Missin’ you, Mama

Posted under Family, Mom by Sarah

I think my mom would have been amused to find her former favourite mechanic schlepping plates and making lattes as co-owner of one of the local cafes.

She would have cried when she heard my song on the Noted CD.

She would be surprised to find that I now like the uniquely-patterned couch and armchair I inherited from her. Birds being one of my least favourite creatrues, I was never very appreciative of the brown, red, taupe, pink and beige pheasants that gallivant on said furniture. Now, however, since I built my living room and dining room around the pattern and colour scheme, I have grown to enjoy it. She’d feel right at home, I think!

This fall, Mom and I might have been students together: She had planned to go back to school for a second degree, hoping to find a way to professionally use her intelligence, wisdom, and hard-earned life experience.

Though her death forced me to get my own apartment and enabled me to buy my Trixie Toyota, if she were still with us she would have been excited to no longer have to share her car with me (or find coffee stains on the upholstery), and I imagine her coming over for coffee every now and then… something I always wished for.

I think she would have enjoyed the memorial we had for Mark. It seemed like she was there in spirit, anyway, and that the event was honouring her life as well as Mark’s. I wonder what she might have done differently, or what her ideas might have been. Still, I have no doubt that she would have been proud of us, proud of how we chose to celebrate Mark’s life.

I’m missin’ you today, Mama. I’m so glad Mark is with you now, but I wish I still had you, too….

In Memory: Mark Andrew Koopmans

Posted under Uncategorized by Sarah

(I wrote this to read at Mark’s memorial. I didn’t make it through without crying. I doubt many people did.)

I’ve always been fiercely protective of my siblings, and with Mark it was no exception. When Mark was very little, I would hover near Mark’s side every time someone outside our family was with him, to make sure they treated him right. I remember even holding a grudge for a while against an unsuspecting physiotherapist who made him cry. How dare she?!

Sometime over the years, however, Mark’s family grew far beyond me or us, to incorporate many of you here today, from nurses to casual respite workers to program directors, physiotherapists to full-time caregivers to doctors, and many more besides.

All of us will recall Mark’s ability to suddenly break out laughing for no apparent reason and to soon have everyone around him joining in. That infectious laugh broke the tension at many a silly dinner table argument. He was the only one among us that could laugh at our pettiness without getting smacked for it!

When Mark joined our family as the youngest of six kids, I was old enough to remember the excitement when he was born, then the fear as, two days later, it became obvious that something wasn’t quite right. Mark’s birth brought a lot of changes to our family, and I remember that it took me a few years before I could look at Mark and just see him, rather than the running and the jumping and the talking he wasn’t doing! But at some point, I learned to accept that Mark was simply different.

Mom wrote an article called “Back to School” when Mark was about 2 years old, describing part of the steep learning curve she found herself on as Mark’s mother. She writes:

“Two years ago I went back to school. However, I had no choice as to the course I would take. It was chosen for me. The registration was automatic; a package deal attached to the birth of a special needs child. There is no course outline, no syllabus. Sometimes I wonder what will be required of me before I reach graduation but I know my professor has His reasons for doing it this way.”

We all know she did more than graduate – she got her Master’s! She often employed what she called her “irate mother routine” to go from ignorant to expert. She procured every conceivable dollar and service she could for Mark’s care, in the end providing an inspirational example for other special-needs parents.

Together with a small army of caregivers, most of whom are here today, Mom made sure Mark’s every need was met, and he in turn blessed them for it with a smile or a laugh or a story as only Mark could tell one, often accompanied by the music of whichever toy was currently his favourite.

Over the span of his almost eighteen years of life, the uninitiated would commonly express sympathy to us upon hearing about Mark’s disability. I replied that it wasn’t something to be sorry about, that Mark was a bright spot for my family. Mark was just Mark!

Mom’s reply would have been a bit more specific. She would have said: Mark is a good and perfect gift from above.

It is our joy and privilege to know that they are now together above, rejoicing!

Some friends, after hearing about Mark’s death this week, said a very insightful thing to me that I think sums up what we’re feeling, and I’d like to close with this thought:

We’re so sad for us, ‘cause we’ll miss you, but we’re so happy for you, Mark!