Sometimes it Snows in April

Sometimes it snows in april
Sometimes I feel so bad
Sometimes I wish that life was never ending
But all good things, they say, never last
All good things they say never last

And love, it isn't love until it's past





Ah Homey,

I am so shocked, and sad to hear that you died. You had so much power and light -- I just never expected this. I am sorry we never had a chance to resolve things. Or maybe only I had issues that were unresolved? If there's one thing I learned through knowing you, it's not to make assumptions.

Sorry about the Prince lyric. I only included it because I know you would think that it's totally cheezy. I didn't include the part about going up to heaven and finding another friend, because that's not exactly the way I picture it. I can't define the imprint you've left behind, I can only ponder the meaning your life had in mine. Hey, are you channeling a song lyric to me? Can I credit you with inspiring me to get musical again?

Peace.

* * *

This is a post I drafted for my own blog right after I heard the news about Mark. Thanks, Aaron, for starting this blog and giving me a more appropriate place to publish my thoughts and share with others. It helps to fill in some of the missing pieces . . .

I also met Mark back in 1989 at Capital University. Mark was a true "guy friend." We hung out together, and since he'd dated my room mate, that seemed to clear the way for us to be "just friends."

But at times, there were some tensions. We were in the same degree program and shared many classes. We were both a little competitive. Mark was so good at everything he tried, he brought out lots of peoples' insecurities, including mine.

Back then, I didn't have the most constructive way of dealing with those insecurities. [Flashback to certain incidents involving toilet paper (which, for the record, was entirely Beth Stewart's idea!), whipped cream and a pan full of dirty dish water.] Mark was a good sport.

When I first heard the news about Mark, I went to the Internet and tried to Google him, and got dozens of hits (who knew there were so many Mark Greenwoods?) I realized that I was desperately searching for more than just information, but for a way to contact Mark - as if he'd still be able to check his e-mail. Then, I gave in to one of my personal pet peeves and drafted this totally corny letter to him . . . worse than anything I've read in any of those on-line funeral home guest books . . . But, I guess it all goes back to feeling "unresolved."

So, what would make me feel more resolved about Mark? To know that he reached a point in his life where he was happy, satisfied--a point where he'd achieved what he wanted to do. Some of what I see and read here answers that question very well. And yet, so many questions will remain unanswered.

As for our friend, Mark Greenwood, there was only one.