Mark

We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future.

It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance. ~Marcel Proust
The call came, as these calls always do, out of the blue.

Why does the darkness of night lend itself so well to tears and news of death?

He’s dead.
He’s 36.
He leaves behind a wife and two daughters, 5 and 2.

It must be a mistake.

He can’t be dead.

But he is.

My nephew, Mark, was no stranger to struggle.
As an impulsive teenager and young adult, he had gotten lost; involved in drugs and poor decisions that had serious legal consequences.

His family had many nights, during those years, when such a call would not have been unexpected; maybe even welcomed; the relief of knowing that someone you loved was no longer in danger; no longer adrift and making his life, and theirs, a hell.

We had already seen a miracle with Mark.

The love of a good woman; the unconditional love of extended family; his faith known to God alone even as his body was frequently in church worshipping alongside his wife and those who loved him.

All these things, and the strength to face down his own demons, had returned Mark to us and to himself - to become more fully the person God had created him to be: a loving husband; a devoted father who hung the moon in the eyes of his girls; an irreverently funny cousin and nephew; a welder, a cook, an inventor, a motorcycle enthusiast and a loving friend to many.

His absence will leave a hole in our world; a space which will remain unclaimed by any other.

I take comfort in knowing, that however this life-after-death thing works, his uncle and godfather, Tom, was waiting for him ‘on the other side’.

He's not alone.

Neither are we.

Mark Thomas Erickson
June 17, 1974 – March 20, 2011

Episcopal Hymn 669
Hope on then, broken spirit
Hope on, be not afraid.
Fear not the grief’s that plague thee,
and keep thy heart dismayed
Thy God in his great mercy,
will save thee, hold thee fast
and, in his own time, grant thee
the joy of peace at last.


I love you, Marky.