Peggy, the Eulogy Queen

 

Mark and Peggy

Ten days ago I had what was essentially, Mark's funeral. It came one year after his death because of the virus restrictions. For a whole year I would find myself crying at least once every day. They were tears of grief and sadness. Having so many of Mark's family, my family, and friends in my house on the anniversary of his passing has done wonders for my outlook. In the ten days since, I have not been sad. No, the opposite has happened. I have still had some tears, but they are tears of joy. Seeing all the love for Mark from our families lifted my spirits immensely. Nothing represented that more than the eulogy my sister, Peggy wrote and presented to us on the afternoon of September 25th.  

"Mark was a very unique person. He was a Self-confident, opinionated, extravagant, fantastic cook, poor post meal cleanup guy, loud, squeaky, shopaholic (QVC misses him), easily nauseated, family man.

So glad we have so many blog stories by Alan to remember him in his heyday. My favorite quote Mark would use to describe himself has always been 'Screaming like a white woman on fire.' This could be attached to anything from a dog vomiting on the floor, to finding out that Sasha the schnauzer had claimed his shower as her own toilet, to driving on an interstate while a giant truck passed him.

Alan grew up on the bland diet of a very large family. Our mom cooked to please herself and the majority. That didn't include spices. Imagine Alan's surprise and expanding waistline with Mark cooking his favorite meals daily. The last meal I shared with them had Mark sitting at the table directing Alan what to add to the mustard greens and when to pull the ham hocks out for shredding. Mark never gained weight from his butter, fat, and salt filled meals while Alan blew up like a blimp. But he loved being the cook and watching others chow down on his creations..

In order to soften the blow of moving to Chicago from Florida, Alan promised him a new kitchen. My son Steve helped to design it and bring it to completion. However, no kitchen could ever be big enough when Mark got to work.

All of us have stories about their interactions with Mark. Here is mine. Mark and Alan were at my mom's, sorting through their belongings after the move from Florida. They were storing the stuff in Mom's garage. I showed up and found out that something was amiss, and that another member of the family had not fulfilled a promise. I was angry. As I zoomed through the garage, using the vocabulary of vulgarities I had learned from my dad, Mark's eyes widened. He turned to Alan and said in his New York accent, 'Alan, you sister is gangster.' I have not felt like an old lady since then.

Mark, I know you're hanging out with my mom now. She loved listening to you tell your fantastic stories."

Peggy Buck