In Rememberance
Whenever September 11th rolls around I think of Michael Peppard. He is no longer with us, though he didn’t pass away on 9/11. Rather he, as a Sergeant in New York’s 10th precinct, was one of the first responders to the scene. I’m not sure if it was that experience, or others in the line of duty, but he seemed very appreciative for every moment he lived and more aware than most that it could all end at any time.
Mike and I had a whirlwind relationship for almost two years, one that would teach me to live life to its fullest. We surfed, we skied, we traveled, we ate and we lived in a time before Instagram, when you did things because they were enjoyable rather than doing them to project a certain image. I taught him how to text message on his tiny silver flip-phone. I set up his MySpace profile and showed him how to upload photos, which I would later regret during a 9 day breakup. He was a stunner.
Mike had a way of living in the fast lane. Whether he was surfing in exotic locations in frigid water, jumping out of a helicopter to ski on fresh powder or driving in the break-down late at the speed of light, I was always inspired by him to let go a little bit more – but also afraid that he might meet an untimely demise. And he did. Late on Halloween night, 2007, his SUV was found going the wrong way on the Long Island Expressway.
When his brother called to tell me he was in an accident my mind went whirling around and I was mentally getting ready to grab a cab and nurse him back to health. But something in his voice gave me pause. I asked if he was alright and his said no, he’s gone. I was in shock and horror. It was the darkest, loneliest moment of my life. We had gone browsing for rings a couple months before and a week prior to his death he was at an investment property I owned, busting his tail helping my father renovate it. The last text I sent him the day before he died was “I miss you.” In response, the last text he ever sent me was: “I miss your dad.”
It took me a long time to get over losing him. Shortly after he passed I wrote his mother a long letter about how we met, the details of our good times and the great things I remembered about who her son was. He was a gentleman. He took care of people. He had a passion for life that I have rarely seen in my lifetime. Many months later she called to tell me how dear to her that letter was.
As time goes on, pain fades, as do some of the memories in between. I can’t help but be glad that I wrote that letter detailing some of my fondest memories. Though our minds become less consumed with our lost loved ones as time goes on, sometimes it is good to take a moment and reflect. To remember those we’ve lost and how their lives can inspire us to live better.
I know every time I hear the words of his favorite phrase, Carpe Diem, I will think of him fondly and try my best to seize the day.
