Most of the time, he sat alone—east side of the church where the light falls through in glow onto morning Mass. Without knowing, he was unsuspecting, easy to miss until—in repetition—one noticed how consistently he was there, everywhere it seemed.
If God ever places angels among us, I believe they’d be like him—forgettable to strangers, a face in the crowd, until you begin to discern and see that they are always there.
I learned him most through Knights of Columbus. I don’t know how long he held the position, but he’s the only recorder for our chapter that I have ever known. He wrote, recorded, and saved every minute of every meeting for years on years on years. If ever I had a question, he always had an answer—right then or knew right where to find. Every volunteer event for Knights, he was there: Salvation Army, Coats for Kids, Tootsie Roll Drives, Door of Hope, church breakfasts, meals, and picnics. He was the same for our Senior Center, county museum, and library where he worked and retired.
I never saw him mad. I only saw him care—love—in one the simplest, unselfish, and most pure of heart ways I’ve ever encountered in another.
If God ever places angels among us, I believe they’d be like him.
Every event, every meeting, he always brought cookies—chocolate chip—of a family recipe learned from his mother when he was young. Always, as he, the cookies were there. Always, they were eaten. Always, they were enjoyed—looked forward to by all.
One of my favorite memories of him is from a Thanksgiving Eve cutting turkeys in volunteering for our town’s Senior Center’s dinner. I brought my boys who mostly played as the rest of us carved birds. Between the playing and moments of aid, again and again they returned to the containers of his cookies. If I was to guess how much they ate, I would guess in number of pounds and not in cookies. Then, when the work and our time were through, he sent us home with bags of even more on top of all we’d eaten.
At last month’s meeting, he sent us home with bags again.
“Take some home to your kids,” he told me and I did.
He thought of and ensured all my family received and had enough.
It’s the only meeting I remember of him bringing bags for cookies to take home and inviting everyone to go with extras and with plenty.
This year, my oldest children are undertaking the sacrament of Confirmation. One Sunday after mass, I asked him if he’d like to be their sponsor through the sacrament of our faith knowing—at every Mass and church event—he was always there, and helping.
He didn’t say “no,” but instead “we’ll see.”
And we have.
He is passed and in peace and loved and missed by those who saw and knew him in and apart from crowd.
Even if you never noticed, in this town, he was always there.
If God ever places angels among us, I believe they’d be like him.
His name was Michael Good.