Painful

I’ve used the phrase several times recently in describing this past weekend and I truly don’t know any better way of saying it: it was exquisitely painful.

There was profound sadness, moments of genuine humor and the gifts of tradition and family gathered for celebration and remembrance.

There was acknowledgment that while our bodies are fragile and transitory, the legacy of how, and who, we love endures.

There were children running around several venues, full of energy and life; there were moments of adults being rendered immobile by grief and tears.

There were huge burly men with tatoos crying unashamedly for the loss of a comrade/a brother in arms and siblings laughing through their tears at memories of a brother who was bigger than life.

There were bikers standing guard at a casket, draped in full leather; old country Greek women in black babushkas; people of every skin tone imaginable, of all ages and from all walks of life; a testimony not only to the multifaceted reality that was Marks life but to the inclusive nature of the network of family and friends his parents have created over 4 decades.

It was a glorious celebration…and Mark would have loved it and been in the thick of it…and he was.