Honoring Mike Aronow: A True Angel Among Us

The world lost a behind the scenes angel this week.

I want to start by sharing this incredible piece from our mutual friend Brian Cote, who, in the context of our “old man” Sunday morning basketball game, does such an amazing job summarizing Mike Aronow and the profound impact he had on everyone around him.

Mike’s childhood best friend eulogized him by saying, “We were the last of the free-range kids.” I loved hearing that because I knew, from my own conversations with Mike, that his childhood was filled with play. On Sunday mornings, as we laced up our sneakers, we often talked about the power of play, and it was clear that he believed in it just as much as I do. He played anything and everything, and though basketball was his true love, he never stopped playing—in every sense of the word. As his own kids noted, Mike worked really, really hard, but he played his whole life.

I also want to share my own recent anecdote, framed in the context of two things. First, we must never take for granted the angels among us. Mike was a true angel, and in hindsight, I realize I took him for granted. His friendship was truly unconditional, and I didn’t fully appreciate that until he was gone.

Second, using a basketball analogy—or really, any sports analogy—we often talk about being “net positive.” How does a team perform when you’re in the game? As Brian so clearly writes, Mike wasn’t a “stat stuffer” in our Sunday morning games, but I always wanted him on my team.

For one, if he was on the other team, there was a good chance he’d be guarding me, and he was relentless on defense. But more importantly, his teams always seemed to win. Not because of flashy plays, but because he did the little things, the behind-the-scenes things. Despite being the shortest guy on the court, if there was a rebound to be had, he got it. There was no such thing as a 50/50 ball when Mike was involved—he simply made sure his team got possession.

But here’s the thing—it was never about Mike.

Most recently, our middle daughter, Michaela, who was training for a marathon in Austin, Texas, called us in a bit of a panic. She had woken up and couldn’t put weight on her foot. She went to a walk-in clinic, where they told her there was no need for an X-ray or MRI because it presented as a classic stress fracture.

So, that Sunday morning, I told Dr. Aronow about it at our game. I explained the situation, saying, “It seems pretty clear she has a stress fracture.” He looked at me with that expression—What are you, a doctor?—and replied, “She doesn’t have a stress fracture. She has a hurt foot. Until I see an X-ray or MRI or learn more, she just has a hurt foot. That’s it.” It was stern but clear.

And then, Mike did what Mike always did for everyone—as Brian alludes to in his piece. From Hartford, Connecticut, he coordinated care for my daughter in Austin, Texas. Think about that.

Michaela was in Austin, Texas, but you could have had a child anywhere in the world, and Mike was one degree of separation from any orthopedic worth their weight. And if you needed help, he would connect you. He would make sure your kid was taken care of—because that’s just who he was.  BTW – it of course turned out that she did not have a stress fracture, but a legitimately hurt foot!

(To note – this is just one version of what he had done for my family, and countless others, time and time and time again).

I was struck as I watched his wife, Meg, who I coached with for years, and his five children, all of whom I’ve known in different capacities since they were little, stand up and eulogize the rock of their lives. He had five kids he was so proud of, but he treated everyone’s child as if they were his own when it came to care, generosity, and love.

And yet, he was so humble about it.

After the funeral, I texted someone, saying, “I can’t even begin to imagine how unimaginable this must be for his family—to have such a rock in your life, and then suddenly, that rock is just gone.”

I’m not going to lie—it tests my faith.

It’s really hard to understand why, at 62 years old, in a world filled with so many challenges, someone like Mike would be taken from us so suddenly.

But as I also shared with a friend, when someone is taken too soon, we have to let their life impact our own.

I don’t think Mike ever thought much about the concept of “net positive” when he played basketball or when he lived his life. I think he just knew—if you’re consistent, if you do the little things, if you live the right way, if you lift others up, if you play hard, work hard, and love those around you—then that’s all that matters – and the “wins” will simply take care of themself.

Maybe that’s it.

Maybe, even though I struggle with my faith in times like this, Mike showed us the way. Maybe the answer is simple—we live by the Golden Rule. We treat others the way we want to be treated.

And if we do that, we will have a net positive on this world.

So instead of thinking, we’re going to start losing games without Mike, I hope that Mike’s ripple effect creates more and more net-positive people, living life the way he did—by doing the little things that lift each other up.

Rest in peace, Mike. You were very special.

To read Dr. Mike Aronow’s Obituary – click here.