grandmother over ten years before. 

The ashes of a body are surprisingly heavy, they don't tell you that. I stuck my hands into the black plastic box that housed his gray course ashes and drew out large handfuls, distributing it around into the flower beds. Soon my hands, pants and shirt were dusted with the ashes. I had to withdraw inside the house where I could find a private place to weep and scream. There I drew a bath and washed off the ashes. I lost track of time entirely and have no idea how long I was there. I felt so nauseated.  And days later I still do. Death, even when expected, seems like such a brutal surprise.