Online Obituaries

Jon Guiel and I must announce the passing of our beloved little brother, Michael. Michael Edward Guiel was only 49 years old when was called to Heaven in the early evening hours of Saturday, February 20, 2021. Although we are deeply saddened, we believe that at that very moment, he began an eternal and blissful reunion with GOD, with our brother, Jimmy Guiel, with our mother, Linda Guiel, and with our father, Gerald Guiel. Michael had such a caring, loving, and empathetic heart. Considering all of the other losses our family has endured recently, we trust that he will forgive us if this obituary is a short and simple tribute to his life. Michael was born on January 2, 1972 and spent his entire life at his childhood home in Chicopee, MA. He attended Chicopee schools throughout his early years, eventually graduating from Chicopee Comprehensive High School in 1990. Like his older brother, Jimmy, Michael was a natural talent, gifted at almost any endeavor or hobby, from playing basketball and baseball, to drawing cartoons and riding BMX bikes with his friends. Michael had an infectious laugh, loved sarcasm, and possessed a wonderful wit. He enjoyed a life-long love affair with comedy movies, the classic lines of which he would recite constantly and to perfection. He could spend hours and hours watching his favorite movies—sometimes over and over again. To his credit, no matter how many times he saw a certain movie scene or heard a clever line, he would react with the same level of laughter as if he were seeing or hearing them for the very first time. This ability to laugh, not only at things around him, but often at himself, was a character trait that stayed with our brother until the day he died. Michael was utterly transparent and completely vulnerable as a human being, said in the most positive way. As a result of this gift, Michael made friends quickly, and once he made them, he kept those friendships for a lifetime. He was exceedingly warm and unassuming. You simply could not help enjoying time spent with him. Although Michael held several jobs during his short life, perhaps his greatest source of work satisfaction came from the grand opening of his own car detailing shop in Chicopee, MA. He took tremendous pride in receiving a customer’s dirty vehicle—the messier the better in fact. After long hours of painstakingly tending to every nook, cranny, and section of each car, he would roll out the finished product, a spotless, shiny vehicle, always to the delight of those same customers. This type of work gave him joy on many levels. He could see and interact with people every day, to satisfy the social side of his personality. He could then dig deeply into the more private, focused work during the cleaning process itself (all while listening to PEARL JAM blaring on the stereo in his shop). Finally, he could make some money for himself doing something he loved. His biggest smile would come at the end of those days at his shop, when he would often stop at the old Bridge Café on his way home for a pizza to celebrate a hard day’s work. That pizza usually would be eaten (a/k/a devoured) right out of the box, coupled in his early adult years with a cold beer or two. As those who saw him the most know very well, those pizzas would be enjoyed later in his life with a huge glass of ginger ale—or maybe ten? Our dad was to pizza what Michael was to ginger ale… that is for certain. To be frank, the final 17 years of Michael’s life were anything but easy. He suffered a catastrophic, near-fatal stroke in his early thirties. The stroke left him with left neglect and he remained wheelchair bound for the rest of his days. At the time, and for obvious reasons, our parents did not have the heart to consider putting their still young and paralyzed son in any type of home, other than their own home. So, back home Michael went from the hospital, and back home he would stay. Despite these massive medical and other obstacles, Michael lived almost twenty more years after the stroke, cared for daily and loved unconditionally by his family. He could not wait to see friends who would call upon him—many of those same friends he had made as a young child. Other than those enriching visits with his friends, there were many other highlights for our little brother, Michael before his passing. He loved the emotions of the holiday season, the anticipation and celebration of birthday parties, and the uplifting presence of his nieces, Alyssa and Katelyn, whenever they would come to the house to visit. If he were still here right now, Michael would admit that as difficult as the stroke was on him and on our entire family, it was even harder for him—on an exponential scale–to lose his brother, Jim and both of his parents, all one right after the other, and in such a short time. Watching his own mother suffer was exceedingly hard on Michael. Despite his own limitations, he did everything in his power to tend to her needs. He had a unique ability to calm, console, and comfort her. In fact, he ended each of his own days (after her diagnosis) by checking on her before he went to bed, the very same way that she had checked on him, and on all of us for that matter, every night before she went to bed herself. Michael, we love you so much, we always have and always will. We hope and trust again that you are in Heaven right now, up on your feet and out of your wheelchair, walking around freely and sharing funny movie lines with all who will listen. We hope you are breathing deeply again, soaking it all in, sipping on the biggest, coldest ginger ale that ever existed. Please check on mom for us now, and please tell her, and tell dad, and tell Jimmy, how much we love and miss them, too.
Cierpial Memorial Funeral Homes in charge of arrangements. Services will be held at a later date.