When it’s not “but a scratch.”

I remember the first time I met Mark. I can’t say that’s always the case when I’m introduced to someone, but I remember those moments very clearly. It was early in ‘93 and I had come upstate from Chelsea, where I was living, with my new boyfriend. He was introducing me to the small western Massachusetts city where he came from, along with one of his oldest friends.

Mark.

I don’t recall expecting to meet him, or my eventual mother in law, on that afternoon. I was wearing a pair of much patched Levi’s and a floppy hat of my roommate’s, not exactly meeting new folks attire, but my outfit left an impression on Mark. He gave his approval by declaring that I was cool, something he would certainly know, because he himself was very, very cool.

Mark filled whatever space he occupied, but not in an obvious or annoying way. He was just a huge personality filled with music, laughter and off color jokes. I can hear him dropping Mel Brooks and Monty Python quotes about white women and swallows, which is making me smile at this very moment.

During those early years in the relationship which became a marriage, Mark was around a lot. He started a business in Albany, housed in an old brick building in what would one day be known as the Warehouse District. He was definitely ahead of the curve.

When we were planning our wedding and trying to make every dollar go its farthest, Mark came through with the technology we needed to produce and print our invitations. He always had what you might need and would share it with enthusiastic generosity.

Over the years, there were trips out west and camping adventures closer to home in which I, and later my older sons, was/were invited to come along. There were some memorable moments – images of the boys covered in mud and brave leaps from shoulders into pools, all encouraged and facilitated by Mark, come quickly to mind. He was full of life.

Mark loved my boys and old dogs, music, and his friends and family.

I don’t know why or when or where things went off the track for him. I do know that I was oblivious to his struggles, believing that he was only an instant from turning everything around.

Mark, like a dawning day, was filled with possibility and potential. I hate that he’s gone and that the Lilly boys won’t ever get to know him as men.

Despite not spending time with Mark in many years, the loss is landing kind of hard.

It feels like more than just a flesh wound.

Peace and memories of laughter & love to all. xo