Saying Goodbye to a Friend

I lost a student and friend yesterday. His name was Mark, and he died at the age of 47, just six months after receiving an untimely diagnosis of stage 4 stomach cancer.

I met Mark a few years back at the University of Bridgeport, where he enrolled in two of my business courses. He was a nice man, a respectful and quiet man. We had a cordial teacher/student rapport, but nothing out of the ordinary. From time to time he would drop me an e-mail saying hello, and tell me of his current classes, his job, his family life.

In the 15+ years I’ve been a college lecturer, not many students have taken the time to reconnect once their final grades have been recorded and filed. That’s just the way it is; an unspoken, mutual understanding that each of us will go on our own way. But Mark was among that handful who were different. He viewed me as a friend.

It had been months since I had heard from him, so I smiled when a text appeared on my phone one morning in July.

“How are you, Professor Trelease? It’s Mark.”

I texted back, “How have you been? So nice to hear from you!”

“Not so good lately. Was diagnosed with stage 4 stomach cancer, and it’s a struggle. But I’ll beat this.”

We corresponded more regularly after that, meeting for coffee one summer evening at the U.B. library cafe. He greeted me with a hug and a bald head — the side effect of rounds of chemotherapy. We spoke about his two children in college, his wife of 25 years, his job, and his intention to volunteer to help other cancer patients once he recovered. While privately reflecting on the survival rates of stage 4 cancer patients, I admired his resolve.

The last contact came about a month ago. Mark told me the tumor had continued to grow, so he was switching from chemotherapy to radiation treatment. A very religious man, he remained close to his faith, and vowed to beat this curse.

It was with sadness, yet little surprise, that I learned of his passing yesterday from a Facebook post — a sign of the social media age, I suppose, to learn of such a human loss in such an impersonal way. I read the dozens of posts that followed the announcement, and viewed scores of photos of Mark’s smiling face — with friends, with his wife, peering proudly out from under a graduation cap during his college commencement. And then I sat to reflect… quietly.

Mark’s passing hits me at a vulnerable time. December has come to represent loss for a number of years now. For the larger community, this season will always open scars from the Sandy Hook school tragedy in nearby Newtown. For me, personally, I endured the loss of both parents in the month of December — one in 2000 and the other in 2008.

But today I mourn for Mark, his family and friends. And I mourn for the jolting fragility of life. As I said, I didn’t know him well. But he was a good, kind soul. I knew that well. And when he became ill, he had reached out to me, asking me to keep him in my prayers. I was honored by his request.

Goodbye from “Professor Trelease,” Mark. It’s my regret now that those prayers couldn’t keep you here among your loved ones, for just a little while longer. R.I.P., my friend.