I never really liked practical jokes. Mark did. He
used to do the “hold on, hunno, there’s a spider on your back” commentary just
about every April Fool’s day that I knew him. I fell for it every time. After I was sufficiently hysterical, he would say “April
Fool, there isn’t a spider on you.”
Not funny!! I believe one
year I was able to convince him that if he ever did that again, he would be
living in the garage because he stopped tormenting me after that.
This date, April 1, 2013, pops in my head every year because
Mark lost his mom on April 1, 1990.
We were living in Gansevoort, NY (near Saratoga). Our children were very small. Andrea was 6, Michael was barely
4 and Emilie was just 6 months old.
A few times each year we would head back home to Syracuse to visit the
grandparents and hang out for a long weekend. This time, instead of heading straight to my parents for our
overnight stay, we stopped at his mother’s to see her first. The last time we saw her was in
November for Emilie’s baptism at the Catholic church in Liverpool. Mark’s mom had a very bad cold at the
time so she only held the baby for a few minutes before handing her back to us,
and then heading home. So now it
was spring again and Andrea was especially excited to see her grandma because the
woman bought dozens and dozens of presents for each grandchild; I’m not
exaggerating. Andrea was at the
age where she remembered these things well and couldn’t wait to get there and
receive all of her surprises. We
pulled into the driveway and Mark’s brother, Gary, was there. Gary was just stepping out of the house
and walking toward his car. We
pulled in and gave him a shout out.
Gary asked Mark to come out of the car for a minute. He looked bewildered. Mark walked to the front step of the
house and Gary and Mark were in a very serious discussion. Mark called me over and said “My mother
is in the house and Gary just found her.
She has passed away.”
I couldn’t believe it! She
was barely past 50! She had been
dealing with this cold and cough for many months and didn’t go to the
doctor. She died from
pneumonia. Gary and Mark contacted
the police while I drove the children to my parent’s house. As I was driving away, the ambulance
was just coming down the road with its lights on, but no siren. I don’t remember how I explained it to
Andrea and the rest of the kids, but I do remember Andrea asking over and over
again why she couldn’t get out of the car to see her grandma. Over the next few days, Mark and Gary
arranged for their mom to be cremated and without much fanfare, we drove her
ashes to their camp in the Adirondacks and buried her next to her husband. Mark and Gary cleaned out the house as
best they could. Gary, Kyong and
Jenny moved in and made it their home.
At this point, I watched my husband lose his dad and his mom and both of
his grandparents during the 13 years that I had known him. It was amazing to me how stoic he was
through it all. He handled loss
with such strength. While Mark was
in the ICU for the last 11 days of his life, I kept talking to him and telling
him that something really sad was happening and he needed to wake up and hold
me and the kids to help us like he always does. This time, however, Jesus was doing the holding, and Mark
didn’t have to be sad or strong anymore.
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