Good-bye Michael Scott

I wanted to be like Michael Scott.

The news of his sudden, unexplained death on Monday morning shocked me to the core. The idea that someone I admired so much is dead - either by his own hand or by someone else's - is very difficult for me to believe.

Michael called a great number of people "friends." Unlike most people in politics it was not because he was playing them along, it was because, I believe, that he genuinely saw some good in everyone and wanted to identify with that goodness, no matter who it was.

With that qualification in mind, I think Michael called me a friend. In my mind, he was more than that. He was a mentor. On occasion he took time to counsel me, give me guidance, provide personal wisdom and relate his own life to mine. I had some chances to watch him work and admire his style and talent. I wanted to emulate him as much as possible - although I lacked his essential coolness of character.

There are certain people you meet in life that become models for your behavior. In my clearer-headed moments I would ask, "How would Michael handle this?" Then I would piece things together and try and be like Michael Scott.

That's why I'm having such a hard time with his death. I suppose now and then it seemed like something darker lurked beneath his surface - maybe that's where his boundless empathy came from - but I just can't believe the darkness was bad enough that he felt like he had no options.

That was one of the things about Michael: "Patience," he would tell me. "You never know what's going to come later on down the road." Coolness. Calm. Patience. Empathy.

But none of that jibes with suicide.

Then maybe he did kill himself. The evidence released so far points to that possibility so I have to prepare myself for that. Denying the possibility of suicide feels like I'm holding on to him a bit more. It is a temptation: As if I am defending his honor.

But the Michael I knew would shrug his shoulders, look down at the ground and probably say, "Well, you never can know someone else's thoughts." He'd give words of comfort and suggest we get on with living.

Dammit. I'll really miss him.