December 31: Auld Lang Syne with Brother Mark

Auld Lang Syne for Mark Steven Dowd. A Little Remembrance on what has become His Night.

I have been quiet this year for many reasons, among them the way last year ended. One morning in mid-December I was summoned to Ohio by my sister Cynthia, who’d become powerfully worried about our youngest brother Mark—an ongoing discussion from early October, when he had started ailing seemingly quite suddenly. I drove the nine hours that very day. The following morning upon entering Mark’s condominium, my heart sank. Whatever illness had weakened him in mid-November (when I’d seen him last) had since advanced without mercy. None of the details matter from there. A metastatic cancer diagnosis, continued rapid decline, hospice from December 26.

The family mobilized. We’d planned to vacation in a sunny clime for Christmas, but canceled our plans immediately. Lori followed me to Stark County the following day. Both of our “boys” now men came from California almost as quickly. Xmas was a blur, and the lone surviving photograph looks like a 21st century Danse Macabre episode. Death himself among normies. But New Year’s Eve was different. A year ago today, on December 31, 2021, Mark summoned a grand energy to host a big party. Brother David and I were sent out to buy everybody’s favorite libation. Snacks and drinks abounded, and football played indifferently on the big screen (Georgia crushed Michigan, an unwelcome result). Mark’s son Max buoyed his spirits, and the evening was bright.

Mark actively presided over a busy condo until about 9:00 pm, then retired to his bed, from which he never rose again.

He died near dawn on January 3rd.

I will write more, and more seriously, about Mark’s last episode. I miss him every day. Every so often I think to call him, and realize I cannot.

All I really want to do today is to observe that New Year’s Eve—which I had tended to regard with annoyed suspicion, a dumb excuse to partay, will henceforth—evermore!—be Mark’s Day, a celebration of a complicated bon vivant with a heart of gold, who with life ebbing from his earthly (and earthy) vessel wanted nothing more than to see that everyone had one last good time.

More to come on the third. Tonight, a tip of the cap suffices.