Dear friend~

Dear Mark,

I've thought several times about posting funny stuff or things to take my mind off of what was going on with you and my uncle, and then you realized it was OK to stop fighting the last of the cancer battle. You said you couldn't have made it the rest of the year. We knew this day was coming, but I still can't believe you won't be coming over for pasta, or that we won't be going out for coffee.

I remember meeting you my first week of work, more than six years ago. You spilled ice water at our luncheon - you talk about a (literal) icebreaker. We became friends, you and Mr. RK and your wife and me, almost instantly.

You told me that years before that, you had lost your son to bipolar disorder. You could have curled up and hidden away with your pain, and the world would have understood that - but you didn't. Instead, you spent thousands of hours educating people about this cause. You trained police officers and first responders. You spoke at events. You volunteered for organizations that seek to educate and de-stigmatize the judgement that surrounds mental illness. As a pastor, you brought in communities of faith to work with the nonprofits to do education.

You said, "God is too big to fit into one religion." You thought ice cream was the most important part of our biggest event!

I told you the last time I saw you that you had made a huge difference in the lives of many. I can only imagine what it was like recounting your family's story. You probably relived the pain every time you shared - but you did it in hopes that other people wouldn't have to go through the same pain.

Your son's picture was your phone's screen saver, 10 years after he died. A life unfinished.

I feel the same way about yours. You were only a couple of years older than my dad.

You were so funny. You never lost your sense of humor, despite the hard and terrible things you and your family had gone through. When you saw the Muppets movie with your granddaughter, you said it was "far-fetched." It took me a minute to get that.

You said you'd be a vegan, too, if animals weren't made out of meat.

You said you weren't afraid of dying, that you were looking forward to being reunited with your wife and son. You faced this terminal illness head on, wearing a button and a bracelet that said, "Pancreatic cancer sucks."

Indeed it does. It was hard to watch you at times when you were on the verge of giving up. It was harder to watch when the cancer took over.

I'm thankful that you aren't in pain anymore, but when this sinks in, I'll start to miss you.

I'm thankful that I had the privilege of being your friend.