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A Life Lived Simply

© Mari Brodersen

Living simply concerns not only the material and physical aspects of being, but also how one chooses to live, the "unseen" parts of our lives, our emotional cores. The recent death of an acquaintance reminded me of a friend who knew how to live simply from the inside out.

Mike was one year ahead of me in our residency program. I immediately liked him, probably because we had a similar sense of humor and similar points of view, which were out of step with the mainstream. Unlike many recent medical-school graduates, Mike had not gone out to buy an expensive car and designer clothing. Residents really don't make enough money for such luxuries. So Mike dressed in a simple and down-to-earth style and drove a trustworthy, practical car.

Mike always seemed to take things in stride. Nothing seemed to ruffle him. Even the monthly "flagellation" meetings, where residents were chastised for not having paperwork done by certain deadlines, didn't bother him. Instead he got a chuckle out of the pompous bureacracy that manufactured so much paperwork. Unlike most residents, he didn't become angry or frustrated -- it seemed that nothing ruffled his feathers.

Mike lived and worked at his own pace. He never hurried, yet he always completed his work on time. His patients loved him because he took his time with them, and the hospital staff liked him because he was both competent and empathic.

He didn't live to work, but rather worked to live. Again, unlike many residents, he had important interests outside his work.

He seemed to always have a smile and a joke, even when he became ill. Mike had started to take some sick leave and he didn't look well, but he never complained. He carried his illness lightly. Consequently, it was some months before we knew how sick he really was.

Our denial of Mike's condition shattered when he was hospitalized with a particular type of pneumonia. Even though his immune system was failing, we all hoped and prayed that he would pull through. The last thing I ever said to Mike was, "I love you."

When I went to work one morning and heard that he had passed during the night, I refused to believe it until I heard it from three or four people. Then the tears began. A few days later, most of us attended his funeral service. Rather than celebrating his life, the service centered around Mike being a "sinner." Knowing that this is part of that denomination's liturgy still didn't help. I was incensed that anyone could even think of gentle Mike as a "sinner."

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