June 1, 2019
I was talking with some people at my daughter, Anna's, house when I heard a gut wrenching sound from my husband, Chuck, calling out to our daughter, Anna, twice. You see, he called me first, I didn't hear. I saw her run to her father, I thought something had happened to him. I got up and ran. First, I hear "Michael's dead"! and I was on the floor in the hallway. I remember screaming "No! Not my Michael"! Then I heard my daughter, Anna, say "No Mom, it's not Michael, it's Mark". I went through two deaths of my children! The last thing I remember is screaming, "No! Not my Mark"! My daughter, bless her heart, was holding me. No idea where Chuck was. Not much memory after that.
I remember praying with Chuck just about all night. In the car, on our way home, I remember talking to my brother Bill. Then all of a sudden we are home. Doug and Anna drove us. Somehow I got in the house.
My son, Charlie, took me upstairs to show me where Mark died. Bless him, it was so hard for him. Charlie is the one who had to identify Mark. I laid in the spot where Mark died. I touched it. I smelled it. I caressed it, where his body laid for over 8 hours. It was what I had to do.
I still go and sit where he died. Peace is what I feel, then it turns into that overwhelming feeling of grief that I wish no others would suffer. Losing my child is the most devastating thing I have ever experiened. I miss my son Mark, but am overjoyed he suffers no more. How can I say this? I watchd him struggle, re-hab, recovery, relapse, recovery then relapse again. Now Mark is with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ and I can't wait to see him again! Besides Jesus, My husband, daughter and four sons are my life. They've given me many grandchildren. Mark's legacy will live on.
Tuesday, December 10, 2019
The Horrible Night and Aftermath
Saturday evening, June 1, 2019, began one of the most difficult journeys my wife Leigh and I have ever experienced, and pray we never have to experience again. We were in Albany visiting our oldest, Anna, and her husband, Doug, and our grandchildren Jessica and Aidan.
About 9:25 in the evening our son, Charles, called me to tell me our son, Mark, was deceased. "Hi Charles." I said. He said "Hi Dad. The ambulance and Sheriff are at your house. Mark is dead." I screamed twice for Leigh, twice for Anna, and threw down the phone. (He later told me he equated this with 'ripping off the band-aid'. Might just as well say it. There is NO easy way.)
There is no easy way to hear that. There is no easy way to process that information, or to share that with the woman you love. Her baby boy, her precious youngest son, Mark, is dead.
We rushed to each other, held each other, cried with each other. The ensuing panic, crying, moaning, wailing, flailing, consumed us both, for hours, and has consumed us now for months. We prayed it wasn't so, that perhaps there was a mistake. Not Mark? Not Mark! All too true, all too gruesome.
We spent the night continually in prayer. There was company at Anna and Doug's house. We remember no one coming or going. We may have dozed in each other's arms for a bit. We prayed the Lord's prayer, said multiple Hail Mary's, and asked for mercy and strength. Neither of us could drive our car home - it is about a five hour drive - we could not focus. I don't even remember packing to come home. Eventually we were back in Clarendon - don't ask me how.
Family came together. There were many tears, hugs, more tears, more hugs, prayers, and then more prayers. Too many questions, not enough answers. Leigh and I sought solace in praying with each other, and alone, and grieving with each other, and alone. Still too many questions, never enough answers. What were we to do? No idea, no concept.
Our children stepped up and took over for their Mother and Father. We who had been so strong and resolute for them over so many years, had no strength of our own. Anna, Charles, Thomas, and Michael stood in our place and took over caring not only for us, but also for Mark. Words cannot express our love for them, and their love for their brother, and for us. What a wonderful woman is our daughter, Anna, and such wonderful men are our sons, Charles, Thomas, Michael, and Mark.
We have come to know we were not alone in our experience of Mark's tragic death. Too many other of people's loved ones have died from the poison of fentanyl. Too many others have experienced, and continue to experience, the devastating grief of death from overdose. There is even a Facebook group for those who have had this unlucky experience - GRASP - Grieve Recovery After a Substance Passing - GRASP on the Web.
Leigh and I have been tested even more in this horrid aftermath.
We had questions about Mark's eternal soul, but have received confirmation he is in heaven. (More on this in another post.)
We have had to meet with the District Attorney and Sheriff. Thank God for these good men. A challenging experience has been to see the individuals charged in Mark's death in court. Two From Holley To see these 'people' and know they have such a callous disregard for another's life is still beyond understanding. Their sentencing is still to come on December 19th.
We pray for justice, but realize there can NEVER be true justice, only a false sense of retribution. They will continue to live for as long as the Lord gives them. We will NEVER see our Mark again this side of glory. We pray the memories, pictures, and stories will never, ever fade.
Some days we struggle for each breath, the pain of grief burns our lungs, our throats. It consumes us many days, in sleepless nights, often in no motivation.
We console ourselves with the knowledge of our other children, and grandchildren. We love them all dearly.
One is missing, one is gone, ripped needlessly from our lives, the lives of his sister, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins, the entire family and community.
We understand now, fully, the pain each parent feels who loses a child.
Thursday, October 24, 2019
Attornies: Advocating for Our Loved Ones
Our son, Mark David Kinsey, died unexpectedly on June 1, 2019 from a drug overdose. We mourn his loss, and have seen the grief and devastation his death has caused us, his parents, his sisters and brothers, the entire family, friends, first responders, and the entire community.
Within each day there is some event, some activity, which drives home the impact of his death on our lives. This is not something actively sought. On many days remembering his loss, and the grief it brings, is utterly exhausting to the point where we are mentally, physically, and spiritually spent.
Most recently we have been meeting with the district attorney regarding the criminal prosecution of these individuals responsible for selling drugs to Mark, and responsible for his death, and going to court as spectators, at the invitation of the district attorney.
These multiple meetings and court visits has also been mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausting. Not only does talking about the 'facts' of the case bring everything back to remembrance, to our mind how the law views the 'facts' of this case does not even begin to measure up to the grief and pain we have suffered, and will continue bear, until the day we are called home to be with our Lord and Savior.
The people being held in Mark's 'case' have entered a guilty plea to possession of a narcotic, fentanyl, and criminally negligent homicide. (Two Plead Guilty) The law views these charges as appropriate to the crime. Our opinion differs greatly - murder in the first degree would be our charge. Did these people not know that any narcotic can be deadly? And that fentanyl is one of the most lethal narcotics being sold? (Deaths by Drug Overdose) Did these people not willingly sell this narcotic, fentanyl, with the full knowledge it can be, and is, fatal?
It is painful to the extreme to continue revisiting the 'facts' of Mark's death. Yet we persist in the interest of seeking justice for Mark, and others like Mark, who are dealing with a substance use disorder. There is no shame in speaking plainly about this awful disease. We encourage parents, sisters and brothers, family and friends to continue to advocate for those with a substance use disorder. If it can save one life, our efforts will have been worthwhile.
God bless you all.
Saturday, October 5, 2019
A Siblings Grief and Good Memories - Tom
Nothing but the Good Memories
By Tom Kinsey
I wanted nothing but the good memories. This is what I told myself when my mother called and said that it was time to go through Mark’s things. I went to her house one day after work in late August to reluctantly sift through his collection of items: jackets, shirts, a watch, some books, CDs, DVDs, some odds and ends, a coffee maker, tools, trinkets. I had convinced myself that I would leave with nothing. I wanted nothing. I would leave with nothing but the good memories. Anything I took would be too hard to bear, an emotional weight too heavy to carry. But then I saw the book I had given him for Christmas 2013. It was The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien. As I slowly turned the pages, I wondered when he had last held the book. Shortly afterward, my mother showed me a Valentine’s Day card that I had given Mark decades ago.
It was a Garfield Valentine that read, “Just gotta tell you . . . You’re special!” I had written “To: Mark From: Tom” in a large and untidy script. I have never been fond of Valentine’s cards or the day for that matter, but something had prompted me well over 30 years ago to give Mark this card. More astonishingly, something prompted my brother to keep it. I wish I could ask him why. What was it about this card that made him want to hold on to it? Maybe I was in a more tender mood at that point and that is something Mark wanted to remember. I am going to tell myself that yes, this is the reason why, because I know I could be hard sometimes. Mark was remembering the best of me.
As I remember the best of him. I know why I gave him a copy of The Things They Carried. I taught the book at Finger Lakes Community College when I was an adjunct instructor, and I thought he would appreciate reading about the strength and perseverance of the soldiers trudging their way through Vietnam. After all, he persevered with earning his GED at age 26. I was so proud of him when he attained his degree. I tried to persuade him to come to community college to further his education, but his smile told me everything I needed to know about that idea. Nevertheless, I told him to hold his head high and be proud of his accomplishment. His was a difficult road. He had traveled long and hard to reach that goal, and I was proud.
No matter what happened, I will remember the best of my brother. Mark had some funny sayings and a broad smile. He enjoyed fishing and hunting turkeys. He loved his nieces and nephews. He was a good man. A hard worker. Gifted with natural ability to combine the right ingredients in the right amounts with amazing speed and agility, he was a talented cook and baker. When Charlie called me that night, June 1, 2019, I was asleep on the couch. I had spent the day with my family at Genesee Country Village and Museum. “Tom,” Charlie began, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Mark is dead.”
Nothing has ever knocked me down so hard.
Nathaniel, my son, saw and heard everything, the ungodly sounds that I must have been making. I quickly stood and tried to find resolve. What was I going to do? I had to do something. Anything. I told my brother that I would be in Holley as soon as possible.
Down the road from my parents’ house, I could see the pulsing red and blue lights, and when I arrived, I parked my car behind two police cruisers. Several relatives were in the front lawn with officers and paramedics. I went inside the house and then spoke to an officer at the kitchen table and offered clues to help the police unlock Mark’s phone. The sergeant was able to unlock the phone before Mark’s body was taken out on the gurney. The sight of the white sheet covering Mark’s body was enough to solidify this thought: yes, this is real; yes, Mark is dead.
That night, I was unable to sleep, so around three in the morning I sat and wrote the following poem. I was wrecked with sorrow, for I kept thinking about the white sheet covering Mark’s body and about the little white coffin that cradles Abel’s body. His son, just two weeks old, died four years earlier.
For Mark and Abel
June 1, 2019
Let us each be laughter,
the joy of the sun,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright the morning come.
For you there is no sorrow, but only joy,
for you are home
with your little boy.
Let us each be siblings,
the joy of our bond,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright the noontide sun.
For now is our sorrow, tomorrow our joy,
when we see you again
with your little boy.
Let us each be friends,
the joy of times to come,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright still the setting sun.
For we forget sorrow, remember only joy,
when we are all home with you
and your little boy.
No matter what happened, Mark’s spirit and the joy of his life trump the memory of that night. He has laid down his burdens, as the saying goes. I pick up The Things They Carried sometimes, and I take out the Valentine’s Day card that I keep in between the pages next to the picture of him when he was eight or nine. Tim O’Brien explains that the weight of memory that the soldiers carry far outweigh anything else that they carried through the jungle. The weight of June 1, 2019 will always be there until I meet Mark again. Even so, Mark helps me remember nothing but the good memories. He helps me because he kept the things that mattered. Little things. A little Valentine’s Day card that most people would just toss away, that I probably would just toss away, when it was socially acceptable to do so.
Because Mark, “Just gotta tell you . . . You’re special!”
You are with me always. You remembered the best of me, and I remember the best of you.
By Tom Kinsey
I wanted nothing but the good memories. This is what I told myself when my mother called and said that it was time to go through Mark’s things. I went to her house one day after work in late August to reluctantly sift through his collection of items: jackets, shirts, a watch, some books, CDs, DVDs, some odds and ends, a coffee maker, tools, trinkets. I had convinced myself that I would leave with nothing. I wanted nothing. I would leave with nothing but the good memories. Anything I took would be too hard to bear, an emotional weight too heavy to carry. But then I saw the book I had given him for Christmas 2013. It was The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien. As I slowly turned the pages, I wondered when he had last held the book. Shortly afterward, my mother showed me a Valentine’s Day card that I had given Mark decades ago.
It was a Garfield Valentine that read, “Just gotta tell you . . . You’re special!” I had written “To: Mark From: Tom” in a large and untidy script. I have never been fond of Valentine’s cards or the day for that matter, but something had prompted me well over 30 years ago to give Mark this card. More astonishingly, something prompted my brother to keep it. I wish I could ask him why. What was it about this card that made him want to hold on to it? Maybe I was in a more tender mood at that point and that is something Mark wanted to remember. I am going to tell myself that yes, this is the reason why, because I know I could be hard sometimes. Mark was remembering the best of me.
As I remember the best of him. I know why I gave him a copy of The Things They Carried. I taught the book at Finger Lakes Community College when I was an adjunct instructor, and I thought he would appreciate reading about the strength and perseverance of the soldiers trudging their way through Vietnam. After all, he persevered with earning his GED at age 26. I was so proud of him when he attained his degree. I tried to persuade him to come to community college to further his education, but his smile told me everything I needed to know about that idea. Nevertheless, I told him to hold his head high and be proud of his accomplishment. His was a difficult road. He had traveled long and hard to reach that goal, and I was proud.
No matter what happened, I will remember the best of my brother. Mark had some funny sayings and a broad smile. He enjoyed fishing and hunting turkeys. He loved his nieces and nephews. He was a good man. A hard worker. Gifted with natural ability to combine the right ingredients in the right amounts with amazing speed and agility, he was a talented cook and baker. When Charlie called me that night, June 1, 2019, I was asleep on the couch. I had spent the day with my family at Genesee Country Village and Museum. “Tom,” Charlie began, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Mark is dead.”
Nothing has ever knocked me down so hard.
Nathaniel, my son, saw and heard everything, the ungodly sounds that I must have been making. I quickly stood and tried to find resolve. What was I going to do? I had to do something. Anything. I told my brother that I would be in Holley as soon as possible.
Down the road from my parents’ house, I could see the pulsing red and blue lights, and when I arrived, I parked my car behind two police cruisers. Several relatives were in the front lawn with officers and paramedics. I went inside the house and then spoke to an officer at the kitchen table and offered clues to help the police unlock Mark’s phone. The sergeant was able to unlock the phone before Mark’s body was taken out on the gurney. The sight of the white sheet covering Mark’s body was enough to solidify this thought: yes, this is real; yes, Mark is dead.
That night, I was unable to sleep, so around three in the morning I sat and wrote the following poem. I was wrecked with sorrow, for I kept thinking about the white sheet covering Mark’s body and about the little white coffin that cradles Abel’s body. His son, just two weeks old, died four years earlier.
For Mark and Abel
June 1, 2019
Let us each be laughter,
the joy of the sun,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright the morning come.
For you there is no sorrow, but only joy,
for you are home
with your little boy.
Let us each be siblings,
the joy of our bond,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright the noontide sun.
For now is our sorrow, tomorrow our joy,
when we see you again
with your little boy.
Let us each be friends,
the joy of times to come,
bright smiled, bright laughing,
bright still the setting sun.
For we forget sorrow, remember only joy,
when we are all home with you
and your little boy.
No matter what happened, Mark’s spirit and the joy of his life trump the memory of that night. He has laid down his burdens, as the saying goes. I pick up The Things They Carried sometimes, and I take out the Valentine’s Day card that I keep in between the pages next to the picture of him when he was eight or nine. Tim O’Brien explains that the weight of memory that the soldiers carry far outweigh anything else that they carried through the jungle. The weight of June 1, 2019 will always be there until I meet Mark again. Even so, Mark helps me remember nothing but the good memories. He helps me because he kept the things that mattered. Little things. A little Valentine’s Day card that most people would just toss away, that I probably would just toss away, when it was socially acceptable to do so.
Because Mark, “Just gotta tell you . . . You’re special!”
You are with me always. You remembered the best of me, and I remember the best of you.
Friday, September 27, 2019
A Siblings grief - Charlie
Four months have gone by since my youngest brother Mark passed away from a drug overdose. Every day has had its challenges. Joy has been tempered by pain, beautiful mornings sometimes ruined with memories of death, and a constant reminder that a part of me is missing. Still, life does go on…but it’s different now. I take comfort in the knowledge that Mark is no longer suffering, he is with Jesus, and that I will walk and talk with him again someday. I selfishly wish that he was still here so that our family didn’t have to go through this, while at the same time I rejoice for the end of his journey.
June 1, 2019 is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life. My wife and I along with our children all went to June fest for a morning of fun. We shopped at the local vendors, talked with friends as we passed by, and the kids played games. My youngest daughter Emma unfortunately won a goldfish…it was a pretty good morning. My wife’s family came over to visit in the afternoon and we all had a good time. In the late evening I saw my cellphone buzzing on the counter and I almost didn’t answer it because I didn’t recognize the number. It was Mark’s girlfriend and she had just returned to my Mom and Dad’s house from work where she found Mark dead. I could barely understand her as she tried to tell me that she thought Mark was dead and I told her to call 911 and that I would be right over. My father in law and brother in law went with me to my parents’ house where I met her in the front yard. She was inconsolable and hyperventilating. The ambulance and police were already there. I finally got her to go inside and sit at the kitchen table with my father in law where he spent the next hour talking with her and calming her down.
After she went inside, I confirmed with the emergency responders that Mark was dead. He had died earlier that morning. By then my Uncle Tom, and cousins Dan and Aaron were in the front yard too. I then started the agonizing process of calling my parents and siblings to let them know the news. I will always remember the sounds that they all made as I called them to let them know what had happened, clutching my own chest to remain calm, and the pained expression on the faces of many of the emergency responders as I made each call. Many of them knew my parents well and there was a lot of love being shown that night. After this came the interview with the sheriff’s office and the identification with the coroner. By this time my brothers were with me. My brother Mike brought Mark’s girlfriend home and my brother Tom helped with the interview with the Sheriff. I was thankful that I was surrounded by so much love that night. After I identified Mark for the coroner the funeral director arrived, and they carefully and professionally brought Mark out of the house and drove him away. These are the last memories that I have of Mark, but they are not the ones that I will keep close to my heart.
I remember when my parents told me they were having another baby, and I remember the day they brought Mark home when he was born. As he grew, we quickly found out that he was a bundle of energy, filled with joy, with the biggest smile I had ever seen. His smile and compassion for others are the characteristics that will always define Mark for me.
Over the last four months I have spent a lot of time in prayer, in self- reflection, and a lot of time thinking about the impact he had here on Earth. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, it is our impact on people around us both known and unknown that will define us. Mark was in pain, for many different reasons but always gave of himself to others, and at the end of his day he was my brother that loved his family and loved his God. The outpouring of emotion and gratitude for Mark from so many people at his funeral and during the months that have followed is amazing. Even though he was suffering, even though he was in pain, he was still able to have such a profound impact on others...It’s amazing… and it's powerful.
June 1, 2019 is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life. My wife and I along with our children all went to June fest for a morning of fun. We shopped at the local vendors, talked with friends as we passed by, and the kids played games. My youngest daughter Emma unfortunately won a goldfish…it was a pretty good morning. My wife’s family came over to visit in the afternoon and we all had a good time. In the late evening I saw my cellphone buzzing on the counter and I almost didn’t answer it because I didn’t recognize the number. It was Mark’s girlfriend and she had just returned to my Mom and Dad’s house from work where she found Mark dead. I could barely understand her as she tried to tell me that she thought Mark was dead and I told her to call 911 and that I would be right over. My father in law and brother in law went with me to my parents’ house where I met her in the front yard. She was inconsolable and hyperventilating. The ambulance and police were already there. I finally got her to go inside and sit at the kitchen table with my father in law where he spent the next hour talking with her and calming her down.
After she went inside, I confirmed with the emergency responders that Mark was dead. He had died earlier that morning. By then my Uncle Tom, and cousins Dan and Aaron were in the front yard too. I then started the agonizing process of calling my parents and siblings to let them know the news. I will always remember the sounds that they all made as I called them to let them know what had happened, clutching my own chest to remain calm, and the pained expression on the faces of many of the emergency responders as I made each call. Many of them knew my parents well and there was a lot of love being shown that night. After this came the interview with the sheriff’s office and the identification with the coroner. By this time my brothers were with me. My brother Mike brought Mark’s girlfriend home and my brother Tom helped with the interview with the Sheriff. I was thankful that I was surrounded by so much love that night. After I identified Mark for the coroner the funeral director arrived, and they carefully and professionally brought Mark out of the house and drove him away. These are the last memories that I have of Mark, but they are not the ones that I will keep close to my heart.
I remember when my parents told me they were having another baby, and I remember the day they brought Mark home when he was born. As he grew, we quickly found out that he was a bundle of energy, filled with joy, with the biggest smile I had ever seen. His smile and compassion for others are the characteristics that will always define Mark for me.
Over the last four months I have spent a lot of time in prayer, in self- reflection, and a lot of time thinking about the impact he had here on Earth. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, it is our impact on people around us both known and unknown that will define us. Mark was in pain, for many different reasons but always gave of himself to others, and at the end of his day he was my brother that loved his family and loved his God. The outpouring of emotion and gratitude for Mark from so many people at his funeral and during the months that have followed is amazing. Even though he was suffering, even though he was in pain, he was still able to have such a profound impact on others...It’s amazing… and it's powerful.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Grief and Breathing
The grief takes my breath away, so fast, so hard, it feels like my lungs stop, like maybe there will not be another breath, ever again. It passes for a moment, and then hits again, sometimes not as hard, sometimes harder, always again and again, relentless, until grief has had its way and left me weak, helpless, unsure.
The words will not escape my lips. There is no air for them. Sometimes it feels as though there will never be any more words, or breath. how can someone talk, speak, or even breathe with this terrible pain of unrelenting grief hanging around their neck? The questions recur, for which there are no answers.
The words should come, there should be answers, right?
Finally almighty exhaustion washes over words and air, and there is no choice but to collapse, or recover.
A Siblings Grief - Michael
Reflections of a Broken Man.
On June 1, 2019 my younger brother, Mark, died tragically from a drug overdose. I remember picking him up for work that morning. He was due to be at work at 6:15AM, and so I went by to pick him up at around 5:45AM. He was not awake. None of the lights in the house were on. Mark never woke up late when he needed to work. Looking back this was a red flag. I called him several times and he finally woke up. I told him to get ready because we could still make it in time. He came out around 6:05AM and we made our way to his job. We arrived at 6:14AM and he walked inside. His shift was supposed to last until 1:00PM.
Around 10:04AM he texted me. He asked "Hey, can you scoop me up from work?" I replied sure. I thought maybe his shift ended early because there was no business. Working in a restaurant is often difficult and for a number of reasons. My wife and kids were in the car with me because we were going to the parade in town. We picked him up and he was white. The boys greeted him, "Hi Uncle Boochey!" And he responded slowly and haltingly, "hey buddies..." He stumbled as he walked. He slurred his speech. I looked at him and he did not look well. This was not the "I am sick" look but rather worse than that. I asked him if I needed to take him to the doctor. He knew that I knew. He said "Nah, man. I just need to sleep this off." This was not the first time he ever said these words to me, but it was the last time.
We dropped him off, and I said I'd see him later. Then we watched him walked into the house. He was stumbling but he was upright. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door. I thought to myself - He is good enough to open the door - He will be OK. We pulled out of the driveway and drove into town for a parade. I would never see my brother alive again.
I saw children laughing and playing. I saw adults clapping and swaying. I saw politicians "If I may" -ing. The juxtaposition of the day and the night, looking back, is palpable.
After we had walked through town a bit and checked out this and that - you know the small town fare - people selling their unwanted goods hoping you will find a good deal on a buried treasure - the church cooking chicken over an open fire grill - the dunk tank and the mayor - the police out and about ensuring the public safety. I said to Jenn, my wife, that I didn't feel well and that I wanted to go home. She is such a good woman. She drove me home.
I laid down to sleep around 3 or 4:00PM. I woke up suddenly in my sleep at 5:30 or so and had a sinking feeling in my gut as though I was missing several heartbeats. Then I thought of Mark. Was he OK? I should check up on him. Nah, he's fine. He's probably drinking a cup of coffee or something. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at 9:35 when my wife came into my bedroom and said. "Michael, Mark has died." I sat up. Silenced myself again and asked if she had told the boys. She had not, and so together we broke the news to them. My oldest brother had attempted to call me. My phone was on vibrate which meant I did not answer and out of desperation called my wife. She was at the fireworks in town with the kids. She came home immediately.
Then I called my oldest brother. He asked me to come over. I did so. He was calm and collected. Two of my cousins were there outside. My oldest brother's father in law was there outside. I went in where I found Charlie next to the kitchen sink, and Mark's girlfriend sobbing while speaking with the sheriff's deputy. I asked Charlie how I could help. He asked me to take her home. I did so.
I dropped her off in her hometown about 35 minutes away. That was an awkward drive. In that moment I gave Mark's girlfriend the best advice I could. "Do not ask why something happens in the middle of your pain. Deal with the pain first, and ask why when you are able to handle the question and whatever answer comes."
On the way home I called a former pastor of mine who lives in Australia now. I have always been able to rely on his advice and counsel. He prayed with me, mourned with me, and has been a source of inspiration to me particularly in the past few months. Thankfully 11:00pm at night on a Saturday in New York is 1 :00PM Sunday in Sydney.
These actions were of a man who was trying his best to control what he could around him. The chaos of that night, and of every night since sears my soul to it innermost. My brother, who was 17 months my junior, was my partner in crime. He was my best man when I was married. He was my confidant when I needed to speak my mind. He was my comic relief when I was taking life too seriously. I do not remember a time without Mark since I was so young when he was born. I do not remember a time when it was not "Mike and Mark" getting into trouble together. Yet for the last few months I have to remember what it is like to have Mark, and that is a reality I still long to return to someday. Lord Jesus come quickly.
I am convinced that the heart beats I felt like I was missing that night was a spiritual bond that Mark and I shared in this world breaking. No more would I have my best man, my confidant, my comic relief, or my antagonizer. No more would I hear his voice saying my name and the word "stop" afterwards. Ever more I will miss my brother.
On June 1, 2019 my younger brother, Mark, died tragically from a drug overdose. I remember picking him up for work that morning. He was due to be at work at 6:15AM, and so I went by to pick him up at around 5:45AM. He was not awake. None of the lights in the house were on. Mark never woke up late when he needed to work. Looking back this was a red flag. I called him several times and he finally woke up. I told him to get ready because we could still make it in time. He came out around 6:05AM and we made our way to his job. We arrived at 6:14AM and he walked inside. His shift was supposed to last until 1:00PM.
Around 10:04AM he texted me. He asked "Hey, can you scoop me up from work?" I replied sure. I thought maybe his shift ended early because there was no business. Working in a restaurant is often difficult and for a number of reasons. My wife and kids were in the car with me because we were going to the parade in town. We picked him up and he was white. The boys greeted him, "Hi Uncle Boochey!" And he responded slowly and haltingly, "hey buddies..." He stumbled as he walked. He slurred his speech. I looked at him and he did not look well. This was not the "I am sick" look but rather worse than that. I asked him if I needed to take him to the doctor. He knew that I knew. He said "Nah, man. I just need to sleep this off." This was not the first time he ever said these words to me, but it was the last time.
We dropped him off, and I said I'd see him later. Then we watched him walked into the house. He was stumbling but he was upright. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door. I thought to myself - He is good enough to open the door - He will be OK. We pulled out of the driveway and drove into town for a parade. I would never see my brother alive again.
I saw children laughing and playing. I saw adults clapping and swaying. I saw politicians "If I may" -ing. The juxtaposition of the day and the night, looking back, is palpable.
After we had walked through town a bit and checked out this and that - you know the small town fare - people selling their unwanted goods hoping you will find a good deal on a buried treasure - the church cooking chicken over an open fire grill - the dunk tank and the mayor - the police out and about ensuring the public safety. I said to Jenn, my wife, that I didn't feel well and that I wanted to go home. She is such a good woman. She drove me home.
I laid down to sleep around 3 or 4:00PM. I woke up suddenly in my sleep at 5:30 or so and had a sinking feeling in my gut as though I was missing several heartbeats. Then I thought of Mark. Was he OK? I should check up on him. Nah, he's fine. He's probably drinking a cup of coffee or something. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at 9:35 when my wife came into my bedroom and said. "Michael, Mark has died." I sat up. Silenced myself again and asked if she had told the boys. She had not, and so together we broke the news to them. My oldest brother had attempted to call me. My phone was on vibrate which meant I did not answer and out of desperation called my wife. She was at the fireworks in town with the kids. She came home immediately.
Then I called my oldest brother. He asked me to come over. I did so. He was calm and collected. Two of my cousins were there outside. My oldest brother's father in law was there outside. I went in where I found Charlie next to the kitchen sink, and Mark's girlfriend sobbing while speaking with the sheriff's deputy. I asked Charlie how I could help. He asked me to take her home. I did so.
I dropped her off in her hometown about 35 minutes away. That was an awkward drive. In that moment I gave Mark's girlfriend the best advice I could. "Do not ask why something happens in the middle of your pain. Deal with the pain first, and ask why when you are able to handle the question and whatever answer comes."
On the way home I called a former pastor of mine who lives in Australia now. I have always been able to rely on his advice and counsel. He prayed with me, mourned with me, and has been a source of inspiration to me particularly in the past few months. Thankfully 11:00pm at night on a Saturday in New York is 1 :00PM Sunday in Sydney.
These actions were of a man who was trying his best to control what he could around him. The chaos of that night, and of every night since sears my soul to it innermost. My brother, who was 17 months my junior, was my partner in crime. He was my best man when I was married. He was my confidant when I needed to speak my mind. He was my comic relief when I was taking life too seriously. I do not remember a time without Mark since I was so young when he was born. I do not remember a time when it was not "Mike and Mark" getting into trouble together. Yet for the last few months I have to remember what it is like to have Mark, and that is a reality I still long to return to someday. Lord Jesus come quickly.
I am convinced that the heart beats I felt like I was missing that night was a spiritual bond that Mark and I shared in this world breaking. No more would I have my best man, my confidant, my comic relief, or my antagonizer. No more would I hear his voice saying my name and the word "stop" afterwards. Ever more I will miss my brother.
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