Michele left this earth on January 19th, 2024, succumbing to a battle with seemingly sudden significant heath issues, including stage 4 cancer. She is survived by her husband of 46 years, brothers, daughters and stepsons, grandsons, and an incredibly large group of friends and loved ones all around the country. 

From an early age, her natural musical tendencies became apparent, and she began a lifelong journey that would touch an incredible amount of people's hearts and souls over the span of many decades. Countless, tireless hours were spent on a piano bench, with a vocal coach, with a band conductor. Practice, practice, more practice. From piccolo to percussion, there wasn't an instrument she couldn't handle. Her singing seemed effortless. The piano, though - that was her true calling. A self-described wallflower in her youth, she truly blossomed behind a piano. Her fingers danced effortlessly across the keys, drawing out wave after wave of emotion and sound. Captivating and soothing, technical and intense, soft and gentle. She was the conduit, transferring the message from the creator of the music-magic to the Constant Listener. 

Originally pursuing a music degree at Indiana University, she then added a focus on education.  Halfway through, life had other plans - she met someone, married, and had her first daughter. A few years after that short marriage ended, she met the man who would become her partner, friend, father to her next daughter, and everything in-between, for the remainder of her life - Marcus Omer, a country boy from a small country town, with a gang of kids of his own. 

After caring for her new baby daughter to school age, Michele began her career in the Union County school system, which lasted 25 years. She filled various roles as an aide, computer teacher, special education, and personal assistant for disabled students. Outside of school, she shared her musical passion and teaching skills with eager children throughout the years. Her kids at school and in piano class gave her so much joy. The hugs and smiles made her day a little brighter, and no doubt, she has fondly been a part of their childhood memories since. 

Like the richness of music, Michele was drawn to the simple, bright pieces of life. Anything and everything colorful - rainbows, flowers, kaleidoscopes, tie dye - she surrounded herself with vibrance. She could spend immeasurable amounts of time with animals, connecting with their pure and unconditional love. The sound and the smell of the ocean, the sand between her toes, the sun on her face. What she couldn't keep for herself, she captured on film. Boxes of pictures and slides morphed into a digital mountain of files. Simple beauty, such as a freshly bloomed rose or a pretty seashell uncovered by a wave, were little snippets of time that made her happy. A shell here, a trinket there, a crystal in the window to make rainbows on the wall. While an outsider might've seen a woman surrounded by clutter, others would see each little memory, each moment in time that made her smile. 

Over the course of many years and many places, she made lifelong friends, one of them even spanning over 6 decades. Her presence, music, and love was perhaps most widely spread through her faith community. Weekly services, holy days, and annual gatherings provided an eager and captive audience for her music, whether solo or a large choir.  Afterwards, she became the butterfly - full of expressive details and anecdotes, she always had a story or three to share. Wherever she went, there was always a friend to be made. 

As years passed, travel became less. Visits and fellowship became more difficult as age and challenges tightened its grip. In this past year, life became dim. Tough. Complicated. Her body began to fail her. Questions compounded, problems went unsolved. Then, everything holding on by a thread unraveled. Hospitalization. Surgery. Cancer. Little hope was left of any sort of reasonable recovery.  

By chance, fate, or faith, she was sent off by her daughter Laura, who had just driven into town. Roused from sleep and barely the energy to move, she opened her eyes to see her daughter had finally arrived. Soft, weak words followed. "I'm so glad you're here now. I love you so very much, baby girl". Her daughter held her hand, kissed her cheek, and whispered back, "I'm glad, too. I love you, mom". After a long, silent embrace, Michele drifted back to sleep, and Laura left. A few hours later, the call came. It was the last time she was conscious - the send-off had unknowingly been made. 

Grief, in whatever form, is now our company, for however long it chooses. But what is grief, if not love persevering? To grieve is to love, and to love is never wrong. Always keep her love, for she always knew and kept yours. 

Hold her song with you, always. 

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