Mark's memorial service

I'm sure Mark would have been very touched, and humbled, by the amount of people who came to the calling hours and memorial service yesterday in his honor. I was humbled for him by the amount of people he touched along his journey just by being him; the fun, happy, hardworking with a smile, Mark.

He is going to be missed by many, many people and that became very obvious yesterday. Someone said to me, "There will be a hole in the community without Mark." I thought that was so touching and I know Mark would, too.

I wanted to share the words I said on Mark's behalf and the video we made for his memorial service.

There are so many things I could say about how sad I am and how much I already miss Mark. But in honor of my step-dad, the eternal optimist, I am going to try and keep this positive. This will also increase the very small chance of me getting through this without crying.

I was eight years old when I first met Mark. They were having band practice in my mom’s art studio. Mark had a long ponytail in the back, which in my eight-year-old mind, meant he was a criminal. Before they started playing their music, he said, “Let’s get funky.” I thought funky was the F word so needless to say; the eight-year-old Emily did not have a very good first impression of Mark.

Of course that all changed. The ponytail was cut off and Mark quickly became one of the most important people in my life. He spoiled me rotten, more than I ever deserved. Dinner was always based around what I wanted to eat, and unlike my mom, he even omitted the ingredients I didn’t like.

Mark shared my love for animals and I could always count on him to help me when I thought an animal was injured or needed help. I remember finding a bird that I didn’t think could fly and Mark came home on his lunch break to help me. I don’t remember exactly what happened after we trapped the bird, but I’m pretty sure it ended up flying away on its own.

Mark wasn’t quite as much of a softy when I would bring stray animals home, at first anyway. I hid a kitten in my room for over a week before I got caught. As soon as Mark found the kitten, he took her back to the park where I found her and dropped her off. I cried and cried until he finally went back to find her and brought her home. She still lives in their log home today.

Mark was “living like he was dying” long before he was ever diagnosed with cancer. He would never miss an opportunity to try something new or do something fun and adventurous. When we went on a cruise in 2001, we went on a snorkeling excursion. It might not seem like a big deal, but for Mark, who couldn’t swim, it was kind of scary! Out of the nearly 60 people who were on that snorkeling excursion, Mark was the only person who put on the big, bright orange life jacket, on top of the black ones they provided us with. And he wasn’t embarrassed about it all. I certainly was, but he wasn’t. He didn’t care what people thought of him, it was more important to him that he didn’t let fear keep him from trying something new.

If Mark would have only lived the six months he was originally told he would live, he never would have met Pat, he wouldn’t have been Grandpa Mark to Max and he wouldn’t have been there to support me on my wedding day.

I think many people know that it was the clinical trial in the summer of 2005 that ultimately kept Mark around for almost six years after his diagnosis. But what I don’t think a lot of people realize is that Mark found that clinical trial himself. No one recommended that he go to the James Cancer Hospital in OSU or that he enroll in that clinical trial. Mark was his own patient advocate for the entire six years he battled this disease. He did all of the research online, found the clinical trial and found Dr. Kendra and knew that is where he needed to be for a chance to live. I think that says a lot about Mark’s character and his passion for life.

I’ve spent the last few days re-reading all that I wrote in Mark’s blogs over the last few years and something occurred to me; I don’t think I ever really took the time to think about what this battle must have been like for Mark until now. He was so brave and positive through it all that I never thought about how hard it must have been for him. I think we all got so used to him just bouncing back, that we took for granted how very difficult and how much work bouncing back must have been for him.

He truly made it all look so easy, I think we actually believed that it was. Spending the last week or so with Mark in the hospital, gave me my first real, up close and personal glimpse of what this battle must have been like for him (and my mom). I spent the last six years thinking about myself; how much I love him and how thankful I was to still have him in my life. I’m just not sure I ever thought about the toll it was taking on him, and my mom, to keep going. To keep fighting. He deserves peace and happiness more than anyone I’ve ever met, and now he has finally found it.

Mark Yarman: A Vision of Hope from Emily Robinson on Vimeo.