Merry Christmas Eve, Mark!

Merry Christmas, Mark. You are missed and loved every day. We think of you all the time, and not a day goes by without one of us talking about a memory of you.

We love you. Enjoy this holiday in Heaven.

The Holidays

So I thought the holidays wouldn't be a problem. We'd have my parents here for both, and while there might be sadness, we'd get through okay. But the closer they come, the more I realize it will be harder than anticipated. Part of the problem? Two words - Christmas shopping. I have no desire to go shopping. My children deserve to celebrate, but I don't want to go shopping for presents, either at the stores or online.

So what do I do?

I Wish

I wish someone besides me remembered the day Mark died every month.

I wish I could get enough energy and where-with-all to do housework every day.

I wish my children would do their schoolwork completely and turn it all in on time.

I wish there weren't so many things in the house that seem to need fixing.

I wish I would stop feeling sorry for myself.

I wish exercise came more naturally to me.

I wish I prayed and read the Bible more.

I wish that my feelings were more charitable towards others.

I wish I would stop feeling that shade of sadness behind everything I do.

Too many wishes. Perhaps some day the wishes will be reality.

In the meantime, this video expresses my silent plea.

Award Shows

Tonight I am watching the Emmys. I should be at a parent devo at church, but thanks to a lovely cold that has developed a joyous fever, I am at home by myself. This should be an enjoyable evening, watching the awards in piece and quiet, as the kiddos are at the devo. So why am I in tears?

Because Mark isn't here to make sarcastic comments and give me a hard time for watching the show.

My Reason Why

Today, I did something rather out of character for me - I got a tattoo. It is a charm bracelet around my left ankle, with a puzzle piece charm. The charm has Mark's initial and the Marine Corps symbol on it, all of which signify Mark - he loved doing puzzles and he was an active-duty Marine for 25 years. As some of my family and friends don't understand why I did this, I thought I would explain my reasoning.

The bottom line is that Mark was a wonderful man who deserves to be remembered and thought of every day. Right now I think of him every waking hour, but I don't know what my thinking patterns will be ten years, fifteen years, from now. It bothered me to contemplate there being a day when he wasn't remembered with love. He saved me from myself and deserves more than not being part of memories each day. I wanted a physical reminder of what he means to me for the rest of my life, which led to me the idea of a tattoo.

For many years, I wanted a tattoo - I'm not sure why, they just fascinated me. However (and ironically), Mark didn't like tattoos and always told me he would not stay married if I ever got one. (I was never mad enough at him to test that viewpoint, but doubt he would have followed through with his threat!) For a short while, I discarded the idea of a tattoo because of his preference, but then decided that I had to live this life without him, and I do believe he would understand why I've made this choice.

While some of my family have expressed their displeasure at my decision, I was reassured by a talk with my Grandpa. Grandpa Bridges is a 95-yr. old Iowan who grew up on a farm and is as conservative as they come. When I told him what I was planning and why, he told me that he thought it was a good choice for me.

This tattoo is for noone else but me. It isn't for show, it isn't for the sake of art, and it isn't an effort for me to recapture my youth. When I look at this, I will think of the man I will always love. I will be able to tell stories about Mark for years to come because if this tattoo is noticed, people will ask why I have a tatto. He deserves to always, ALWAYS, be remembered.

My Girl and Her Daddy

My princess is turning 13 years old in a couple of weeks. My baby is going to be a teenager?! It seems like just a few years ago we were bringing her home. So tiny, the size of a newborn at six months old, she has been the source of great joy and great angst. Joy, because when she loves, she LOVES. Angst, because when she hurts, I hurt to my very core.

Tonight, I held my girl in my arms as she sobbed about her upcoming birthday. Becoming a teenager is a milestone in every child's life, one she had been looking forward to since she turned twelve. Recently, however, her birthday has become a source of sadness for her. She is facing this birthday without her daddy.

You have to understand, this girl of mine is a true-to-the-bone daddy's girl. This child would run to the window when I picked her up from daycare looking for her daddy. Now by the time I got to the car, she was loving me, but for a few minutes, all she wanted, EVERY DAY, was her daddy. When she was upset, I would find her curled up at her daddy's side. If she was in trouble with me, she would go straight to her daddy for comfort. (To his credit, Mark always supported my decisions in front of her.) There was never any doubt in her mind that her daddy thought she was the star of his world.

Now, she faces the teenage years without the man who was everything to her. Yes, she has her memories, but she'd rather have her daddy. And this is something her mom can't fix.

Awkward Moment

Today, a contractor was going door-to-door in my neighborhood selling his services in roofing, deck repair, etc. He handed me his information and asked that I discuss this with my husband. Moments like this cause pain I can't even begin to describe. How do I tell a complete stranger that these matters can't be discussed anymore because my husband isn't on earth anymore?

I say nothing and close the door. And another piece of my heart cracks. Hard to find a blessing in that.

He Should Be Here

Lately, many wonderful opportunities in the track arena have opened up for the Prince. He won the 200m at the State Special Olympic Games, came in first in the 100m, 200m, and 400m at a Paralympics Invitational, has qualified for the National Junior Disability Championships, and was recognized by the School District for his first place finishes. The Prince has some wonderful opportunities to become more active in Paralympic sports, to include goalball, and has been told he is a natural at the sport.

His daddy should be here to see it.

In the last couple of years, the Prince and his dad had conflicts due to normal teenage issues, but their bond was growing stronger as the years passed. Mark wanted his son to work harder at school, to fulfill his potential, and while the two of them argued quite a bit, the love was there. The night before Mark had his stroke, he told me that all he wanted was for his children to be happy. If that meant the Prince stayed focused on video games, so be it. He just wanted to be able to watch his children enjoy life.

Mark would be proud of his son. The Prince has pushed hard to become better at running, and is determined to train more. He worked hard to pass algebra, coming out with a higher grade than expected. While the Prince is still fighting his blindness, he is starting to learn to utilize more of the tools available to him, and he is determined to do better.

I shed tears tonight. Some out of pride for all my son has overcome and all he has accomplished. But more were because his dad, my husband, isn't here to see it.

Not sure where the blessing is in this situation tonight.

Happy Father's Day!

My dad and his favorite item - the coffee maker

I am unabashedly a daddy's girl. Even at the age of 42. My mother, to this day, gets irritated with me because she says I always take his side. But when you have a dad like mine, you can't help but be his biggest fan! There are so many reasons why he's a great father, and one reason is no better than another, so here is a Top Ten of why I am, with a capital "D," a Daddy's Girl:

1. Even at my advanced age and no longer fit this nickname, he will still call me "Runt" sometimes. That tickles me!
2. He is the only coach that would consistently put me in the softball game. Even though I was horrible, and even at game-winning times knowing I am not even close to being the best player. My dad did this because he believes in fair play, and letting everyone have a chance to contribute. Not a bad lesson to learn as a young girl.
3. The summer between my junior/senior year in college, I decided that I didn't like my major, and wanted to switch. Instead of telling how foolish that would be, Dad listened to my reasons, explored the pros and cons, and let me decide for my self what to do. Patience and practicality - another good lesson.
4. When my grandpa (my mom's dad) died, my sister was going to take me to Iowa for the funeral, but I didn't want to wait the extra day or two to go. I wanted to get to my grandma sooner than that. My dad drove hours out of his way to come and get me from college. It wasn't the first time he did something like that, and it wasn't the last. He always shows his love for his children.
5. He is giving my children memories that are similar to those I treasure of my grandpa - teaching them to fish, spending special time with them. My dad is the best grandpa for them!
6. For a time when I was in middle school/early high school, my dad did the grocery shopping after he picked me up from piano lessons on Saturday morning. Rare was the time that he couldn't be talked into a candy bar (my mom never could be talked into that!). It made up for the generic potato chips.
7. My church youth group was never turned away from my house - my dad was always willing to make up a huge batch of popcorn for whomever came over.
8. Need a door knob fixed? Dad can do that. Heavy pictures hung? I can count on my dad for that, too. He's also good with moving heavy items, helping to pick out cars, fix screen doors, and changing garage light bulbs. There is very little he can't figure out.
9. When I was a Peace Corps volunteer, my parents were supposed to come visit me. My mom was a bit nervous about travelling to a third-world country, but my dad said he was coming no matter what. Always up for an adventure, that is my dad.
10. This sort of goes along with the above, but no matter what, my dad is there for me. Whenever I call in panic, he listens and advises - but he advises only if asked. He will stay there with me through very hard situations, and he will stand in for me. Four months ago, he helped me through the worst situation I could be in, and he stayed calm and rational to be my rock.

My dad shows faith in action. He is a man who might not talk much about his faith, but you know what it means to him by his actions, by his manners, by how he treats and helps others. There are so many reasons why he is a great man, I could not do him justice. But if you have the good fortune to meet him, you will see in a moment why no superlative could do him justice. Can you tell I love my dad?!

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD! YOU ARE LOVED!!!

My Shell

the Prince, Shell, the Princess

It is graduation season all over, and a young lady very important to me is about to graduate from high school. Shell is the oldest child (of four) of my sister and the only girl. It seems almost impossible that it is time for her to start college, as it seems like just last week I was receiving word that she was born. She is a remarkable young lady.

From the time she was born, Shell has been her own person. She is strong-willed, opinionated, and stubborn. Yet Shell is also sensitive, nurturing, and caring. She is an all-around strong young woman, both physically, emotionally, and mentally. Shell has always held true to her principles, even during those tough high school years - if she doesn't agree with an activity, she doesn't particpate. She is quick to temper on behalf of a perceived injustice, and she is the first to offer help if needed.

This isn't to say she is a saint who does no wrong, but Shell is as honest as the day is long. She tries to always do what is right, not what is easy. While Shell can be a bit of a brat, one can't hold that against her - she comes by it honestly. After all, she does share my middle name - she has to have some of my characteristics! But while she might be a brat (you know you are, Shell!), she is quick to realize when she is one and corrects herself. There isn't a kinder, sweeter, intelligent young lady out there in this senior class.

As one could tell, I love my girl. Never more so than when Mark was in the hospital. This child, correction - this young lady insisted on her mom letting her fly out. During her important senior year, my Shell insisted she be there for the only person who could stop her from crying when she was a baby. (When even her mother couldn't comfort her, Shell would coo for her Uncle Mark.) When Shell arrived, she wasn't uncomfortable being in the hospital room. And on his last day on this earth, Shell was there. She wasn't afraid to hold his hand, to rub his arm, to give him a kiss. When Mark was passing, Shell didn't become hysterical with crying - she was calm and loving. When I needed to leave the room for any reason, Shell was right there to sit in my place and hold Mark's hand exactly as I was, so he would always be comforted and loved. And in an act that shows what a strong and kind young woman Shell is, when I had to sign the papers for his passing, Shell stayed with his body, holding his hand, and wasn't frightened. This remarkable young lady wanted to be there for her uncle.

I am so proud of you, Shell. Whether you continue with nursing as your major or choose another, you will be an outstanding success. You couldn't be more loved!

Shell and her Uncle Mark

Emotions After 3 Months & 2 Days

Yesterday, I had a not-so-mature fit while talking to my mother. My mom, the same lady who worked her fingers to the bone taking care of out-of-town guests and family for two weeks. The lady who has come up more in the past three months than she did all of last year. The lady who is working hard on a special gift for my baby, the Princess. The lady who regularly gives up chunks of her time to help me by taking care of the children. I became upset because she hadn't called me on Monday, which was the three-month anniversay of Mark's passing.

While intellectually I know that there are many people who miss Mark and think of him often, sometimes it feels like I am the only person who remembers him, besides the children. Noone really talks about him to me, and I feel like he was such an important person, people should be remembering him. That is not to say people set out to deliberately avoid the topic of his life, but the conversation usually is about how myself and the children are doing. And their caring about us is SO appreciated.

Today, my mom told me how she was constantly thinking of him. That she misses Mark every time she walks into the room he would stay in when he was in downstate Illinois for work. That she has a picture of him on her desk playing mah jongg, and she smiles thinking of how passionately he played the game. That she misses him so much she still sometimes cry. And that people sometimes don't want to upset me by talking about him, and how they miss him.

Is it sick of me that hearing all of this made me feel better? It made me remember that he DID matter to others, that there were many more people who loved him than just the children and me. It felt like a weight had been lifted - I wasn't alone in my grief. Someone I love misses and loves the man who meant (and means) the world to me.

I would encourage anyone who knows a person who has lost a loved one to talk about the one who has passed. It helps more than you could know to hear how memories others have.

Yet once again, my mom has been the source of a blessing to me.

Mistakes

Have you ever meddled in something that you thought was the right thing to do, but in retrospect, was the totally WRONG thing to do? I did that today, and I am all conflicted inside. On the one hand, I felt a matter needed to be addressed, as it involved having my child not telling me something. On the other hand, when parents get in the middle of a dispute among your child and other friends, matters never end well.

It is never fun to be yelled at, told you are lying, have your child labelled the cause of all major disputes. How does one react in a positive way? I tried being calm, and to some extent succeeded, but I don't know that I represented Christ well today. And while I would like to make the situation better, it is quite possible that trying to fix things would just make it worse.

Sigh....it is hard to find the blessings today.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

When I was young, I loved spending time with my grandmother. She always had time to listen to what I had to say, passed on her love of baking to me, and sent us all home from her house with a wicked case of heartburn because she filled us with good food the entire time I was there. And I used to think often that I hoped my children would feel about their grandma the way I felt about mine.

My prayers were answered. My mom has filled my children's lives with love and joy, more than I could ever have imagined. Whether it is shopping at garage sales with the Prince, or baking and sewing with the Princess, she always has time and attention for them. She even learned how to send audio texts to/from the Prince - and if you know my mother, you know what an accomplishment that is! She will spend hours sewing blankets and pajamas for the children. When the Princess was younger, my mom sewed all of her dresses since the Princess was too slim for store-bought dresses. When the Prince was young, she made special vests for his pre-school class for them to practice buttoning and zippering. Even now, my mom will make the children's favorite dishes when we visit. She fills their lives with love, hugs, and unconditional acceptance.

As much as she shines as a grandma, she has really shone as my mom. While I didn't appreciate the effort made at the time, she would spend hours making clothes for me when I was little. My Barbie dolls had many homemade dresses - many made without patterns. My love of reading and books were encouraged by the fact that whatever paperback book I wanted from the book order, she purchased for me, even though money might have been tight. My friends were always welcome at my house; in fact, most Sundays, my youth group would end up at my house. While I wasn't the easiest of teenagers to raise, my mom always let me know I was loved. When I had mono for three months, my mom would always come give me a kiss goodbye before she left for work, and several times a week would bring me home shakes.

Even now that I am an adult (no snickering, please!), my mom shines as a mom. I've never heard her complain when I've called her several times a day for silly reasons. She still makes my favorite meals when I go visit. I still crawl in her bed early in the morning, just to talk. When I moved to Illinois, she lined all of my cabinets with contact paper - no small feat, and she did so good-naturedly. She'll play mah jongg with me as long as I'd like. And when Mark became my husband, she accepted him as her 2nd son, loved him unconditionally, and taught him that hugging was a good thing!

While there are innumerable reasons why my mom is a good mother, there is no better example than what she did for me in February of 2010. When Mark entered the hospital, my parents dropped everything and came up to help me with the children. For the next two weeks, my mom barely left my house. She cooked, cleaned, and did laundry for more than a dozen people. She watched over my children so I could watch over Mark. And when I didn't think I could hold on anymore to my sanity, my mom did that for me with words of encouragement.

No words could properly express how grateful I am for the wonderful lady that is my mom. I am very blessed to be her daughter, and my children's lives are blessed having her as a Grandma.

I love you, Mom!

Good People

Recently, I was able to spend a few days with my grandparent's at my folk's house. Grandma is 90 years old, and Grandpa is going to be 95 this year. In July of this year, they will celebrate 75 years of marriage. Each are devoted to the other.

When I married, I wanted a marriage like my parents. My parents wanted a marriage with devotion like their parents had. We all were lucky, no - blessed is the better word, to have found devotion. What kind of devotion did we want?

The kind that makes my grandpa, though frail and a bit unsteady on his feet, give his wife her daily shots. The kind of devotion that has him helping her with her stockings at night. The devotion that has my grandma wanting my grandpa served first. The devotion that still enters my grandma's voice when she talks about what my grandpa does for her. The devotion based on a belief in God and the sanctity of marriage.

I heard the steely determination in my grandpa's voice when he spoke of helping my grandma for as long as he could. I had asked him if there was help for him when he needed to give her her shots, or take her blood pressure. He told me, "I will do this myself for her as long as I can." He was firm and unflinching, and I was humbled by his love for her.

My grandparents don't use flowery language with each other. There are no grand displays of affection, no sweet nicknames for them - just "Mother" and "Dad." But their actions speak volumes. My family has been blessed with their example.



And while I wasn't blessed with 75 years of marriage, I was blessed for 17 1/2 years with a man who was like my grandfather in his devotion to his family. I hope I was like my grandma in my devotion to him.

The Car is Gone....

So, my parents came and picked up my car this morning, which now becomes their car. Mark and I bought this car from my Grandpa a little over two years ago when he (Mark) switched companies and didn't have a company car anymore. It is a 1997 Buick Park Avenue, and is the most comfortable car to drive. Long and big, it was sometimes a challenge for me to park (I do have parking issues), but it was sooo comfortable. I did like that car.

But practicality came to the forefront. With Mark gone, I do not need two cars. Parking both cars in the garage was a challenge for me. (Remember, I do have parking issues.) My insurance would go down without two cars. And because the Highlander is newer, I decided that I would need to sell the Buick. Thankfully, it is staying in the family, going to my parents.

With all of the paperwork, etc., I've had to handle since Mark passed, I thought this would be one of the easiest to deal with, since it is just a car. But it wasn't simple. It was hard. Having two cars, it was easier to pretend Mark was just on a business trip. See? His car is in the driveway, he isn't really gone. But when my parents drove away this morning, my pretense went with them.

I am now a one-car family. On my own.

He Should Be Here

This is not really a good day. Mark should be here. He should have seen his girl play her violin last night. He should have made bacon to go along with the hash browns and eggs this morning. He should have congratulated his boy on winning the 200m race at his track meet. He should be here.

Every time I make coffee, I am reminded that he is not here. You see, I have one of those pots that keeps the water hot so it doesn't take as long to brew a pot of coffee. Since I am not making a pot of coffee everyday (I reheat what is left on the in between days), some of the water evaporates inside the heater, and the results are a less-than-full pot. He should be here.

I am tired of feeling apathetic about life. I am not okay. I may say I am, but I am not. I am tired of dealing with stressful situations on my own, without his counterbalance. I am tired of feeling like he could walk in any second. I am just plain tired. He should be here.

So many sentences with "I," no sentences with "we." He should be here.

If I could hole up in my house and never see anyone, I would. But the children would suffer, and they were his world. I can't let them, or Mark, down. His library needs to be cleaned and straightened, but I can't bring myself to go in the room. Right after he passed, I was gung-ho about moving forward, going through items. Now, I avoid certain areas like the plague. He should be here.

Please don't feel sorry for me - I am feeling enough of that for myself. Don't worry about me - soon enough, I will pick myself up, and get on with the rest of my day. My days aren't spent in this mood, this is just the way I am feeling in this moment. I will be okay, it might just take a while. I just need to remember the title of this blog, and not focus on the big picture right now.

I am just feeling....

He should be here.

Garage Sales

Today I went to a subdivision garage sale and found some good deals: a Garrison Keillor book for the Prince, a cross-stitch booklet for the Queen Mother, and a few much needed serving dishes to add the serving dish graveyard that is my cupboards. It was a fun interlude, and I came away with some hints for those who hold such garage sales. It might help you to pry more dollar bills from my tight-fisted hands:





10) Pricing a rusty, paint-peeling tea strainer for $1 and calling it an antique will not bring in many customers.

9) If you have only enough items for one table, and a person can still see the table underneath, that is probably not cause to label your sale a "big sale."

8) The oversize purple plate, made in China, with two huge chinks out of it, is probably not going to sell for $4.

7) Selling a ziploc baggy filled with hotel soaps for $2 is just cheesy and tacky.

6) A ziploc baggy of hotel shampoos? See number 7.

5) Not letting a customer look through the baggy full of baseball cards to see which ones are in there because "they're my son-in-law's cards, and if you touch them you will scratch them" is possibly not the best sales tactic to use to sell that baggy for $25.

4) The day you are going to have a garage sale in your driveway is not a good day to have your yard chemically treated.

3) When customers are perusing your items, chances are that is not the best time to complain loudly about previous customers to your neighbors.

2) Selling your used eye shadows for $1 is not sanitary and might cause customers to leave without looking at other items.

And the top piece of advice I could give, learned from my experience this morning:

1) If selling children's items, you will not increase your customer traffic by yelling, "Next time I'm gonna get a stripper pole and a beer wagon!" That is tacky, very very very tacky.

Happy garage saling!

Helping Out

One of the hardest things for me to handle since Mark has been gone is to accept help. Friends and family cared about him too, and while I've understood it helps them to do something to help his family, I've never been one to accept help graciously or easily. Which is definitely not one of my best characteristics. However, friends and family have ignored me and helped out anyway.

How do I thank the ladies who sat in the waiting room of the ICU, not knowing whether I'd have time to speak with them, just being there in case I needed something? The people who took the time to bring food to my house so my mom didn't have to cook for 15 or more people each night? The ladies who brought snacks to the hospital so I wouldn't have to leave the hospital room for food? Who brought me a toothbrush/toothpaste combo? The church family who prayed without ceasing, and who still pray for us today? Those who brought me fountain Diet Cokes? Who still check on me from time to time to see if I need any help? Who came to Mark's memorial even though they didn't know him well, but wanted to support my family? The moms who gave my children sweet memorials to honor their dad? It is humbling to have so many who reached out to my family, and ignored what I said. They knew I needed help, even though I was reluctant to ask for assistance.

These people don't expect thank-yous, don't expect compliments, but gave out of their hearts. I asked my parents, how do I say thank you? How can I express how much they have meant to me? All I can do is pay it forward.

So, in honor of those who have cared for my family, thank you from the bottom of my heart. A cliched term, but a very honest feeling in my case. And know that my life, and the children's lives, have been touched by your caring, and we plan to pay it forward wherever, and whenever, we can.

A typical cliche....New Beginnings

So having been a widow now for two months, I am beginning to think about what I am going to do for the rest of my life. When Mark and I spoke about our future, we never figured in him dying of a stroke and making me a widow at 42 years of age. We spoke of him working until the day he passed, sure, but we thought we had at least another 30 years before that happened. We joked about it, saying he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't work, that he was like my dad, always wanting to be working, failing at vacation and relaxation. We joked that I did enough relaxing for the two of us.

Well, the joke turned out to be not much of a joke. Mark worked right up until he went in to the hospital. When I arrived at the emergency room, the first thing he asked was if I had called his office. The second thing he asked was if I could gather up his work credentials and put them in my purse, giving me instructions on what I should do with them when I arrived home. Then he called his office himself. Always working.

The next day, after picking up his car from the doctor's office (he was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, much to his embarrasment), I walked down the hall to his room, and saw the sight that I will remember always, for which I will be eternally grateful: Mark, leaving his room with his IV stand in one hand, noticing me as I walked down the hall, and a big smile coming on his face. That smile did wonders for me - it reassured me he was okay, he didn't mind that I wasn't able to stay the night before (the children needed me, and he always put them first), he was so happy to see me, and that he loved me. I wish I had a picture of this, but I hope it always remains in my mind's eye.

I spoke to Mark the morning of his stroke on the phone, telling him that I was coming up as soon as the children got on the bus. It was the Prince's 16th birthday, and he was able to speak to our boy to wish him a happy birthday. Mark reminded me to bring his tennis shoes and clean socks, as we were hoping to bring him home that day. I remember stopping at the gas station to get gas and some breakfast to eat on the ride up. Little did I know this was a good thing, as I wouldn't have much of an appetite for the next two weeks. Upon arrival at the hospital, he wasn't in the room, and the nurse told me he had been taken down for a TEE and a heart shock, to see if they could get his heart out of atrial fibrilation.

When the doctor came rushing in to the room, I was on my phone. I don't know who I was talking to, but I got off quickly, thinking the doctor was going to tell me the procedure was successful, and Mark would be back up in a couple of hours at the most. He rushed me out of the room, telling me Mark had a stroke. At first, I was confused, not fully understanding what was going on, thinking that okay, he is in a hospital, they can fix this. In the ICU, they kept asking me if I needed to sit down, but I didn't want to sit down. I wanted to be next to my husband. They told me they were giving him tPA to halt the stroke.

But the tPA didn't work. After four days and an emergency surgery, I had to make a decision. For the rest of my life, even though I know I did for him what I needed to do, I will feel guilty for telling them to remove life support. But Mark wasn't Mark anymore. He wouldn't be able to read, do puzzles, watch his movies, talk politics. He wouldn't be able to talk, take care of himself, feed himself, even think. He might not be able to breathe on his own, wouldn't be able to walk, much less jog - and Mark ran more than a dozen Marine Corps Marathons. He might on some level recognize me as a familiar face, but he wouldn't KNOW me.

And nine days after he went to the doctor for what we thought might be pneumonia, I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my confidante, and the one person in this world who knew everything there is to know about me, and loved me anyway.

Everyone should have had the opportunity to love, and be loved by, a Mark. He wasn't a little blessing. He was, and always will be to me, a huge, ginormous blessing.