I love you Mark

(I have no photos of my own of Mark that I can find anywhere. This makes me really sad. I stole this one from the Timeout website. I'm sorry Mark.)





Because Mark was in a coma for a week,
I thought that maybe his death would be easier to take.
It seemed inevitable that his death would come.
His brain kept swelling and they were doing everything to stop it,
But even after cutting open his skull, it wouldn’t stop.
Mark finally died.
I say that on the same day, Mr. 9 broke up with me.
But thinking back about it now...
actually Mark died on a Friday, and I got dumped on Saturday.
I think.
I want to remember the exact date.
But now I can't think of it.
Which is probably good.
I probably shouldn't carry that anniversary around.
For the next two months I was never really sure if I was crying over Mr. 9
or if I was crying over Mark.
Ultimately it was both, all the time.


Mr. 9 worked with Mark at Timeout.
Mr. 9 had told me that he wanted to take a short break to clear his head.
I was super sad about it, but of course I would give him his space.
We were having a week where I would not have to be an obligation to him.
He could come and go as he wanted and not have to call.

Me – You can sleep with other girls if you want.
Mr. 9 – I don’t want to sleep with other girls.
Me – I’m being totally serious. If you’re attracted to someone else, I don’t mind. We’re all human. I know you love me. It’s just sex. I’ll be here when you get home.

I really would have given him anything.
He came home during that week.
It was a Monday night.
I was sulking and trying not to make eye contact with him, when he was home.

Me – Are you okay?
Mr. 9 – I have really bad news.
Me – okay.
Mr. 9 – My editor just called. Mark is in a coma. He had an aneurism. It happened suddenly, his girlfriend found him at home.

My first selfish thought was of myself.
I won’t recount it here.
I hate myself that I couldn’t be more invested in Mark’s last week on earth.
Mr. 9 would go to the hospital a lot to be with Mark’s family, and Mark’s girlfriend, and to see Mark.
I wanted to go.
But I didn’t.
I was really scared.
I still am.

Mark was one of the nicest people I have ever met.
He loved comedy.
He was a champion for comedy in Chicago.
It was partly his job to see as many shows as he did a week,
But he loved it. Loved it so much.
I saw a lot of shows with him.
He loved food.
He loved to ride his bike.
He rode his bike every day, everywhere.
He loved his friends.
He was loved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~’

The first “not a wake” for Mark was held very shortly after his death.
It was on Tuesday.
I showed up very early on my bike and had to kill time before they even opened the doors.
I was the first one in the door.
A girl from Timeout was setting up.
She is a very good friend of Mr. 9 and I knew she knew all the details of our breakup.
Probably more than me.
Honestly.

There was a poster board on the bar of the restaurant.
It had a collage of pictures of Mark on it.
Him at a baseball game.
Him drinking beer.
Him with his helmet on.
Him with his girlfriend.
Him looking young and alive and happy.
which he was.

I had not seen Mark since before the coma.
It had been about two weeks.
I could not keep myself together.
There is a crying that you do not control, it controls you.
The bartender kept slipping me Kleenex.
Mr. 9’s girl-friend came over to hug me.
I felt so naked and gross.
I didn’t want her to touch me.
She seemed very still.
She had also been going to the hospital to see Mark.
Everybody at Timeout had been dealing with this on a very immediate level.
I think this gave them all a support group to handle it and gave them the week of coma to let the idea of death sink in.
They were going to the hospital and watching it.
They were IM’ing in the office and hugging over morning coffee.

I started to think about that.
People were filtering in.
People I knew from Mr. 9’s office.
I started having selfish thoughts.

“Oh God, do these people know about the breakup?
What are they thinking about me?
Do they know things about me?
I miss Mark.
Fuck.
Mark’s dead.
Fuck.
Mr. 9 will be here.
Will he try to hug me?
Fuck.
I love him.
Mark’s dead, and I could have said goodbye at the hospital and I didn’t cause I was scared.
Fuck.
I can’t breath.”

I pretty much left 20 minutes after getting there.
I was unlocking my bike through a choking cry.
I saw Mr. 9’s best friends walk inside.
I wanted to run so far away.
And I couldn’t get my bike unlocked fast enough.
For them to see me was to judge me.
I rode so hard away from there I almost fell off my bike.
I must have been some sight.
Just pushing through on pedals.
A girl with bloated face, crying so loudly… running red lights.
If I was a kid on the street I would have pointed and laughed.

There was a second “not a wake” for Mark.
I wanted to go so bad.
I wanted to honor Mark in a way that I felt I had not been able to do yet.
I wanted to be able to meditate on him with others without thinking about myself.
I also had a terrible selfish thought that kept making me sick.
Simply, that if I didn’t go, people would talk about it.

“She didn’t even come to the service. Thank god you’re not with her anymore. What, she too busy?”

I didn’t go.
Mr. 9 was going to be there.
Possibly speaking about Mark.
I was too scared.

Heather – You know you don’t have to go to this thing to honor Mark. You have to mourn in a way that is healthy for you. You are still honoring him. You loved him.
Me– I know, but I never got to say goodbye.
Heather – You’re gonna be okay.
Me – I imagine myself crying behind a platter of deviled eggs so that he doesn’t see me….. I don’t want to go.
Heather – I know.

I loved Mark.
He was a beautiful person.
He was passionate.
I miss him.
I love you Mark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~’

I love all of you guys.
If I don’t say it enough and just in case…..

“I love you, love you, love you.”