The weather is suddenly beautiful--in truth, the weather has been lovely this fall, but the smoke from the hundreds of thousands of acres of forest fires in the West has made it difficult to breathe or even spend much time outdoors. But the moon last night was bright and full and white, with no hint of the orange or red we see when the air is smoky. Playful breezes yesterday afternoon sent bunches of oak leaves swirling down into our yard. The sugar maple in the neighbor's front yard, two blocks away, is a blaze of crimson so bright it's almost neon. We have opened all our windows today to let in the clear fall air.
It is a beautiful day, and my friend and fellow church council member Mark Hallgrimson is not here to enjoy it.
I first got to know Mark three years ago, when we began serving on church council together. We drove to Billings with Paster Jean in the spring, two years ago, to attend the ELCA Montana Synod. We ended up coming back to Missoula early--leaving on Saturday evening and driving 6 hours through the night--because Mark's daughter had had a seizure, and he was terribly worried about her. The three of us drove through the cool June night, talking about our families, sharing how we'd met our spouses, praying for Mark's daughter and family. Since that night, I've felt that Mark is a true friend. We have carpooled to council meetings numerous times. He drove carefully and responsibly, and I was always grateful to have him drive on cold, snowy evenings. We talked about gardening, about our families, about what was going on in our lives.
This morning, in church, Jean told us that Mark had been killed in a car accident on Friday. He and his wife and one of his daughters were going to North Dakota. Two cars coming from the opposite direction were driving too fast. One of the cars pulled out to pass the other car in a no-passing zone, and, going about 100mph, hit Mark's car. And just. like. that., Mark is gone. Kris and Anna are okay--injured, but alive. But their lives, and that of Mark's other three children, are changed forever.
I've been grumpy the past couple of days. I have a cold, work's been busy and a little stressful, the air's been smoky for way too long, I'm worried about the upcoming elections, I'm feeling helpless about climate change and all of the damage we are doing to our poor planet, and I've just been short-tempered. But all of that frustration seems so small when compared to what Kris and Anna and Karl and Sarah and Emily are going through. Mark is the same age as my mom. His kids are about the same age as me and my siblings. And his life was ended abruptly by a reckless driver. I am angry about that, but mostly just sad.
I keep seeing Mark in my mind--standing in church with his family; shaking my hand to share the peace; smiling at those around him; conscientiously taking the meeting minutes at council meetings, tapping in our decisions on his laptop; his kindness, his humility, his sense of humor, his love and compassion for those around him. Sharing these memories is the best eulogy I can give him. There are others who have known him much longer and much better, but his life touched mine for a little while, and I am so very, very grateful for that.
And now we mourn. For remembrance, but for healing, too. It was good to be in my little church community this morning, to hear the news there, where we could all mourn together, share our tears. Where we can continue to do so.
Mark, you are in our hearts.
It is a beautiful day, and my friend and fellow church council member Mark Hallgrimson is not here to enjoy it.
I first got to know Mark three years ago, when we began serving on church council together. We drove to Billings with Paster Jean in the spring, two years ago, to attend the ELCA Montana Synod. We ended up coming back to Missoula early--leaving on Saturday evening and driving 6 hours through the night--because Mark's daughter had had a seizure, and he was terribly worried about her. The three of us drove through the cool June night, talking about our families, sharing how we'd met our spouses, praying for Mark's daughter and family. Since that night, I've felt that Mark is a true friend. We have carpooled to council meetings numerous times. He drove carefully and responsibly, and I was always grateful to have him drive on cold, snowy evenings. We talked about gardening, about our families, about what was going on in our lives.
This morning, in church, Jean told us that Mark had been killed in a car accident on Friday. He and his wife and one of his daughters were going to North Dakota. Two cars coming from the opposite direction were driving too fast. One of the cars pulled out to pass the other car in a no-passing zone, and, going about 100mph, hit Mark's car. And just. like. that., Mark is gone. Kris and Anna are okay--injured, but alive. But their lives, and that of Mark's other three children, are changed forever.
I've been grumpy the past couple of days. I have a cold, work's been busy and a little stressful, the air's been smoky for way too long, I'm worried about the upcoming elections, I'm feeling helpless about climate change and all of the damage we are doing to our poor planet, and I've just been short-tempered. But all of that frustration seems so small when compared to what Kris and Anna and Karl and Sarah and Emily are going through. Mark is the same age as my mom. His kids are about the same age as me and my siblings. And his life was ended abruptly by a reckless driver. I am angry about that, but mostly just sad.
I keep seeing Mark in my mind--standing in church with his family; shaking my hand to share the peace; smiling at those around him; conscientiously taking the meeting minutes at council meetings, tapping in our decisions on his laptop; his kindness, his humility, his sense of humor, his love and compassion for those around him. Sharing these memories is the best eulogy I can give him. There are others who have known him much longer and much better, but his life touched mine for a little while, and I am so very, very grateful for that.
And now we mourn. For remembrance, but for healing, too. It was good to be in my little church community this morning, to hear the news there, where we could all mourn together, share our tears. Where we can continue to do so.
Mark, you are in our hearts.
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