Dominic Forever, Always in Our Hearts
10-31-81 to 8-7-99

On August 7, l999, Dominic  Francis Woelfel (better known as Mic) died by suicide at the age of seventeen.

From the time Mic was small, talking was his hobby—and the most serious thing he ever got into trouble for in school was talking too much!  He had a passion for laughing, chatting and hanging out. Mic was a lover of life. He had a way of wiggling his eyebrows when he was teasing, a dimple that could stop traffic, deep brown shining eyes and a way of saying sweet about anything and everything that pleased him. If someone had a problem, he always said the same thing in a confident and winning way, “It’ll be fine.”

Mic grew up in Seaforth, a village of about 87 residents in rural Minnesota, where he tagged along with his two older brothers, Damian and Dana, spending countless happy days with them and a handful of village pals. Summer evenings, they played Kick the Can, rode bike around town and hung out at the baseball diamond, park or cafe. They spent idyllic afternoons trading baseball cards, watching movies and having all sorts of adventures in the woods that bordered Clear Creek below Mic’s home. He loved where he lived and reveled in the outdoors. He had a passion for sports, fishing and hunting and was very respectful of nature and the land that he loved.

Mic attended St. Anne’s School until the sixth grade.  He went to Wabasso High from the seventh grade on. He had many friends, was a homecoming attendant, class officer, student council member and especially enjoyed FFA, wrestling and golf. He loved the Vikings and Twins and watching the games with his friends, having pizza and playing pool. His favorite song was Life Goes On by 2PAC.  His favorite color was blue, his pet peeve was people who put on airs, his favorite scent was green-apple shampoo and he was renowned for being able to talk to anyone—young or old—whether he knew them or not.

Some people are born into this world with what is called a transparent soul. There is something fresh, shining and genuine about them.  Mic was like that. He also had a quality in him that needed to be free. It was hard for him to be confined to a desk or indoors. It was the sky, geese overhead, the moon shining on a lake, the call of a pheasant, a herd of deer and wild autumn grass waving in the wind that he loved. These things were Mic’s language—which speaks to us still.

He is deeply missed.  Blessed be his precious memory, always in our hearts.