About Michael

Michael was the kind of child who pulled you fully into the moment. He didn't just live life — he soaked it in. He was joy in motion: a little boy who didn’t believe in walking when he could run, who loved being chased through the house, and who greeted life with a wide smile and wild energy.

He had a deep love for water — puddles, boats, and baths.

 

He was mesmerized by the movement of bubbles, captivated by the feel of raindrops on his face, and absolutely delighted by the wind hitting him as the boat sped across the lake. One of his most treasured friends was a six-foot stuffed whale named Bubbles, which he dragged everywhere — even to the top of his playset, where he’d lie back, whale under him, face tilted to the sky, rain falling, smiling.

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Michael loved whales, truly loved them. His favorite video series was Secrets of the Whales, which he’d ask for by chanting “Whale, whale, whale.” His room was filled with stuffed animals — but the whales always stood out. His fascination wasn’t just about the animals; it was about how big, beautiful, and mysterious they were. In many ways, whales mirrored him: gentle giants of the sea, playful but deeply present, surrounded by a pod.

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He was incredibly smart and observant — especially with puzzles. At just four years old, Michael could complete 100-piece puzzles with astonishing precision, starting from the top and working piece by piece without hesitation. His visual-spatial skills were so striking that if you tried to help, he’d give you a look that said, “I’ve got this.” And he did.

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Michael also introduced his family to the neurodivergent community. Diagnosed with autism at age two, he changed the way those around him saw the world. He taught lessons in patience, grace, and the power of presence. He reminded us that communication isn’t always verbal, that affection takes many forms, and that every child deserves to be loved exactly as they are.

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He was expressive — in joy, in mischief, and in love. If he didn’t want to do something, he wouldn’t shout or cry. He’d look you in the eye, calmly say “No, no, no,” and even reach up and guide your head to shake along with him, as if helping you understand. He gave enthusiastic forehead kisses, which in recent weeks had blossomed into big, joyful cheek kisses. He adored his family, his therapists, his teachers, and the rhythm of routine. He found magic in simple things, and in return, made everything feel magical.

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To know Michael was to feel love — big, unfiltered, contagious love. He was happiest when surrounded by family: dogs curled up at his feet, Ella climbing nearby, everyone gathered on his bed as he called out “Sit!” to show them where they belonged. He created a world where the only requirement was to show up, be present, and love deeply.

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This website — and this pod — exists to carry that spirit forward. To celebrate the wonder Michael found in whales, in wind, in rain, in puzzles, and in people. To remind us all to slow down, to play, and to love the way he did.