For those that know me personally, they may or may not recall the complicated family arrangement I have had. My parent have both been married several time, and yet, they never married each other.
Whenever this conversation comes up my mother has feelings of shame and my father is rather oblivious to the feeling. I do not intend to cast shame or regret on either, just trying to place a mental picture of times. From oldest to youngest covers thirty years. (1956-1986)
Here is a bit of a rundown:
And that makes 12 children split among 8 households. Talk about strain. Now lets add in drugs, alcohol, and a chaotic society and you have the perfect blend of humans being…… well….. humans. Uggghhh.
For those that studied the chart, you noticed only one actual name on there, Mark. I never knew him. In fact, the very first time I laid eyes on him, it was standing over his casket.
A huge “why” is now linger in your mind I am sure. Well that same why lingers in my mind to this day. Every story I heard of his life was that of a soldier, citizen and generally well liked human. I am sure I would have liked him too.
A quick, yet empty answer, is that I never met my father until I was 18 or 19 years old. Mark and his mother lived 45-60 minutes away from us and that was an insurmountable distance for a bicycle owner/unlicensed traveler.
Well to finish up this little peak…. two weeks ago I took my wife on a motorcycle ride. First time in almost 12 years we meandered through the two lanes and cornfields, enjoying the sun and the breeze, and the beauty of God’s creation. As a matter of randomness we rode past the graveyard where Mark was buried and I thought to myself “wonder what his headstone looks like and what year was it that he died?”
Today I took my daughter for a ride on the motorcycle and decided to return to the graveyard on purpose to do just that and to give a life lesson on the frailty of life. Mark was born with juvenile diabetes which resulted in his early death.