This page is a dedication to a great friend that died several years ago from Leukemia. I would like you to feel the way I felt about him, and help keep his memory alive. I wish I could have told him much of what is here, but life is rarely as you wished it to be.

Mark was born to two wonderful parents, Francine a full blooded American, and Claudio, a full blooded Italian. They had both tried before to have children, however they were unsuccessful until finally in August of 1972, their prayers had been answered with a little boy they named Mark James. They originally lived in Danvers Massachusetts, but in Marks 7th grade year, they decided that his anonymity in the Danvers school system was not helping him. They decided to move to Amesbury Mass in 1985, which is when I met him.

When I first met him, he was like any other first year student in a brand new school system: nervous, anxious, and probably scared out of his mind. He was befriended by another of my friends, Bill, who decided that Mark was a cool enough guy and that he would probably make a good wiffle ball opponent. They hung out for a while and then sometime in that year, Bill introduced Mark to me and I got to know him. I don't really remember how I met him, I always remember him as always just being there as a friend. Anyway, as I got to know Mark, I realized that he and I enjoyed most of the same stuff as I did: music, sports and other "guy" things. Although, as luck would have it, he was a Yankee fan, a Pittsburgh Penguin fan (also where he got his nickname "Penguin") and a Dallas Cowboy fan. This created the greatest arguments of the time between friends.

He was the reason I got my first job, a concession worker at a race track in New Hampshire. He and I worked the same booth and became even better friends, even through some rough days and nights there. We had a long ride back and forth from Amesbury to Lee N.H. so we were able to talk about anything and everything. At the time, we were both freshmen in high school so neither of us had a license to drive, so it was during these rides up and back that I also got to know both his mother and father. You really couldn't ask for better people to have as a friend's parents, always friendly and still able to tell you when you were screwing up, as I occasionally found out.

As the racing season went along and we became better friends, I would go to his house, right down the driveway from the high school and mess around over his house. He lived in a central location for the guys to meet (probably had his parents thought about it, they probably wished they moved elsewhere in Amesbury, ha ha). Our friends and I would meet there and suit up for whatever was the sport of the season.

He and I learned most of our hockey skills in the basement of his house in Amesbury where we would spend the stifling summer days shooting a ball at each other switching between goalie and forward. We would pretend to be either Mario Lemieux (his absolute favorite sports figure), or whoever happened to be my favorite. His parents were not too happy since we destroyed about $300 or more of drywall that we cut up to protect the breakables in his basement. It seemed a good idea at the time.

Mark himself was not an unkind sort. He was always there as a good friend and as a brother. He never got mad, unless you make him drive off the highway. Oops. He loved his family and his friends, always looking for something to do. Although, living where we did, we always ended up playing cards, going to the beach or to the movies, where he also worked as his second job. His favorite card game, if we weren't cheating at poker, was 45's. This is a northeastern game, which he was a pro at. He would get a little peeved at his partners if they missed a play, but if you were on his team and cheated...

He was also the master of amazing when it came to sports. You'd never know it by looking at him, but he was good at pretty much anything he did. One time, while playing our version of baseball (we called it Indianball), he had fallen into a puddle in the field as he was fading back for a ball. He sat up, stuck out his bare right hand and plop, the ball just fell in. I was pissed at the time since it was the ball I had hit, but now, I reflect at how amazing a catch it was.

In the fall and winter, we usually played street hockey. Mark was easily one of the best street hockey goalies that grew up in Amesbury. Of course it helped that he was 6'2" and about 220 lbs, but even with that size, he had a definite quickness for the position. He was also an incredible forward, scorring at will on those of us who did not possess his amazing goalie quickness and skills.

We graduated high school in 1990 and both went to Northern Essex Community College in Haverhill, Ma for about a million years, or so it seemed, and neither of us got our degree at that time. He didn't because he couldn't make up his mind. I didn't because I couldn't take going to school any longer. We both had simple jobs, both working in a nursing home as dishwashers. Not good money, but we both lived at home still, rent free, bill free, and both owned vehicles that didn't cost much money, other than the gas. We had tons of money that we blew where ever we wanted, but we were both stingy on gas and got another friend to take us places (right Dave?). He and I were good friends back then.

I decided not too long after realizing that I couldn't take school any longer and needed a change. So, I decided to join the Air force (see PERSONAL) and get out of Amesbury. He didn't think, nor did any of my other friends think I would go through with it, but (as Dave knows) I was committed to go (Dave is a friend that talked me into the Air Force). I was unaware, at the time, that he was not too happy about it. I had also just been married moving to Aviano AB in Italy.

Mark had befriended another of my friends, Keri, who he decided was "worthy of his money and time as a girlfriend"-a phrase he once said to me about any girlfriend he had. While I was gone, they became much closer and decided to move in with each other. He loved her whole-heartedly. Through what I saw in his eyes, I knew this to be true, and saw it again on one of the last days I would ever see him.

It was in February of 1994 that I got the second most disturbing phone call I ever received from my mother: Mark had Leukemia. Now realize, at the time, I had no concept of what death was (even as a member of the military) and that Leukemia was cancer. I didn't know it at the time and I couldn't understand why my mother, a nurse, was so upset about something they MUST be able to help recover from. "Just give him the shot to make it go away," was my thought, not knowing... She explained what she had heard from Keri about it, and they described it as "CML", or Chronic Myelogenous, a leukemia that was tougher to cure. There was the possibility of a full recovery, but it would take a lot of luck. "Well," I thought, "Mark's a lucky enough guy. He'll pull through,".

He went through all the treatments that one might go through when you have cancer: Chemo, drugs, hairloss, wearing a mask to go outside, and it was taking its toll.They were also having trouble locating a bone marrow donor that was compatible for his blood type. He was getting a little tired of it all, BUT!!! he never gave up. He never once thought he wouldn't pull through, even in his final days - days I will never forget.

I got a phone call from Keri in December of 1995 that they had a donor and that the procedure would be done in March. It was done and after a few months, the doctors felt that he was doing fine, although he didn't have the severe reaction they were hoping for-a sign that the transplant "took." However, since the white blood cell counts were receding, they felt that he should pull through, and they gave him a 60% probability (I think that was what I heard from Keri). I felt good about that. They also felt good about it, and about each other, and married in 1996.

Unfortunately, in January of 1997, he came out of remission. Keri was told (the doctors wanted to keep Mark as positive as possible) that he would need a blood graphing to compliment the transfer he got in March. They contacted the donor, but for some unknown reason, she would not donate again, not realizing she was probably letting Mark die. To make matters worse, Mark became ill with appendicitis, which is not normally a fatal problem, but may have been what sealed his fate. His body could take no more.

In mid-June of 1997, I got the most disturbing phone call in my life. Keri told me that Mark probably had no more than a few days. I was devastated. Not a few weeks before, Mark had been out with his wife and nothing seemed wrong, even though Keri knew better. He had had trouble walking from his bedroom to the living room and he was just completely exhausted. At the time, they were living with Mark's parents since the hospital bills were so much that they couldn't afford their own place. His father, Claudio could not bring him to the car to bring him to the hospital, so they had to call the ambulance. The hospital that was nearest them could not handle him due to the lack of resources to deal with his disease, so they had to wait for another ambulance to transfer him (back) to New England Medical Center in Boston, an hour away.

The call I got riddled me with sadness, and after a fight with my superiors in Charleston Air Force Base, South Carolina, I went home to say good-bye. It was the worst plane trip I had taken, although no delays were encountered and I sat by myself for both legs of the trip. I had nothing to do on the plane except think back at all the wonderful times I had spent with him before I left. I also thought that I had abandoned him to leave and fulfill my boring life (or so I felt at the time) and I was madder than hell at myself for not being able to help. I realized later how foolish that was, but at the time it was all I could think about. I was met at the airport by my other good friends, Paul and Bill, who took me immediately to his room in the hospital. On the way, they told me that the night before (Saturday, when another friend had flown in from Charlotte, North Carolina) Mark had been totally lucid and laughing with the guys about our times together before the end of High School.

I was elated to hear that he was in such good condition, falsely hoping that I was just coming home for a visit. Unfortunately when I arrived at the hospital, and I gave Keri a hug, she told me that Mark did not look the same as when I last saw him, and to be prepared. I asked her how he was doing, and she shook her head. I never before felt a pain as deep as when she looked at me with her sad and tired eyes. I knew it was not good. Although, Mark did wake from his drug induced sleep a few times to say hello and to realize that I was there. A moment of good feeling in the worst of situations. I stayed with him all that day, and then the next. I also stayed the night the next night to allow Keri and Mark's parents, who were beyond exhaustion taking care of him all the time, get whatever sleep they could. It was then that I saw his true love for Keri.

I had to go out of the room for a moment and when I returned, Mark had awoken and he was looking at Keri with a look of affection no one could duplicate. No tears were able to come from his eyes, but they were there in his heart, and in his soul. I could easily see he knew of his fate, and that he was leaving her forever. I left the room again, to allow him this time with her alone.

He lived for another couple days, each day his condition would get a little worse, but he fought so hard to beat his opponent. He died in his sleep, next to his father peacefully and quietly. Keri, Mark's mother, Paul, and myself were downstairs having a coffee. We were returning to his room, turned the corridor to go to his hallway, and we saw Claudio walking towards us with a look only a man that lost his only son could have. I knew what it meant as did everyone else and the moment of healing and remembering had begun.

We all stayed that night, waiting for those who were on their way to visit with Mark to tell them the news. During which time, I think all of us that were there had a moment of time alone with Mark in his room as he slept eternally, to think of the good things about him. There was even a moment when Paul, Claudio and myself were smiling in his room with Mark. I will never forget that moment, when we would all smile with Mark for the last time.

Mark has left us and we all have healed to some extent, but the scar will always be with us all that knew him well. He may be gone, and we have all moved on, but I want to help keep his memory alive in other people as best I can. I can only help keep is memory alive and well, even if I couldn't help him in life as I wanted.

I love you Mark                                             

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