Obituaries New Jersey Will Not Be My Brother's Last Words or Resting Place

The sun has set on the life of my father's son - my brother, Michael. He was taken too soon in my view. In God's time, he was taken at the perfect moment - exactly when his time to go had come. Only God knew that he would live fifty-six and one half years exactly - he died on his "half birthday " - November 4, 2011 which was just half way between his last and his next birthday. Our father had four sons and left us ten years ago. Our Father made Michael special -gifted and unique - and then he broke the mold. There were none like him before and there will be no other like him again. Michael James Gilligan was my brother and he was my best friend forever, my 'bff', as the kids text it. Rest in peace, Michael.

Obituaries New Jersey and Star Ledger Obituaries NJ provide only a snippet of Michael's life. Funeral services NJ , online obituaries NJ and Cindi's List fail to capture the measure of the great man and gifted human being that was my brother, Michael James Gilligan. They are in the snippet business of writing obituaries for the newspapers and online obituaries which never do justice to the life and times of men - unless of course, they are celebrities.

Michael was our family celebrity. He played guitar, wrote songs, sang songs, wrote poetry and performed stand-up comedy. He shunned celebrity and shared his gifts with his wife, Maddie, his sons Owen and Liam, his two sisters and three brothers and the extended Irish American family who knew him well.

In his youth, Michael stepped into the limelight wielding his beautiful Irish tenor voice in musicals at Lacordaire Academy in Montclair, New Jersey. At 15 he was cast as Charlie Beton in Brigadoon and won the hearts of the audience with his rendition of "Go Home with Bonnie Jean". At 16, he played a singing and dancing cockney character beside me in "My Fair Lady".

At 17, Michael was cast in a leading role of "Cocky" in Anthony Newley's "Roar of the Greasepaint, Smell of the Crowd." Mike performed all of the songs displayed in the accompanying videos. He became the character of this satire.

The lyrics of "This Dream" reflect many of our own hopes and aspirations to succeed and "...to kill every dragon in sight", but we inevitably awake to the reality of our shortcomings and failures.

The lyrics of "The Joker" reflect many of our own efforts to deflect our own emotional pain and loneliness with humorous quips and laughter. "There's always a funnyman in the game...".

Star Ledger obituaries NJ, online obituaries NJ and Funeral Services NJ would never record the details of the wonderful life lived to the fullest of Newley's "This Dream" lyric by my brother, Michael J. Gilligan.

Taken Too Soon

Before the sands of time have drained

A soul is lost to life’s hard strain;

For why must living be so pained?

All souls find rest in heaven’s reign;

ooOOoo

Earth’s turmoil retreats for the dead

But not for the sad survivors;

Release the soul to move ahead

Suffer the loss and stay alive for….

ooOOoo

scents of lilac in the summer

groan of pain as body withers;

warmth of body sharing slumber

moan of pleasure love delivers;

ooOOoo

notes of songbirds at the window

crocus sprouts at winter’s ending;

quotes of long words, thespians know

songs of musicals still ascending;

ooOOoo

Roar of greasepaint, smell of the crowd

My Fair Lady and Brigadoon;

Songs of the heart resound out loud

Unfinished play, taken too soon;

ooOOoo

Go home, Go home, my bonnie dream

To the heather of Crummis’ hills;

To the Lake with depths extreme

To the Father, Who heals all ills.

ooOOoo

sligobay

© 2011 Gerry Gilligan,

pseudonym- sligobay

All photos, poems and articles © 2011 Gerry Gilligan

Mike worked hard as a VP for the British bank, Loyds TSB and played hard.

In the afterlife, Mike's spirit will be felt on the beaches along the New Jersey shoreline. He'll be roaming the hills and climbing Mount Crummis above Lough Talt where his father's people laid their roots. He might grab a few small tasty trout from the Lake to fuel his journey in the next life.

Michael married an Irish lass, Maddie, on his mother's birthday and named his eldest son, Owen, after mom's father. His sons, Owen and Liam both shared Mike's passions. Mike was dedicated to his Irish parents who both loved golf and their Irish vacation home. Mercifully, both predeceased him.

Michael was an accomplished athlete as a long distance swimmer at Xavier High School, NY, NY, where he earned his varsity letters. He later became an anchor of the rugby scrum for four years at Boston College. He learned the game of golf alongside an accomplished player, his Dad.

At Forest Hill Field Club in Bloomfield, N.J., Michael won the coveted "green jacket" (and a fair bit of prize money) when he became the winner of "The Silver Putter Championship" with the now famous chip on the eighteenth green forcing the exciting playoff. Mike was in his "comfort zone" on any golf course and always remained competitive. He was fond of his golf junkets with the boys to Hilton Head and elsewhere, especially Ireland.

"People can be so cold, they'll hurt you and desert you, if you let them", are some poignant lyrics from Carol King, the songwriter. Mike was my "Irish Twin" born just twelve months after me. We always shared a room growing up. James Taylor was the artist who caused Mike to pick up a guitar and learn how to play and sing. I listened to more of his practice and performance than any other human being and I wasn't always kind or tolerant toward it or him. His poetry and song lyrics came next and he was the most sensitive and fragile soul that I have ever known in my lifetime. I will mourn his loss for the rest of my life and I feel as though my broken heart will never heal. I feel as though I let him down and could and should have been a better friend to him.

We knew each other so well when we were young. He needed me and I needed him. People spoke of us as one: "Mike and Gerry or Gerry and Mike". We grow into our individuality but I feel as though I have lost a part of myself - the better part. All of this is beyond my understanding. The emotional pain is relentless. My heart is no longer an organ but merely a gaping wound.