Last night, Mark's younger daughter Melissa organized a candlelight memorial service at the site where Mark's body was dumped. It was a good idea, and it was a very healing time. We got a chance to talk with some of the neighbors on the street--one of whom saw what happened. The people driving the truck got spooked, and while they were trying to get Mark's body out of the truck they sped up and finally the body fell out of the back, right in the middle of the street. If it was a shock for us to hear about Mark's body being dumped in a trash bag, I sure don't pity the person who thought it was just trash in that trash bag, and went to investigate and found Mark.
We sang Amazing Grace and prayed the 23rd Psalm and the Lord's Prayer, and then just talked about Mark. There was one ex-convict there who talked about Mark as a father figure---he said that whenever he got out of prison, Mark would admonish him not to go back to his old ways. He talked of finding religion and how God was keeping him on the straight and narrow. Mark himself was beginning to find God at the end, too, whereas when we first met him he didn't want anything to do with God. Sheri wanted Paul to talk to him about God, to try to coerce Mark to get religion, and Paul told her he didn't force things like that. The last time we saw him, when he came over for dinner five days before his death, he crossed himself when we said the blessing for the food.
Tonight we'll have a wake for Mark. His body will be there. I'm afraid of seeing Mark's body--afraid that he will look terrible, mangled, not-Mark. He didn't live the most pampered life. Mark was 50, but he lived a lot of that on the streets and on drugs.
I've put myself in charge of food for the wake. I'm making egg salad sandwiches, raw veggies and dips, and chocolate cake. Mark always did love my cooking. He always promised to one day cook for us, but he never did.
You can view Mark's obituary here.