Michael S. Motsinger August 27, 1955–June 22, 2005
He was found slumped over the steering wheel in his truck at a local catfishing place. I got the phone call from his ex-wife, of all people.
I had known him for about 15 years. We worked together, fished together, went target shooting together, and I probably know more about him than anyone else does. We joked about being Mot & Nott. He regarded me as a guiding force in his life. He said I talked him out of doing stupid and crazy things. That’s true, I guess, but I wish I’d been better at it.
He had five heart attacks over a period of years, and he’d had bypass and heart valve surgery. About a week ago, he had a stroke. I really wonder if that was the first one. He knew death had him on a short leash, and I often dreaded the idea that I might be there at the end. Now, for brief moments, I think it would have been better if I’d been there.
Since I retired, I have been more and more isolated, and aside from my wife, he was my only close friend.
I’m doing okay, I guess. Now and then, though, I think about something he was going to help me do, and I remember I’ll never see him again. I miss him.