Last week my cousin Mike died and I barely knew him.

Mike’s mother and my father are siblings, but they aren’t close. Growing up, I didn’t spend any time with her family. I only have a vague memory of going to her house once when I was a small kid. And I think I remember my cousin Mike being there.

In high school, by accident, I happened upon my cousin Mike at my favorite surfing spot–Shark’s Cove in Capitola, near the end of 41st St. I remember my cousin telling me, as I paddled furiously into a wave, “Tee if you don’t catch this wave I’ll have no respect for you” with a huge grin on his face. Even though Mike had position, he let me have the wave. I caught it, and rode it into the cove. After our surfing session Mike invited me back to his apartment. I thought it was weird, and yet kinda cool, that he was rebuilding a classic motorcycle…in his living room.

Fast forward 20 years and I have another vague memory of discussing fly fishing on Putah Creek near Vacaville and Davis, where we both lived at the time. Maybe it was on Facebook, or in e-mail.  Perhaps at a family gathering. I don’t recall clearly.

And that’s it. That’s all I remember. That’s all I got. Just those three times.

Yesterday my dad texts me that my cousin Mike died of cancer. Mike?  Mike Knepp?  I had to Google his name. I found out that he was 64.

64. Geez. My mom was 64 when she died. Mike was 64 already? I had no idea. I haven’t seen him in 30 years. I didn’t know he was sick. Obviously we weren’t close.

So why is this hitting me so hard?

And it *has* hit me hard.

I spent all day yesterday and today thinking about my cousin Mike. Trying to remember. When did I last see him? When did we last talk? What did I know about him? I wish I could remember more.

If I only have 3 memories of him, did we have a relationship? He was family, we were kin, he was my blood, and yet I know next to nothing about him, and now he’s gone.

It was a missed opportunity.

Mike and I had 17 years difference between us and our parents weren’t close. And yet I felt a connection with him. Surfing was a huge part of my life in my teens and twenties and we accidentally found ourselves on the same wave near Santa Cruz. And when we both tired of the crowds at the beaches we retreated into the peace and solitude of fly fishing. Maybe we did have a connection, maybe not. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

No.  We *did* have a connection. It was real.

After Googling Mike, I found out that he was a woodworker, a guitar maker, a general contractor, an artist, a painter, a photographer. I knew half of those things. The point is that Mike had lots of interests, lots of hobbies, lots of careers–just like me.

I wonder if things could have been different, would we have been closer? If I had pursued a relationship with Mike, maybe I would have known that he was sick. Maybe I could have told him that I never forgot surfing with him on the California Coast. Maybe we could have fly fished together. Maybe we could have been friends.

I’m left with this feeling of regret and remorse for something I never had. Mike and barely knew each other. We were blood and we surfed together once and that’s about it.

But now that he’s gone I’ll never get that chance to get to know him. I’ll never get that chance to tell him that I liked him. And for that I am sorry.

Farewell, cousin.

https://www.legacy.com/obituaries/sacbee/obituary.aspx?n=michael-anthony-knepp&pid=191438415