Rest in peace,
Alexander Malachi Archer.
(formerly Michael R. Holt)
He has gone to meet the Great Programmer(s) of this Simulation Universe, and sincerely hopes to be born next into a young man on an Iron Age earth, in a Northern territory, thousands of miles from any other people, preferably with a tool or two.
He always told me that he loved three things most on this Earth: his three children (Elisabeth, Abigail, and Michael), Comedy, and fighting. Alas, he has given up the third. His sleep apnea progressed in the time I knew him to where he was constantly fatigued, which caused him to gain weight and grow exceedingly depressed. His near-constant migraines didn’t help, either. Near the end, his back began becoming his enemy as well, as he’d often strain 2 or more muscles at a time merely with a forceful sneeze.
Still, even though his family forsook him (through ignorance or willfully), he found happiness here in the mountains. He’d often tell me that this was his own slice of heaven. And then with a tear always in his eye, he’d say it would only be perfect with his children here. He loved them of necessity from afar, and had he not made me promise to say no more of his wicked family he left behind, I could catalog every manipulative and evil trespass his ex-wife, mother, and others had done to him.
He was a good man. A comical man. His sense of humor often took me by surprise, even in the roughest of times – of which he had many. He’d reference things I hadn’t heard of, even as his cognitive functions and recall waned. His near-encyclopedic knowledge of movies, TV, and Comedy itself was truly daunting, but always entertaining. He had a way of telling a joke that, even if you didn’t know what he was talking about, would still compel you to laugh.
I’ll never be able to see his children, other than the many photos he’d show me that he had saved from times when his ex wasn’t blocking her Facebook. But I know how much he loved them, missed them, and wished every advantage for them – advantages that, in his poor and broken state, he knew that he could no longer provide. He’d tell me often of Elisabeth’s unbridled cheerfulness and innocence and how her sweet smile would light up a room. He told me of his daughter Abigail, who he saw (for better or worse) as the most like him, the most adventurous, the most clever. And he told me of his precious, charismatic son Michael, whom he hoped would one day throw off the name that was forced upon him and take up the mantle of the name that he had chosen, becoming Alexander Malachi Archer the Second (II).
No… he never got to see them again. The money that his ex held over his head (all while she hypocritically claimed she didn’t need it) was enough to prevent him from even calling them… which, of course, was just what she wanted anyway. (Sorry, Lex – I had to say it.) Still, his children never left his heart or mind. I even would see him hugging his puppy Dragon sometimes extra hard when he thought I wasn’t looking, and whispering, “I love you, kids!” For a man that I never once saw in the presence of his children, he was the most loving Dad I’ve ever known except for my very own.
His wish was to hold out long enough until he could win the lottery or collect some windfall or even sell an excellent book so that he could build the castle he’d always dreamed of here in these very mountains… to have a home at last where his children could be proud to see him. But the money never came, and his failing health prevented him from finishing any further written works – even though he would tell me of the most fantastical ideas that I could swear had never been written upon. The wasting of his mind was, unbeknownst to them, a terrible blow to the only readers he ever cared to see his stories… his children.
He gave up the fight today, and only wished that I quote Horatio for his eulogy, such was the beautiful simplicity of this, my best friend of the past two years. Because I knew him best, when he showed me this blog among his many internet bookmarks (He graciously made a gift of his computer to me.), I knew that he wouldn’t mind greatly if I took the time to say the goodbye that he didn’t. He wanted to call his kids one last time… tell them how much he loved them, but in the end decided that it was better that they think him already dead, as his ex and mother no doubt led them to believe. I’m sorry again, Lex my brother, but I just didn’t think that was good enough. Someone that knows your children will see this (I know it!), and they will tell your children of your great love so that they may remember you fondly, apart from any vicious lies your former family may have told them.
After this post, I will delete this page from his bookmarks and never visit it again under his login, so there will be no comments posted. His unmarked grave in the mountains here will be all that is left of him besides his wonderful children.
The rest is silence.