*Jerome-K-Moore

With this online art community, we have a unique opportunity to connect with our kindred. We must avail ourselves of this experience, for it may never come again.

Words are so woefully insufficient in times like these. But I'm moved to try using them anyway. This is no true comfort, only a clumsy attempt at some solace for those whose lives were graced by Mike Wieringo.

So, what is there to say? Our number here is now diminished by one.
I never had the privilege of knowing the man. And though I was urged by mutual friends to call him and talk, procrastination beguiled me into thinking I had more time.

I was told he was a gentle being, a man of little ego despite his monumental talent. He was an affable nice guy, eager to share, learn, and teach. And now he is gone. In a blink.

44 years is too short a time. But so is 100. So is 1000, in the grand scheme of things. Man is a fragile and fallible creature that walks this Earth for a brief span, and then his flickering flame goes out. And so now we grieve for Mike. Those who knew him must remember.

And yet, after a while, it's best to reflect without sadness, but joy. That's how Mike would've wanted it. Most of us would, wishing for no one to suffer. Remember him with a warm smile. The Good Book tells us that better is the day of a man's death than of his birth. The wisdom in this is in the comparison of a beginning's promise, and an ending's fulfillment of promise. Yes, there were many thing's Mike left undone, unfinished, unrealized. But there's so much he accomplished. His character touched the loved ones in his life. His work reached out to countless more, and his final journal entry here testifies to his gratitude at being among us.

There is a unique bliss we as artists share. Along with all the memories everyone else leaves behind, whether in voice or image recording, artists also leave behind a part of themselves in their work. We stand alone in this kind of legacy as creative people. We live on in other's hearts. But our work adds a tangible reminder, a palpable one. We reach out with the paintings we paint, sculpture we sculpt, cartoons we animate, photos we take, buildings we design, songs we sing, poems and stories we write, and comic books we draw. I know that whenever I gaze at his art, I'll see Mike, even though I never met him.

There is no earthly logic in death, only consistency. There is cause, but never any satisfactory reason. We can only hold on tight, and cherish every moment. Take nothing for granted. Remember to tell family and friends that you love them. Remember to laugh together, and let go of foolish disputes. Tomorrow is not promised, and in an instant we are gone, as gossamer wisps on a breath of wind.

We are diminished.

But I still believe that a Higher Power has something in store for us... something far more than any of us expect or can conceive of.
And so I cannot bring myself to really say good-bye to Mike...
I think I'll just say-- I'll see you later.

Until then... Farewell.