My dear brother-in-law Mark passed away in February. It was sudden, unexpected, gut wrenching, and very very very sad. It still is.
My life, and my family’s life, will never be the same.
Mark was a special person, a true kind human being who did not have a mean or angry bone in his body. He simply loved everyone and he saw everyone as his friend. Mark didn’t understand unkindness. It made no sense to him. Literally. It simply made no sense. He couldn’t understand it. More, he couldn’t even comprehend it.
Mark considered me his best friend. And I was. And he was mine, too.
Mark had special needs, which in a way made him special, of course, but in a different way, it made him better than all of the rest of us because he practiced what it is to give abundently from the heart. He was kind to all. He loved everyone. He smiled, always. He considered everyone a friend. And they all were his friends.
Many people shy away from individuals with special needs, especially grown-ups with special needs, but no one shied away from Mark. They were drawn to him by his smile, his handshake, and and his welcoming persona.
Today would have been Mark’s 61st birthday. He was still living with my in-laws, but the plans were all set for him to come live with my wife and I soon. Laurie and I looked forward to this. We both looked forward to sharing our golden years with Mark.
But it isn’t to be.
Mark didn’t understand numbers. He could count, but the concept of numbers was lost on him. He’d rather have had a quarter than a dollar. The idea that 10 is more than 6 was a concept that didn’t resonate with him. He knew that 10 came after 8 when counting, but the value of that was lost on him, and I understand. Mark also knew the alphabet, another list, just like a counting set. Is M worth more than H just because it comes later in the alphabet? Of course not. And, in that same realm, just because 13 comes after 7 doesn’t mean it has any more value. Any number was simply part of a list to Mark. It was very logical and it all made sense.
And Mark didn’t understand age. Age is just a number – and it changes every year, and for Mark, I think he liked things just the way they were. Oreos were Oreos. Pepsi was Pepsi. And Coke was Coke. Why was it that every year on his birthday, people had to give him a new number? “You were 56, but now you’re 57,” as if any of that made sense. So, over time, Mark, wiser than the rest of us, just started telling people (if they asked) that he was 43.
43.
We decided that today, Mark’s birthday, that we’d run 4.3 miles in his memory. In three different states, members of our family laced up their running shoes and ran 4.3 miles for Mark. We plan to do this every year on April 16, to remember Mark, to think about Mark, and to make him part of our lives as we cover a running distance completely unique to him.
Not a day goes by that we don’t reference Mark in one way or another, telling a story, remembering an event, or saying one of his many favorite phrases.
I know that Mark is in a better place. He is with Jesus. He’s with his older brother, Rick, and so much family. He’s also meeting lots of new people and making Heaven an even better place for all, if that’s even possible. (With Mark, I’m sure it is.)
But the empty place in our hearts, here on Earth, will never be filled.
***
Mark,
I miss you ol’ pal.
I guess, as it works out in the end, some day, a long time from now, we’ll come to live with you. Save me some m&m’s…
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