Category: Atlanta

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Memory submitted by Jack Senterfitt

When did you meet Mickey?
1975

Where did you meet him?
When we first babysat Abby, through Morningside Babysitting Coop

Memory of Mickey
In 1980 I was riding my bicycle home from work in downtown Atlanta and was hit by a car, almost killed, taken to Grady Hospital. Mickey came to the hospital to run interference with the doctors for Trisha, to help her make decisions on moving me to Piedmont, etc. My first conscious memory after that accident was in the ambulance when I was moved, I looked up and Mickey's face was the only thing I saw–he rode in the ambulance with me. He and Sharon kept up the vigil for the whole time I was in the hospital, visiting, Mickey talking to me about the psychological impact of such a severe physical injury, how he was going to use my case in his teaching doctors how to be more empathetic to this aspect. And after I got home, he and Andy Lipscomb came over and built a wheelchair ramp to our backdoor for me. I can still remember his laughter as he and Andy worked. He counseled me on what to expect as I healed, especially how the psychological aspect would likely eventually outweigh the physical.

He was right, of course, and when it did all come crashing down around me, Mickey came to our house late one night and stayed with me through probably the longest night of my life, helping me through this crisis and convincing me of how much I needed continuing counseling. So Mickey quite literally saved my life, like he did for so many others–and for that I'm forever indebted to him, but also to Sharon and Abby for being willing to share him and allow him to do what he did for me.

Over the years Trisha and I spent a lot of time with Mickey and Sharon–camping at our secluded spot on Lake Altoona–where Mickey built little sailboats with Todd, who was just a toddler, and then he lit the little boats so the flame's heat would propel them out into the water. Todd was fascinated, especially when it rained most of the day and Mickey convinced him that it really wasn't raining! Here was this brilliant man, one of the smartest people I've ever met, who was sitting down in the muddy shores of the lake, making little sailboats with a small child, and having so much fun doing it–pretty awesome!

In 2013, when Trisha and I were RVing around the country, Mickey and Sharon flew to Baltimore and we spent a week together visiting Ft. McHenry, Annapolis, the Civil War Museum of Medicine in Frederick, MD, the Amish country and Gettysburg Battlefield. Especially in the medical museum it was fascinating to hear Mickey's comments, as a doctor, on how the triage system developed during this war has changed so little since then. What fun it was, with Mickey's sense of humor keeping us all laughing.

So many memories of Mickey through the years, staying up all night roasting the pig for the neighborhood picnic; then the year after of my bike accident, he and Andy driving his pickup to our house and lifting me in my wheelchair up into the truck bed and driving through the park to the pig! And one recent memory, of Mickey's speech at the celebration of his and Sharon's 50th anniversary. Mickey had something humorous to say about every guest who was there, yet his comments were also subtly profound, as he described the life he and Sharon had shared with all of the people there, over the years. And as he ended it, his moving tribute to Sharon and the love they had shared, was something for the ages. Yes, Mickey was brilliant, accomplished and successful in his profession. But most of all, he was true to himself and one of the most down to earth people ever. Godspeed to you, Mickey!

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Memory submitted by Jenny Carlsten

When did you meet Mickey?
1978

Where did you meet him?
Sharon and Mickey are friends of my parents

Memory of Mickey
It has been years since I have seen both Sharon and Mickey, but they were fixtures from my childhood. When I was a child the mothers were always the people most ingrained in my brain, of course there were fathers who stood out, but some of them, who are no longer present in my life, have faded from my memory. Mickey had such a presence, I may have been a little afraid of him as a child, but I also remember thinking that he was a funny guy. I remember his voice most distinctly and the twinkle in his eye. I know that he is missed, his passing had an effect on me that I would have never imagined and he wasn't part of my everyday woodwork. Sending you all lots of love and light.

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Memory submitted by Chris Wells

When did you meet Mickey?
1974

Where did you meet him?
Morningside

Memory of Mickey
Mickey and Sharon were among my parents' best friends, so he was a regular presence in my life. We'd take walks through the neighborhood and end up at their house. Mickey would invariably be tinkering with something–a homemade computer, a homemade printer, a recipe, a gadget, a half-built boat in the basement. And as he did, he'd tell stories and crack jokes–always with a twinkle in his eye–and still somehow manage to ask questions about me, and what was going on in my life, in a way that displayed genuine interest, no matter how interesting my answers. He was one of a kind, and we were all lucky to have him in our lives.

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Memory submitted by Jennifer Vance

When did you meet Mickey?
1983

Where did you meet him?
Through his daughter, Abby

Memory of Mickey
My heart hurts. Because Abby’s father is gone from Abby and Sharon’s life (as well as from the lives of many others for whom, Mickey was an integral part such as Caitlin and joyfully, many others).

I didn’t have a part of this relationship — only coming to know Abby in middle school, and for reasons too foolish to have relevance now.

For me, Dr. Nardo is Abby’s Father, and Sharon’s Partner in life. I never knew about the myriad kindnesses he and Sharon showed to many people while they were growing, hurt, changing and surviving and ultimately, thriving. I am so glad to know of these goodnesses through this group. I love everyone’s stories posted here.

On a self-focused level — because this is a time of “our time” — my heart aches keenly because of the loss of parent. While the loss of a parent rips a hole in the Universe for many (and probably all), regardless of who we are and what our circumstances may be, what kind of person our parent may have been, and what person we may be or may not have (yet) become; AND because “becoming” continues to the last breath: I have many wonders about what any person’s last developmental thought may have been.

So on the selfish “me, me, me, us, us, us,” level: I keen the stress/severence of any chord that has been tempered and frayed between familial bonds. Whether they were strong or fritzed bonds — there are so many threads in the wool — some are not as powerful as others, but they all spin into thread — the quality of the yarn is borne across a landscape. I hold these threads in my hands, and I wonder, and I weep, and I gnash, and I rejoice. (Not necessarily in that order)

Six years ago, I faced similar. My father had a stroke and his life was guaranteed as a DOA. Fortunately and against any prognosis, Dad not only survived, he beat every odd in the books. But: This is not a story about my dad; I simply wonder at the workings of Things.

This is a story about those who continue: those who bear the grief and even the joy of the individual who transcends (whatever “transcend” may mean to anyone). Those who lift up. In sorrow. In song. In Peace.

I met Dr. Nardo exactly once. In the eighth grade when he came to the Challenge Class with Ms. Spurlock to talk about Freud. That’s it.

I grieve for Abby and Sharon and EVERYONE who sheltered in the warmth of what sounds like a wonderful haven of Grace. This is the gift of good people.
I am warmed by the stories of those who intimately knew.

For me, tangential empathy is real and all encompassing for all of you — and all of us.

I am having much of the Feels about this. I have lived in this ICU room. I know the salt. I know the heart. I know the end.

To Sharon and Abby and Mickey, and to you and your clearly extended family — I hug you with the heart of family — with its unbound meaning, depth, and scope.