Michael and son Brandon – Halloween 1991

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Michael Corrier’s death, my husband of 11 years.

I hesitate to publicly acknowledge this date out of concern and respect for my husband Charlie. But, he’s mature and understands that this day is still a day that I stop and remember a man; a great man that was in my life for many years. Just because I have had the good fortune to meet and marry Charlie, doesn’t diminish the good years I had with Michael. 

Ten years is a long time to go without seeing someone, or talking to someone. Their voice becomes distant, their presence becomes less, their name comes up less often, and sometimes, the people around you never even knew that person.

Life goes on, with or without us.

And as true as those statements are, I stand firm in the belief that Michael Corrier is a man that will be missed and thought of for as long as some of us have a breath left in us.

In less than two weeks Michael’s son Brandon will be getting married to an absolutely wonderful woman named Kelsey. The Save the Date magnet has been stuck proudly front and center on my refrigerator for months now; only to be replaced recently  with the wedding invitation.

Brandon and Kelsey have been making preparations for months. The dress. The venue. The non traditional wedding cake. All the fun things (and some not so fun things) that it takes to host such an event.

And as happy and excited as I am for them, I’m so sad that his Dad will not be there to witness his son getting married. That moment of pride when a father looks over at his son standing at the alter, most likely remembering the day his son was born, his first steps, and so many other milestones that we are privileged to witness as parents. Mike won’t be there for that moment when Brandon watches his beautiful bride walk down the aisle. Standing in for Michael as best man will be Shane, my son, Brandon’s step brother. 

So let me tell you about this man named Brandon.

He came into my life in 1998 when his dad and I married. I thought step-parenting of two young kids would be a breeze. Boy was I wrong.

Just because I was ready to be a stepmother, didn’t mean that Michael’s children were ready to be stepchildren. I was met with reluctance and resentment. When Brandon and his younger sister Heather were with us, they missed their mom, and quite frankly, they didn’t want to be there with us.

Much of our first year of marriage was spent trying to adjust to being part time parents. (Shane had recently moved in with his own Dad).

Even though things weren’t ideal, we all got into a pattern, a routine. It made it easier that Brandon and Heather made friends with some of our neighborhood children. Summers were spent at the pool, cookouts, sleepovers; life as a stepmother, and life as a stepchild became easier, less stressful – and yes, eventually, actually enjoyable.

Michael always looked forward to seeing his children.  He would make it a point to stock up on groceries, look for movies to watch with them, anything to be able to spend time with them. I loved watching him interact with his kids; conversations that would take place over dinner, tucking them into bed at night; he loved being their dad.

I watched Brandon go from a little boy to an awkward adolescent (as most adolescents are). When he turned 13 or so he asked to come live with us. Thankfully, his mother agreed –  and that’s when I became his full time stepmother. Coincidentally, around the same time, Shane came back home to live with us.

Boy was my plate suddenly full! And awesome!

Those few years that Brandon lived with us is when I came to know him much better. Every morning I would take him to school. We had about a 25 minute commute – and don’t judge – but we bonded over listening to Mancow’s Morning Madhouse on the radio. In case you don’t who that his – Mancow is the name of a radio host that was loud, opinionated, irreverent, and sometimes inappropriate. It was mine and Brandon’s guilty pleasure.

As teenagers almost all of us go through a time when our dress or our hair (or both), drive our parents crazy. And Brandon was no exception.

All of his clothes were black. From his hat down to his shoes. With the exception of his gold chain that kept his wallet attached to his jeans. Goth, I guess… but it drove us crazy!

Thankfully, he grew out of that phase.

High school. Rugby team. Good grades. First job. First car. Graduation.

And then one weekend Brandon went out of town with some friends. And his stepfather had to make the impossible call in the middle of the night to Brandon.

“You need to come home. Your dad died tonight.”

Shocked.

We were all shocked by what happened. Suicide. Oh my God, why?

I believe that night Brandon became a man.

At the funeral service he bravely got up in front of everyone; steadily, without hesitation, never faltering.  He talked to this group of friends and family about his dad. About Michael’s  never ending love of family. Of friends. And his children.  Brandon talked about how his dad was always the last one to sit down for dinner, making sure everyone had everything they needed. He spoke of his love for his father. His generosity. The way he hugged, the way he loved.

I have never been more proud of Brandon than I was that night.

That was 10 years ago.

I have watched Brandon grow into one of the finest human beings on this planet. He could’ve used his dad’s death as a crutch, or an excuse not to succeed in life. Any lesser person would have. But he didn’t.

Brandon stayed by my side in the darkest of times, even while dealing with his own grief; when there were no answers to the questions. No rhyme, no reason. And even though we were “technically” not related any longer, he has never not been my son, and I have never not been his stepmother. He made the choice to stay in our lives after his father passed away, and for that I am eternally grateful.

This fine young man has completed college (he and Shane graduated on the same day). He has continued to advance in his career. And now, he will be marrying the love of his life.

We miss Michael. Some of us always will.

But I have been blessed to have a part of him continue to be with me through his son.

Michael’s legacy.  Brandon Michael Corrier.

So, next Saturday, as champagne filled glasses are raised and toasts are made, I will raise my glass and silently toast to Michael and the son he left behind.

Cheers to father and son. Cheers to your legacy Michael. You would be so proud of him, I know I am.

Wish you were here to see it all.