But my spring break went a little differently this year.

I was headed back to East Lansing for the night to watch the MSU men’s basketball team play Ohio State for the Big Ten championship title when I got a phone call. It was my dad calling to tell me that our family friend and my high school economics teacher, Michael Grenfell, unexpectedly died at the young age of 49 just a few short months after being diagnosed with a form of blood cancer.

Through the tears and numbness, I managed to make it back to East Lansing without any breakdowns — from me or my antique car.

MSU lost that night, but I had a much bigger loss on my mind.

Michael Grenfell — or Mr. Grenfell — was someone who many people believed to be one of the last genuinely kind people left on this earth. He garnered the respect of students and colleagues not because he was an amazing teacher, but because of who he was.

Writers are supposed to be able to express things in words, but there are no words that could begin to capture such a life.

As cliché as it might sound, he was one of those people you had the pleasure of meeting once in a lifetime. Anyone who met Mr. Grenfell walked away feeling a little better than they did before the conversation. He inspired countless numbers of people to be better students and better human beings. He wasn’t a teacher because he stood in front of a classroom, he was a teacher because he taught people about life, family and faith. The world was his classroom.

For the first few days after I learned of his passing, I started to really doubt the concept of good or bad karma. They say good things happen to good people; and bad people will “get their own.” But how are we ever supposed to believe this idea when such a good man passes far too soon, leaving behind a wife and two teenage kids? How is someone going to believe in good karma when a man who spent his days motivating students to get their diploma and was a regular at his church suddenly sees an abrupt end to his life?

How could anything good possibly come out of such a sorrowful death? Or from any death, for that matter?

During the funeral service, the pastor presented time for any volunteers to go up to the podium and share a few memories or words of sorrow. During the next 20 minutes or so, with heavy hearts, family members, friends, students and colleagues shared their favorite memories and talked about how Mr. Grenfell altered their lives. We could have talked for hours.

Some sentiments were funny, and others were tear-wrenching, but one thing was certain — we were not discussing an ordinary man. I’ve been to many funerals before, but this was different. He was different.

There was not a dry eye in the room — even the teachers and football coaches in the rows behind me were crying — and suddenly it dawned on me: Mr. Grenfell might be gone, but he was so very much alive in that room.

He is alive because everyone who knew him carries a piece of him in their hearts. He was in the front row, on the faces of his children and the heart of his wife. He was in the rows behind me, on the minds of teachers. He forever will be alive in Room B11 of Edsel Ford High School in Dearborn, Mich. He’s alive because when countless students are asked why they chose to become an economics teacher, his name will be uttered, followed by an undoubtedly remarkable story.

Maybe that’s how we keep someone alive. We remember the way they made us feel and the things they stood for and we go about our lives with those thoughts in mind. As mourners, it’s the most respectful way to deal with death; we make it our personal goal to make as big of an impact on the world as the deceased did.

If there was anything good to come out of his death, maybe it’s that everyone who knew him was forced to look inside themselves and realize how much more we can do with our lives in comparison.

I might not be the most religious person out there, but I truly do believe that each person is put on this earth for a reason. Maybe different people serve different purposes, but if there is one thing Mr. Grenfell’s death has taught me it’s that it is our duty as humans to keep the memory of loved ones alive through our thoughts, actions and life.

Michael Grenfell is never going to die because the world won’t let him.

Alyssa Girardi is the State News Opinion writer. Reach her at girardi5@msu.edu.