Author"s note:
     I am a lung cancer patient, a social worker and a writer who met Mike 2 and a half years ago when I was newly disgnosed and facing a bleak prognosis. I told him I was afraid I wasn going to die. He said, "We're all going to die; it's how we live between now and then that counts".
     He was very generous with his time, and he changed me and so many others. He taught me to live without bitterness or regret. He always made me laugh. He taught me compassion for those who didn’t understand or chose a different way to cope. He taught me how to inspire others and to live in gratitude.

     So many people came up to me at Mike's memorial on Palomar Mountain and asked for a copy of the tribute poem I wrote for him and read aloud, I told them I would post it on this site. So here it is.


     Mike Stevens, Remembered
                                    By Kee MacFarlane, September, 2013

Tall, gangly soldier,
you were drafted into leadership by catastrophe;
by a death sentence said to be imminent.
You were a big-grin, California dreamin'
kind of guy before cancer's bomb blast.
"Cancer?", you said, "I knew nothing, nada."
But you saw the ugly face of your opponent.
and eventually, declared war.

Armed with inherent smarts, tenacity, the Internet,
and enough charm to win allies everywhere,
you set out to take on the beast.
You sold your business, settled your affairs,
and braced your family for battle.
You began gathering an army,
collected doctors who were up for a good fight,
and marched ahead.

Lung cancer's chilling survival odds
are paralytic;
stopping most newcomers in their tracks,
you powered on.
"It's a statistic, don't dwell," you preached.
You buried yourself in information,
strapped on the shoes of public service,
and found a home in the Lung Cancer Alliance.

When you discovered that this cancer's
lack of funding for research and treatment
was related to the stigma of smoking
(despite its standing as cancer's biggest killer),
your indignation carried you onward for years.
But, unlike some others affected directly,
you never responded with rage or self-pity,
"I didn't smoke either"; you'd say, "Let it go.".

While cancer stalked you all those years,
you lived your huge life;
one adventure, one accomplishment,
one hug at a time.
Building your hideaway on Palomar Mountain,
traveling, fishing, hunting, camping with pals,
sustained by your beloved family;
you were teaching us all how to live.
"Life is short; don't let cancer steal the fun."

Even as you lived large and fought for the survival of others,
you also fought for your own life.
You became a fearsome warrior;
found people who were fighting the battle in other places,
and followed the research with your warrior doctor.
You volunteered for dangerous outposts;
scouting for available trials and experimental weaponry.
"You gotta keep your next treatment options handy
for when the current one fails."

You were cut, radiated, scanned, toxified and cyber-knifed.
As the enemy advanced and threatened various parts of you,
you dug in. "I give no ground; it's trying to kill me again."
You endured procedures and drugs
that made you so ill you said you thought you might die.
"Just kidding", you'd say later, "Life is good; bring it on."
That year you showed up for your relay fund-raiser,
with pain visible in your eyes, and a smile visible above your neck brace,
you said, "Hospital? Maybe later. This is my baby and, right now,
we're gonna walk this thing if it kills us."

You ARE Gladys-the-Chicken,
(you loved that nickname); the last hen still standing,
dodging, flying and hiding under the porch at year's end
when the coyotes got all the rest.
You are the flag that waves ahead,
high above the front lines for us to see.
You are the marching boy, playing the piccolo, beating the drum.
You are the poster child for grabbing what you've got
and making it count.

Cancer may have taken you before your time
but you know you won this war;
the war you were probably sent here to fight.
You became the one we point to, look to, learn from;
the one we tell about to the new ones,
to the shell-shocked, or the ones who've lost hope.
Have you heard about Mike? Have you heard him speak?
Here's what he always said about that.

Your legacy lives not only in your family
but in those of us who live on to fight your fight.
Here, where your voice is still heard above the din,
where your inspiration spurs us forward,
and your spirit and humor make us so grateful
that you managed to stay among us for so long.

Your big heart outlives the war-weary body you leave behind.
It lives in the hearts of the thousands you touched.

If, as they say:
"Those who live in the hearts of others will never die",
then you are still... right... here.

Such a sad loss of such a sweet man. I remember Mike most from highschool. All those years ago when all the guys had longer hair than the girls. Mike was always one of them. His hair was gorgeous but it paled in comparison to his personality and pleasant smile. I never saw Mike upset. He was always so upbeat and full of life as he bouced around campus. We were fortunate to go to a good school that many would admit they would go back and do again. Good people and good times. Im lucky to have had Mike pass my way. He will truly be missed <3

I'm one of Mike's "Lung Cancer Buddies".  I first met Mike at a Moores Cancer Center Lung Cancer Group.  But I had heard of Mike well before - he was legendary for his long Stage 4 survival and more.  He was amazingly active in the Lung Cancer community and very experienced will all things Lung Cancer.  He personally advised and helped me at critical points in my lung cancer journey.

At one of the Lung Cancer Group meeting I was reminded and shared a story.  I had a friend who's father owned a ranch 10 miles east of Temecula - what I called "three dirt roads from civilization".  This was when I-15 was still being completed and Temecula was just transitioning from a small rural community to bomming bedroom giant that it is today.

The ranch was all alone and you could shoot rifles off the porch and skeet at the fence line.  As you can see it was a VERY rural area at that time.  The ranch had horses, several dogs, a stray cat or two and many coyotes that controlled the night and roamed freely from out of the hills to and across the ranch.  One day my friend's father brought home some chicks.  At that time he had two small children and it was a delight to see them play with and feed the baby chicks.

But as nature will have it's way, the chicks and later the chickens began to disappear one-by-one.  That is all except the one the kids had named "Gladys".  Gladys was smarter than your average chicken.  She seemed to know how to avoid the nightly visits by the coyotes.  Some times Gladys hid under the porch or maybe up on a branch of an oak - but month after month and later year after year Gladys survived and prospered.

I said to my fellow Lung Cancer patients that Mike seemed to be the "Gladys the Chicken" of our small Lung Cancer group or maybe all of San Diego - wise and crafty, always finding a way to survive and prosper, living long and being an inspiration to all the rest of us.  Kee Macfarlane and my wife and I even donated to Mike's "Breath of Hope Walk" Team under the nom de plume of "Gladys the Chicken".

Mike (ne' Gladys) we will miss you.


Louis Misko, Amy Del Nagro & Kee Macfarlane