This memorial website was created in memory of our loved one, Michael Schiappa. We will remember him forever.

Tributes are short messages commemorating Michael, or an expression of support to his closest family and friends. Leave your first tribute here, and others will follow.

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his Life

Posted by Mike’s brother Ed: 

I wanted to let friends of the family know that my youngest brother, Michael Charles Schiappa, passed away on April 13, 2019.
 Michael suffered brain damage from a cerebral hemorrhage when he was 9 years old and has spent most of his life in care programs of one sort or another, most recently a nursing home in St. Petersburg, Florida.  I regret that I did not get to see him very often.  Fortunately, his step-mother visited him weekly, including yesterday.  He seemed tired but otherwise was in good spirits, and apparently regaled his nursing home neighbors by singing over the PA system, as was his custom.
He was a character.  Other than taking smoke breaks and drinking an excessive amount of carbonated beverages, Michael's greatest love was music.  He listened to his music with various technologies over the years, from cassette tapes to CDs to iPods.  He tended to listen to the same artists and tunes and enjoyed singing along.  He loved to shock people with wholly inappropriate comments and questions.  Most folks indulged him.  Our step-mother said he was a “star” in his nursing home.
He suffered from a host of ailments, was confined to a wheelchair, and smoked heavily.  The nursing home describes his passing as due to natural causes, and he passed in his sleep.  He was 54 years old.  
You really do not need to react or comment to this post.  Really.  If you feel the impulse to respond, then hug someone close to you, and reach out to relatives you may have lost touch with.
Recent stories

Our Sneaky Experiment

Shared by Pat Schiappa on May 4, 2019

Mike, I remember when we were both teenagers while Mom was napping we'd sneak down by the water and capture frogs and lizards and take them to our 6th floor balcony and drop them to see which ones survived the falls. The lizards always did; frogs not so much.  We were a bit cruel. 

While living in Virginia, I also remember Mom and Dad getting really angry at me for taking you on a bus ride without their knowledge.  I got a rare whipping on that one.

I am really sorry I never got the chance to talk to you directly in five years although I did send that Christmas message. Despite that, I am told you were always asking about me. That showed a lot of love and forgiveness in your heart. You will be missed. Rock out with ABBA up there.

Those Phone Conversations...

Shared by Edward Schiappa on May 4, 2019

I was not able to visit Mike in person often so our primary contact over the years was by phone.  I would call Mike or, more often, he would call me.  He would typically ask for something--everything from music to soda--which sometimes I could provide and sometimes not.  If my partner answered, they could count on inappropriate questions about our sex life.  Mike never meant any harm, of course, he just enjoyed getting a reaction out of people.  He took up smoking and ingesting as much caffeine-charged soda as possible to complement his music intake as his way of dealing with the tedium of everyday life, and it is hard to criticize those choices having not walked in his shoes.  

As folks in the nursing home will tell you, he was a character.  And our lives are less rich without him.  I miss you, Mike!

A fond spot for Mike

Shared by Wendy Manuel on May 4, 2019

Time dims memories yet I have two of Mike that remain clear for me.. Sometimes it only takes a tiny connection with someone to create a fond spot in one's heart that always remains. 

In the late 1970s I traveled with Ed and my brother Daven to visit Ed's family in Florida. I remember sitting with Mike on the beach. Together we dug in the sand to see what we could find. We dug down in the sand until water would rise up in the hole. Both of us peering closely, we saw tiny things swimming in the water. In retrospect, I guess those tiny beings were sand fleas, not really all that exciting. But sitting with Mike, neither of us knew what they were and we were equally fascinated in our discovering of non-crab living things in the sand. This shared moment, absorbed in looking at the sand, oblivious to all else, created fondness in my heart for Mike - no matter his challenges, mood swings or whatever - we were totally together.

Another time visiting Mike, we were driving somewhere in the car, listening to The Beatles "Come Together". You may remember that in between the verses, there is a "shh, shh" or "shoe" or "ship" sound (doesn't show up in the lyrics when you Google for them). Mike sang "sh*t, sh*t" every time the sound came up. Ed gave Mike a mild shocked reaction - "What are you saying?!" But that didn't stop Mike. This was the growing up, more ornery Mike. Still whenever I hear that song, I can't help but laugh thinking about Mike singing in the back seat.

Rest in peace Mike. I will always remember you.