Three Things Thursday: Life Lessons

I woke up yesterday thinking that it was Thursday. I then spent all morning working on this post. And you know what I realized just before I published it? It wasn't Thursday, after all; it was WEDNESDAY. So, the good news was that Thursday's post written. But then I had to work on Wednesday's.

I chose this topic because November 1st was Marks actual birthday, and since I learned so much from him in the final months of his life, I thought it would be a good idea to share some of the lessons he taught me (without realizing it). Here are three things that I learned from my friendship with Mark...

1. Be grateful for everything.

Mark was, without a single doubt, the most grateful person I've ever known. By a long shot. Living in a group home for men with special needs, he had very few possessions--I believe he was only given a small "allowance" from the money that was given to the home by the state for his care--but I never once heard him complain about or even ask for anything.

My dad actually met Mark because he'd frequently see Mark walking around the neighborhood looking for empty cans and bottles so that he could collect the 10 cent deposit on them, which he used for "pocket money" (he liked to buy cigarettes).

On his birthdays, we would like to get him a little something; it didn't matter what it was, he would open it and exclaim that it was just what he wanted. He went on about how great it was. If it was a shirt, for example, he would put it on immediately and feel proud to wear it.

When he was in the hospital and a nurse would come in to give him some sort of medication, he would always say, "Thank you, thank you so much." Even if it was a shot!

When he received hundreds of cards from my blog readers, he was grateful for every single one. I read each of them out loud to him. And in the ones that contained a gift card or some money or a gift, he couldn't believe that a stranger would give him something like that. When the nurses or cleaning staff came in, he'd sweep his arm in a gesture across the walls where his cards hung, saying, "Look at all these people that care about me!"

Another big one was coffee. Mark only drank instant coffee (the kind that you scoop into boiling water and stir around until it dissolves). Well, I'm pretty sure most of us would agree that it's, well, far from appetizing. The first time I offered to bring him a fancy coffee from Starbucks, he waved his hand and said, "Oh, I already have coffee right over there. I don't need anymore coffee."

Still, coming from a world that he wasn't really aware of, I wanted him to try something he'd never tried before. I bought him the most ridiculous coffee on the menu, all the frilly so-and-so mix-ins and toppings. (I'm not a coffee person so I am clueless when it comes to all the words I hear in the movies of people ordering coffee, hahaha). Mark was blown away! He was still more than happy with his instant coffee, but he was excited each time I brought him a "fancy" coffee as well.

I try to keep his grateful attitude in mind when I find myself thinking something negative. I think the fact that he grew up with nothing made it easier for him to be grateful for the small things in life; and since I grew up in a middle-class family, I find it harder. However, I do try to see things from his point of view, *especially* when receiving a gift from someone. When people put any sort of time, money, or thought into a gift--I don't look at the gift itself but at the person's thought and meaning behind it. It's impossible not to feel grateful that way!

2. Embrace the outdoors.

This one is hard for me. I've never been an "outdoorsy" person; I like to stay inside, out of the sun, and have control of the temperature, the lighting, the sound, etc. I get very distracted by certain things, especially noises; and birds drive me CRAZY. It's so hard for me to concentrate on anything at all when I can hear birds. I know that many people love the sound of birds; I am just not one of them.

Mark loved the outdoors. He would prefer to be outdoors more than anywhere else. Being in the hospital and group home was torture for him, because he couldn't leave as he pleased. In his group home, he could go for long walks outside or spend time working on the grounds at the home. My dad would take him fishing in the boat sometimes and Mark lived for those days. The staff told my dad that he couldn't have gotten there soon enough, because it was all Mark could talk about.

I believe this is from a time that his brother brought him camping

I will never forget the last day that I saw Mark, when he was propped in front of the TV at his nephew's house. Mark's eyes looked kind of empty and I felt terrible. I knew he'd rather be outside. When I asked about it, his nephew said that it was really cold outside. I decided that the next time I went, I would bring some warm clothes with me to bundle him up and take him for a walk outside (although he passed away before I could do that).

After that, I started going outside more frequently to try to see what Mark loved about it so much. That's about the time when I discovered just how much I enjoy squirrels. Sitting outside on the back deck and watching the squirrels was actually pretty entertaining! I started to think of them as pets, and they became more and more tame as I fed them "the good stuff" (walnuts, hazelnuts, and pecans in the shell).

One of the greatest feelings (to this day) is seeing how the squirrels came to trust me. I've never once tried to scare them in order to see them jump and race up the tree. I've always been patient and kind, and I speak in a soothing voice so that they get to recognize me and that I won't hurt them. Knowing that they trust me brings me so much joy.

Sitting outside and watching/feeding the squirrels brings me the happiness that I think Mark got from being outside. He enjoyed walking all over the place (and especially fishing with my dad), and while I do occasionally like a long walk when the weather is great, I prefer sitting on the deck or even around a fire at night.

3. Don't take time with people for granted.

One of my biggest regrets in life is that I didn't *truly* get to know Mark until after his cancer diagnosis. I always looked forward to seeing him on Halloween and on the occasion my dad would pick him up to go fishing or just come hang out at the house. It never occurred to me that having interaction with my family meant SO much to him.

Mark didn't have any family (that we knew of). He was orphaned as a child, and his brother died a long time ago. We didn't know about Mark's nephew until after he was sick. So basically, other than the staff and other residents in the home, we were what Mark had as far as family/loved ones.

This hit home for me one day when it was my duty to pick Mark up from the home and bring him to the park where we had a surprise 60th birthday party for my dad. When I went to the home, the owner told me that she was so worried that nobody would show up to get him because he hadn't stopped talking about "Reggie's" birthday party. For days!

He felt so included that day. The fact that he was *invited* to the party and we wanted him there. I think he had a great time just fitting in as part of the party. A lot of the people who attended were people who knew of Mark because they lived in the neighborhood where he walked. And they knew my dad befriended him, and that he was important to my family. He wasn't ignored; people talked to him and I think that meant a lot to him.

I think of this frequently in these post-pandemic days, when people seem to want nothing to do with getting together with people. For the people who crave interaction, like Mark, the only way they can get it is with other people who enjoy interaction. And with so many things being online now, it feels like we never see people in person anymore.

I am very much an introvert and making plans with people is super hard for me. I usually don't want to do it, right up until I'm actually there! But I am almost *always* happy that I go, and that I talk to friends and remember just what it is that I enjoy about interacting with them. There are so many things that you can't do over the internet or via texting or even talking on the phone. Being with people in person is something that can't be modernized in every way. I feel sorry for people whose love language is physical touch!

Jerry has said that the pandemic has made him more introverted, which kind of scares me. He has always been my opposite; when I didn't want to make plans, I would go ahead and make plans anyway--knowing it was best for him. And then I always enjoyed going! So now, I've been pushing him to make plans with friends before he stops doing it altogether.

Mark knew nothing about computers or smart phones, or texting... his only interaction was done in person. As terrible as it sounds, I can see a little bit of good in the timing of his death. Yes, he was young when he died. But if he was around much longer, he would have had to be around during the pandemic when he wouldn't have our visits to look forward to. And he wouldn't have understood why that was.

We were able to visit him very often while he was sick, and for that I'm very grateful. I know it meant the world to him. He loved his interactions with people--even the staff at the nursing home, who weren't exactly the friendliest--and without that, I think he may have lost his spirit. And Mark's spirit was the brightest I'd ever seen!

And a bonus... The words "I love you" have SO much meaning.

I'll keep this part short, but it's important. Since Mark was orphaned so young, and his brother died years prior to Mark's death, he grew up in a group home setting. On the last day that I saw Mark, just before we were leaving, he still had that sad look in his eyes while he was in front of the TV. I gave him a hug, then looked him in the eye and said, "I love you". It was the first time I'd said it to him, but if it was going to be the last time I saw him, I wanted to make sure he heard it.

At that moment, his eyes sparked to life. I can't explain it, but the physical change was like a light switch turned on and his eyes lit up--it was very noticeable. And it occurred to me at that moment that Mark had probably never heard those words, at least since he was a child (or possibly from his brother). My heart felt like it was breaking and I wished I'd told him that sooner.

Ever since my kids were babies, I've *always* made sure that I tell them "I love you" several times a day. Every single time they leave the house. Every single time we hang up the phone. Every single time we end a text. At the end of every argument. They know that I love them; but I want them to hear it all the time so there is never any doubt. I want it to be the last thing they remember me saying.

Everybody should hear those words from loved ones--partners, kids, family, and friends. Even when overused, it really does mean something. Mark taught me just how important it is to hear those words out loud.

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A Bittersweet Holiday

Halloween has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember. I love the fall, especially when the leaves are so colorful; I love seeing jack-o-lanterns on porches; I especially love seeing skeleton displays; and, on Halloween, I love seeing creative costumes while kids go trick-or-treating.

This tradition is quite a bit different than it was up until Halloween in 2014. The previous Halloween was the last time we would celebrate Mark's birthday before he passed away in March. If you've been reading for a while, then you know who Mark was--a very special family friend. My parents, Jerry, our kids, and I would have cake and ice cream with Mark at my parents' house before handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

I know I post about Mark pretty much every year at this time, but I feel like I've already said it all. The holiday is still bittersweet. I love this holiday, but I always feel an ache in my heart because I can't help but associate today with Mark. Today we would have celebrated his 68th birthday. We never knew how old he was until he was in the hospital and his birthday was on his bracelet. (He also thought his birthday was on Halloween, but we learned it was November 1st! Hahaha. Still, I will always consider Halloween to be his birthday.)

It's been a long time since I shared his whole story, however, so I'm going to repost it here. I wrote this a year after he'd passed away, explaining all about Mark, our Halloween tradition, his diagnosis, and how I tried to make his last months special, knowing he wasn't going to be celebrating another birthday...

---

March 25, 2015

March 25th of last year started like any other day. I spent the day with Jerry and, later that evening, I called Mark's nephew to let him know that we'd be coming over the next day to visit Mark. His nephew had his neighbor call me back to tell me that Mark wasn't doing well, and that the hospice nurse said it was only a matter of hours before he'd pass away.

I was stunned. I had just seen him the day before, when I went with my parents to his nephew's house to visit him; and while the situation at his nephew's house was FAR from ideal, Mark seemed to be doing okay physically, all things considered. He seemed unhappy to be there, with people who were basically strangers to him, but there was nothing we could do about that (I didn't write about all this at the time, because I didn't want to risk having Mark's nephew forbid us from seeing him at all). I didn't know that when we left that day, it would be the last time we ever saw Mark. But since I had said my good-byes several days before, I felt I said everything I needed to.

On March 26th, just after midnight, Mark passed away. And honestly, I felt so relieved for him.

I know many of you know Mark's story, and you followed along as I wrote about the progression of his lung cancer. But I don't have his whole story in one place, to make it easy to read for someone who wasn't able to follow along, so here goes:

Mark was a friend of my family for about 35 years (since before I was born!). Back then, my dad owned an auto repair shop a few blocks from our house, and he used to see Mark walking around, usually smoking a cigarette and collecting bottles to cash in for the deposit. Mark was intellectually disabled, and because of this, lived in a group home about a mile away with other men who had intellectual disabilities.

Because of his intellectual disability, Mark was pretty difficult to understand when he was speaking; but the more you got to know him, the more you could understand him. (Kind of like with kids--moms can understand anything their toddler is trying to say, but a stranger just hears a bunch of syllables). If it wasn't for his speech, you might not know that he was disabled.

My dad offered him a job at the auto shop, doing odd jobs like sweeping the floors, allowing Mark to earn some pocket money. My dad and Mark became buddies, and my dad started taking him fishing once in a while.

Mark and my dad at my dad's surprise 60th birthday party

I'm not sure when the tradition started, but we also started celebrating Mark's birthday with him, because he didn't have any family (or so we thought). He told us his birthday was on Halloween, so we would have cake and ice cream before handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

Even when we moved about 20 minutes away in 1997, my dad continued to pick up Mark several times each year to go fishing; and always, on his birthday. I always looked forward to Mark's birthday. Mark was the most grateful person I've ever met, and he never expected anything for his birthday, which made it even more fun to give him gifts or just wish him a happy day. When he opened a gift, no matter what it was, he loved it. When we asked him what kind of cake he'd like, or something like that, he'd just say, "Oh, any old cake!"

Anyway, I always looked forward to Halloween. Our tradition was that my dad would pick up Mark, and then we'd have dinner and cake at my parents' house. And after Mark opened his presents, we'd sit in the driveway, where my dad would make a campfire to stay warm while we handed out candy to the trick-or-treaters. For the past 5-6 years, I really found myself looking forward to it more and more; I think that was because I grew fonder of Mark each time I saw him. He was refreshing to talk to, because he never had a single complaint about anything.

His birthday in October 2013 was just like any other. Then in November, my dad told me that Mark had been diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. As cliche as it sounds, I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I was just in total disbelief. Mark was a smoker, and had been since he was a kid--but it was the only thing he really had that was his. As much as I dislike cigarettes, I never judged Mark for that--smoking was all he'd known for his whole life. So I shouldn't have been as shocked as I was when I heard the news of his cancer, but I had the hardest time really believing it.

I had a cold at the time, so I couldn't go to the hospital to see him until I was healthy. Meanwhile, I reached out on my blog to ask people to send cards to Mark--which I knew he'd LOVE. Mark didn't have family or friends outside of his group home, really, so I wanted him to feel surrounded by well-wishes. And holy cow, did you all respond! He received hundreds of cards.

When I went to visit him in the hospital for the first time, I brought the first batch of cards to read to him (Mark couldn't read). He was thrilled to see me, of course. My dad and I were there for several hours, and I read him all of the cards before hanging them up around his room.

My dad spoke with the doctor, who basically said that Mark didn't have long to live--the cancer was in his brain, his spine, his liver, everywhere. My dad immediately wanted to bring Mark to live at his house in hospice care, to avoid chemo and radiation and all that. It was then that we learned Mark had a nephew, who we knew nothing about. His nephew showed up to the hospital, and because he was immediate family, got to make all of the medical decisions for Mark. He didn't like the idea of Mark going to my parents' house, because they "weren't family", and instead, opted for chemo and radiation in the hospital.

Mark hated hospitals, and was aching to go home to his group home, but the home couldn't take him in because of the required medical care that he would need. The hospital couldn't keep him any longer, so his nephew signed him over to a nursing home. Mark would spend the next three months in the nursing home, and my dad and I tried to take turns visiting every other day, so that he would have a visitor every day. His nephew never went, so it was just my family, which is why the cards you all sent meant so much! Mark would tell the nurses, "I got so many people that care about me! Look at all these people that care about me!" and point to all his cards.

This nurse was amazing. There was no room left on the other wall, so she
spent a long time stapling his cards to his curtain!

For the five months between Mark's diagnosis and his death, I got to know him better than I had for the prior 30 years. We had some really great moments (funny and sad). Mark loved junk food, just like me, and I made it a point to bring him something each time I went to visit--a "fancy" Starbucks coffee (he was used to instant coffee, so anything better than that was fancy!), a strawberry McDonald's milkshake (his very favorite), hushpuppies from Long John Silvers, popcorn chicken from KFC, Mary Jane candies, and a ton of other things he requested.

 Mark didn't have many possessions, and certainly had no money, so these were all little luxuries to him. I looked forward to visiting each time I went because I was excited to bring him something new. Every time I visited, it was like a little vacation from the stress at home, because Mark was so happy all the time, and a true joy to be around.

Mark's number one goal was to get out of that nursing home and go back home. My dad and I talked to the physical therapists to see if there was any way we could get him to be functional enough to go back to the group home. They talked with the owner of the group home, who said that Mark had to be able to walk on his own. So Mark made that his mission--every time I visited, he'd tell me about physical therapy and that he's going to be walking soon so he could walk out of there and go home.

In the cards he received, Mark had gotten some money--a few dollars here and there, and it really started to add up. I socked it away in an envelope for him to use as he wanted, and when he had a couple hundred dollars saved up, I asked what he wanted to do with it. He thought about it for a little bit, and said that he wanted to have a party for the guys at his group home, complete with pizza and cake. (This is the story that I would later tell at his funeral... because it showed just what kind of person Mark was. Always thinking of making others happy!)

We made Mark's wish a reality in mid-February. He had enough money for the pizza and cake, and with enough left over, a goodie bag for each of the guys in the home. A lot of the men that live there have been forgotten about by their families, and they were all so grateful for everything--just like Mark. Mark had a fantastic party, and was able to walk into the home using a walker, which made him very proud. I hadn't seen him smile that big since before he was in the hospital!

After Mark's last chemo treatment, his therapists said he could go home if it was okay with the owner of the group home. Ordinarily, she said she wouldn't have let him come home, because it was a huge liability; but she'd known Mark for so long that she agreed. Again, Mark got his wish to get out of the nursing home, and he was thrilled to be back at the group home.

Almost as soon as he got home, however, he started to deteriorate very quickly. We begged his nephew to let us take him to my parents' house under hospice care, but his nephew said that when it came to that, he'd bring Mark to his house. Mark was bedridden, and was no longer able to stay at the group home. My mom and I went to the home to spend the day with him, and that day was really what I think of as my last visit with Mark. I had some time alone with him, and got to say everything I wanted to. I brought him a milkshake, but he couldn't drink it, which was sad. He slept most of the day.

Here, I'm trying to explain to Mark in front of the hospice nurse what
"hospice" meant, so that he could sign himself into hospice instead of
going back to the hospital at that point. She determined he wasn't of sound
mind to make the decision :( So we had to beg his nephew to do it.

My last photo of Mark. He was waving good-bye.

Mark's nephew signed him into hospice care and took him home; and just a few days later, on March 26, Mark passed away. Once again, I asked a favor from everybody reading my blog: to do a random act of kindness in Mark's honor. I loved reading about those! A few people took ice cream or other desserts to their local nursing homes for the residents, which I think is fantastic (and I know Mark would have loved that idea).

So, here we are, one year later. There hasn't been a single day that has gone by where I haven't thought of Mark in some way. No one close to me had ever died before, so this was very new to me, and I didn't handle it well. I ate my feelings away, and gained 20 pounds. I have regrets that I didn't really get to know Mark years and years ago, but I am also grateful that I was able to spend so much time with him when he likely needed someone the most. It feels like it all just happened recently, and it's so hard to believe it's been a year already!

Thanks so much to all of you who are still reading and who sent your love to Mark in some way--you made a big difference in his last few months! And so now, I ask again... since tomorrow is the anniversary of Mark's death, please try and do something ("any old thing!" as Mark would say) nice for someone else. A random act of kindness. And if you'd like, come share it here in the comments!

(To read all of the posts about Mark, you can click here. The first post regarding his diagnosis can be found here.)

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It's Been Nine Years!

I haven't had much to write about lately because I feel like all I do is work on finishing the bathroom and bedroom (they are almost done, honest!). I've finished painting and the floor is done--the last major thing is the bathroom closet. I went to Lowe's today to get the supplies I need to build the shelves, and I plan to work on that this week. So I'm hoping that by the new year, my "new" bedroom and bathroom will be finished. Finally!

Anyway, I searched my "December 20" pictures on my computer (I use the Photos app on Mac, which allows you to search pretty much anything and pulls up photos. I search dates sometimes to see what pictures I've taken on this date through the years.)

There are actually several fun pictures from December 20, but as soon as I saw this one, I knew I had to write about Mark.

My eyes immediately filled with tears when I saw him wearing the Santa hat, with his eyes crinkled at the corners from years of always smiling. I remember that day in the hospital; he was passing out candy to the hospital staff when they came into his room.

If you've been reading my blog for a long time (2013-2014 ish) then you know all about Mark. But I want to write about him today, because seeing this picture makes me miss him. So much. So here is his story, in a very small nutshell...

Mark was one of the most special people I've ever known. And unfortunately, I didn't get to be very close with him until the last four months of his life; he passed away from lung cancer in March of 2014.

Mark was a friend of my family for 35 years, and I don't even really remember *not* knowing him. My dad owned an auto shop when I was a kid; it was in the tiny neighborhood of a very small suburb where we lived. My dad would frequently see a man (Mark, he later learned) walking around the neighborhood. He liked to collect cans/bottles to get the deposit money to buy cigarettes.

My dad talked to him one day and learned his name was Mark and he lived in a group home a mile or so away. He was clearly intellectually disabled, which is why he was living in the group home, but he loved being around people. Mark's speech was kind of difficult to understand (at least until you got to know him better) and he started calling my dad Reggie. My dad's name is Leslie, but when Mark said it, it sounded like Reggie--and that's just what stuck. His name became Reggie when Mark was around!

My dad started saving cans and bottles for Mark, and he paid him to do odd jobs around the auto shop. Mark would have done it for nothing because he loved just being around people, but the group home didn't give him an allowance for cigarettes, and his cigarettes were something he really enjoyed.

Eventually, my dad started picking him up from the group home to take him out fishing on the boat (Mark loved fishing!) and he learned a little bit about Mark's past. He had been in some sort of accident when he was a kid--I believe eight years old, if I remember correctly--where he was hit by a car. It was actually the accident that caused his disability. I didn't learn this until the end of his life; I always assumed he was born with special needs. His parents both passed away when he was a kid as well, and he grew up in an "orphanage" setting; he lived in the group home his entire adult life.

When my dad learned that Mark's birthday was on Halloween, he started picking him up on Halloween and bringing him to our house for a little birthday celebration before we handed out candy. My dad would make a little campfire in the driveway, where we would sit around and hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters.

I can't stress enough just how grateful a person Mark was. He never complained about ANYTHING. Even when asked about his preferences, he just answered, "Oh, any old thing!". My mom would ask him what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, and he'd reply, "Oh, any old cake!"

We would give him a couple of little gifts--maybe a ball cap or a coffee tumbler (Mark loved coffee as much as cigarettes)--and his face would light up like he'd just been told he won a million dollars. It was so fun to give him a gift because his gratitude was as genuine as it gets.

I really started to look forward to spending Halloween at my parents' house with Mark. I only saw him a few times a year, but I knew that when he was around, there was no such thing as sadness or anxiety or any other negative emotions. Mark was the happiest person I'd ever met and you could *feel* his happiness in the air around him.

As far as we knew, Mark didn't have any family. He'd had a brother, but his brother passed away long ago. The woman who runs the group home told us that Mark would get SO excited when he knew that "Reggie" was coming to pick him up--whether it was for his birthday, or to go fishing, or just hang out at the house for the day.

In 2013, just a couple of weeks after we celebrated Mark's birthday at my parents' house, my dad told me devastating news: Mark was diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer and it was terminal--it had spread to his liver, brain, spine, and pretty much everywhere. I was stunned. I wasn't very close with Mark, but like I said, I always looked forward to seeing him and whenever I did, he was so nice and refreshing to be around.

Knowing he didn't have any family (at least that I knew of at that point), I immediately wanted to do whatever I could to make the best of his last days. My parents wanted to bring him to their house while receiving hospice care, and I loved that idea.

It was then that we learned Mark had a nephew, and his nephew would be taking over his medical decisions. I was so angry when his nephew chose to have Mark undergo chemotherapy and radiation; the LAST thing Mark wanted was to be in the hospital. Mark loved the outdoors and the hospital was the worst possible place for him to live out the remainder of his life.

I don't want to write about all the "bad" stuff, because I'd like this post to be about Mark's kind soul. But basically, his nephew (who we'd never even knew existed in the 35 years my dad had known Mark!) swooped in and tried to play the loving family member doing what was best for his uncle. I only met him twice--once in the hospital right after Mark was diagnosed and then again at the funeral. He didn't visit Mark a single time. But enough of that; clearly, I am very bitter about it!

The first thing I did when I heard about Mark's cancer was post about it on my blog. I set up a PO Box at the post office and asked for people to send him cards. I literally can't even think of the words to describe the love I felt for every single person who sent him a card. I was stunned--and so were the postal workers--at the amount of cards he received. I would stop and pick up his mail every time I visited him in the hospital, and then I would read the cards to him.

One of the night nurses took the time to staple all of his cards to the curtain around his bed. Mark would tell the staff, "Look at all these people that care about me. I have all these people that care about me!" and gesture to all of his cards. It was amazing to see how much his spirits were lifted when he got a batch of cards; even though Mark was the most positive person I've ever known, he made it clear that he wanted to get out of the hospital.

Mark especially loved Jerry. One day, when we went to visit, I was reading Mark his cards and he interrupted me to say that he wanted Jerry to read the cards instead of me because Jerry has a nice voice. BAHAHA!

I had a heart-to-heart conversation with him one day when just the two of us were in his room, and we talked about Heaven. He said his brother and his parents were in Heaven--"Home". He kept referring to Heaven as "HOME Home"--Home is where you live, but HOME Home is where you go when you pass away.

I asked him if he understood that he would be going HOME Home soon, and he seemed to understand. I didn't want to treat him like a child, but I also wanted to make sure he knew what was happening. (With the exception of my dad, people tended to treat him like a child; but Mark could understand much more than he was given credit for.)

We both cried. Seeing Mark cry was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. He told me he was scared, and I told him it was okay to be scared--but that HOME Home was going to be wonderful and he'd be able to see his brother again.

I wanted Mark to feel so special and so loved until the moment he went HOME Home. I asked him what his favorite foods were or what he'd like me to bring him. 

He loved McDonald's strawberry milkshakes, so I started bringing those frequently. He was used to drinking instant coffee, so I thought I'd spoil him with Starbucks and I brought him the most ridiculous frou-frou coffee drink that Starbucks had to offer, haha. He requested hush puppies from Long John Silver's. And Mary Jane candies. I loved to bring him things; I would read his cards out loud while he enjoyed his junk food.

He was eventually moved to a nursing home. The group home couldn't take him back because they weren't "equipped" to take care of him there, and his nephew didn't want to take him. His nephew also didn't want my parents taking him, so he was put into a nursing home. Mark really didn't like it there, and it became his mission to get well enough to go Home (the group home).

This is Mark with my dad; my dad visited him a few times a week as well.

I would bring Noah and Eli with me when I could and they really enjoyed seeing Mark, too. One night at home, Eli gave me this note:

Isn't that the sweetest thing ever?!

The radiation and chemo took a toll on him, but they bought him a little more time. He worked very hard on his physical therapy because he wanted to go Home so badly. Meanwhile, Mark had been getting some money here and there in his cards, and I collected it in an envelope for him. When I asked him what he'd like to do with it, he said he wanted to have a party for all of the men in the group home--complete with pizza and cake.

With the blessing of his physical therapist, Mark was able to go Home for a party (his therapist even came to help out--she was amazing). We had pizza and cake, and with the leftover money, I'd gotten a little gift from Mark for each of the men. Mark seemed so proud that it was HE who threw the party. It was the first time I'd met the other men who lived there, and I could see why Mark wanted to be there. They were special, too.

I think I'll end Mark's story there. He declined very quickly after that--it was like he'd accomplished what he'd worked so hard for, and he was ready to go HOME Home. 

Mark passed away on March 26, 2014. I was able to have a couple of good moments alone with him where I was able to say everything I wanted to say to him, and I'm glad that there isn't anything I wish I'd have gotten to say before he passed. I do wish that I'd gotten to *really* know him years earlier, before he was sick--I'd have taken him out to McDonald's for strawberry milkshakes once a week! That would have been better than any therapy sessions.

While I can't change the past, I am very happy to have gotten to be such a big part of Mark's life when he really needed people there. He had such a dramatic impact on my life, and in sharing his story, on thousands of other lives as well.

(If you'd like to read more about Mark, here are all of the posts labeled with Mark)

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Remembering Mark

I started to write a post about my history with Mark and I couldn't stop crying. I was reading through some old posts that I'd written when he was sick and reading those just made me feel heartbroken all over again. I switched gears to write this instead. (Still about Mark, just a different direction)

Tomorrow will be seven years since I last saw Mark before he received his terminal cancer diagnosis. It was his last birthday that we'd get to celebrate because just a month or so later, we learned that he had stage 4 lung cancer. He died the following March--only three months after his diagnosis.

My last "birthday photo" with him. Halloween 2013:

I wanted to write a whole post about Mark: who he is, how we got to know him, what kind of person he was, and what it was like to visit him several times a week for the last few months of his life. But I quickly realized I can't fit all of that into one post. But his story needs to be remembered. HE needs to be remembered.

Here is a post that I wrote a year after he died, summing up the whole story in as short of a post as I could. I hope that you'll read it. (Gosh, I just read it for the first time in years... AND crying again.)

I wish he knew just how much of an impact he made in just three short months. And what a huge impact YOU made on him. When I asked my blog readers to send him cards, I couldn't believe the response! He received over 700 cards (I lost count quickly).

Mark didn't have any family that he knew (he only met his (adult) nephew--his only living relative--after he was diagnosed). We (my parents and I) fought to bring him to my parents house in hospice care, but because we weren't family, it wasn't up to us. His nephew chose to have them go through radiation and chemotherapy and put him in a nursing home. I'm really bitter about that whole story, and I don't want to make this a negative post, so I am not going to write about it. There is nothing I can do about it now.

I do want to say how much Mark appreciated your kindness! I tried to visit him every other day, so I was going to the hospital/nursing home 3-4 times a week. And I would stop at the post office to pick up his mail on the way--it was stuffed to the max into the PO Box I'd set up--and I read him each and every card while I visited.

One night, an amazing nurse took the time to staple all of his cards to the curtain that divided the rooms--it was full of cards! When the staff would go into his room, he pointed out the cards and said, "See all these people that care about me? I have ALL these people that care about me!" 

I wish, more than anything, that I had done more with him sooner--before his diagnosis. I wish I'd taken him out for a good burger (he told me that one time he had a burger from Big Boy and it was "the best thing he ever ate!").

Living in the group home for nearly his entire life, Mark never really went anywhere "special". He loved coffee, and I started to bring him the "fancy" coffee from Starbucks. At the group home, he drank instant coffee, so I hoped Starbucks would be a treat. When I learned he loved strawberry milkshakes, I started bringing him one from McDonald's every time I visited. I wanted to spoil him rotten! And still, I felt bad that I hadn't done it sooner.

Mark was so grateful for everything that it made you WANT to do things for him just because it felt so nice to hear someone speak so positively. Not a single complaint. Just joy.

There are a few moments that I spent with him that I will never be able to erase from my mind. They're bittersweet as well. I'm glad I was there for him in those moments, but it was heartbreaking nonetheless.

One time, when he was in the hospital, I was there visiting by myself (sometimes the kids or Jerry would be with me, or my dad would be there, too). Mark mentioned going "HOME home"--meaning heaven. He said going "home" meant going back to his group home. Going "HOME home" meant going to heaven.

I asked him if he was scared about going HOME home and he started crying--sobbing. He said he was scared. I hadn't expected that. He was so positive about everything else, I thought that talking about seeing his parents in heaven would make him feel good. 

And because I'm a crier (I cry at pretty much every emotional moment, even during the feel-good ads on TV), I started crying with him. I did my best to to tell him it was okay, but I told him that it was also okay to be scared. Mark understood a lot more than people thought he did. I didn't even really realize just how much he understood until that moment.

Speaking of the kids visiting with me, look at this sweet note that Eli wrote me one day!

Another moment I'll never forget was the last time I ever saw him--not because it was the last time, but because I saw, in just a flicker in his eyes, that I'd made an impact.

He was at his nephew's house (just for the last few days of his life) and I went to visit with my parents. Mark was propped in front of the TV, which made me upset because I knew he'd rather be talking or just sitting outside--even in the cold March weather--than in front of the TV. We talked to him the best we could, under the circumstances.

When it was time to leave, I gave him a hug good-bye, trying not to cry (as always, haha). His eyes seemed empty, like he was looking through me instead of at me. I said, "I'll be back in a couple of days to visit again. I love you." 

And when I said that, his eyes came to life. As dramatic as it sounds, I can't really explain it any other way. He seemed to really SEE me then and it shifted his mood. He perked up.

I thought about that look on my way home, and it hit me that the last time he probably heard the words "I love you" was when his parents were alive--and that was when he was so young, he probably wouldn't have even remembered. 

The next night, Mark went HOME home, just after midnight. I wish I could have been there with him, but I didn't have enough notice to get there. 

For his funeral, I made collages of photos that I'd taken over the last three months as well as photos that the group home had given me. I also took all of the cards he'd received and punched a hole in the top left corner, then bound them in groups with a metal ring. I laid them on tables around the funeral home so that the few people who were there could SEE how loved he was, even if by strangers.

This is what Eli wore to his funeral (he picked it out). I think Mark would have loved the hat! :)

When the minister asked if anyone would like to say anything about Mark, I told the story of Mark's cards--how he'd gotten a little money here and there inside of the cards you all sent--and that I'd tucked it in an envelope for him to spend how he wanted. Eventually, he had a couple hundred dollars--so I asked him what he'd like to do with it. 

He said that he'd like to have a party for the men in the group home, complete with pizza and cake. I arranged for that, and he still had money left over. So we made a gift bag for each of the men, containing little things from a "wish list" that my dad had gotten from the home.

The day of his party was a great day--Mark was able to walk (using a walker) into the house. He got to visit with all of the residents. And they celebrated Mark's visit with pizza and a special cake that I'd ordered from Monica's, my favorite bakery.

I spoke of how that party showed just what type of person Mark was. He had more spending money than he'd ever had and when I asked what he'd like to do with it, he wanted nothing more than to go home and see his friends, treating them to pizza and cake.

I still think of Mark frequently, but especially on Halloween. It's kind of funny, actually--it wasn't until Mark was in the hospital and we could read his hospital bracelet that we learned his birthday was actually November 1. Mark always thought it was on Halloween. And to my family, it'll always be on Halloween ;) 

Tomorrow, Jerry and I plan to hang out in the "man cave" in the garage, passing out candy to any kids that may come. On a "normal" Halloween, we get about eight trick-or-treaters... with COVID, maybe we'll get a couple? I bought 12 full-size candy bars just in case, so hopefully we get to hand them all out! Haha. Jerry and I can play a game and watch scary movies. I'm actually looking forward to it! 

Here is one of the photos of Mark that the group home had. I love it! I'm not sure when it was taken, but he was clearly having a blast doing the limbo ;) 

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