Mark's Memorial Service

Mark's memorial service was held on Monday, 21 March 2016 at the Holladay United Church of Christ, about 10 blocks from our house. We didn't attend that church, but we had both been in it once, and I liked the windows and the view of the mountains in the distance. 

Mark and I never really discussed what the service would be comprised of. He was never interested in talking about it. In the end, we ran out of time, and I put together a program of which I think he would have approved -- everything, that is, except being the center of attention; he would have hated that. 

Cynthia Shumway, who had officiated at our commitment ceremony in August 2013, agreed to conduct the service. It began with a musical number performed by my daughter Rachel (at the piano) and her friend Maddie (on the violin). It was a song that I had never heard of until introduced to it by my daughter, Hannah. A few days after Mark died, she sent me a link to the song, saying that she couldn't get it out of her mind and that it spoke of what she and the other kids felt about Mark's all-to-early departure from our lives. I'm including a link to the video below.

Members of Mark's family listening to the music

Mark's mother

Mark's brother, Tim, spoke first

Me, my daughter Hannah, her daughter Hazel, and my daughter Rachel. My oldest son, Adam, is sitting behind us.

Rachel, my son Nathan and his girlfriend, Aubrey

My son, Aaron

My eldest daughter, Sarah, and her husband, Dave

Adam

The Koepke Family

Scott Jolley, a member of Mark's ER physician group who had known and worked with Mark for 20 years, was the second speaker

Me and Hannah again

The third speaker was Erin Shadbolt, who spoke on behalf of the hospice group for whom Mark worked and who took care of Mark during the last 10 days of his life

Hannah delivered a very emotional address directed at her siblings, talking about what Mark meant to all of them and what he had taught them about love

Brandon performed the two songs that had been our musical vows to each other at our commitment ceremony: Elton John's "Love Song" (Mark's) and Scott Alan's "Always" (mine). (See below for a video of "Always")

Mark loved going to yoga during the last few years of his life until, in July of last year, he was no longer able to go. It seemed eminently fitting to end his memorial service the way most yoga classes are ended: with a meditation, a reflection upon the practice of yoga and of life, and the final salutation of "Namaste," in which the light in both the teacher and the students is acknowledged and celebrated.

To end the service, I asked my own yoga teacher, Trista Winder, to sing an ancient Sanskrit chant, to offer a final meditation and to lead us in acknowledging the "luminous presence" (to quote one special friend) Mark had been in our lives and the same light that exists in all of us.

With this introduction, below is a video that was made of the entire service.


Photographs by dav.d photography

My Husband's Obituary: The Life of Mark Robert Koepke

“Love is always the answer, love is always the truth.”

- Mark Koepke

Mark Robert Koepke – deeply loved husband, father, grandfather, son, brother, uncle, friend, physician, fellow traveler and guide – peacefully left this existence on Wednesday, March 2, 2016 at the home he shared with his husband, Joseph, in Holladay, Utah. He was 61 years old and had lived with advanced-stage inoperable prostate cancer for three years.

Mark was born on July 24, 1954 in Hackensack, New Jersey to Rev. Frank and Joan (Haltner) Koepke. When he was a year old, Mark’s parents and older sister, Deb, moved to Japan where Rev. Koepke was a Lutheran missionary. There, except for brief furloughs back home, the family lived for the next ten years, eventually being joined by brother Tim and sisters Sarah and Rebecca. Mark had many fond memories of his Japanese boyhood and was thrilled to visit Japan in the fall of 2013 after having been away almost 50 years.

In 1965, the family moved back to the States and Frank took a pastorship in Burlington, Iowa. There, Mark finished out his middle and early high school years before the family moved again in 1970 to Sandy, Oregon, where Mark graduated from high school in 1972. During the next eight years, Mark worked at a number of jobs and spent several years in college and in the Coast Guard. 

In 1980, following his passion for skiing, Mark moved to Colorado. There, he worked for most of the 1980’s on the Copper Mountain Ski Patrol in the winter and as an EMT and paramedic in Denver the rest of the year. He finished off his undergraduate degree in 1988 at the University of Colorado-Denver and entered medical school that fall at age 34. He graduated in 1992 and completed an emergency medicine residency at Denver General Hospital.

Mark moved to Logan, Utah in 1996 to take his first job as an ER physician. Five years later, he and his first partner, Allen Hanberg, moved to Salt Lake City where he joined Utah Emergency Physicians. Mark retired from emergency medicine in April 2013 after receiving his diagnosis of metastatic cancer. He had also begun working for Intermountain Hospice in 2011, and he continued to work there part-time until his retirement in July 2014. 

Mark was a lifelong skier and cyclist. He loved being in the mountains, especially skiing in the backcountry. He was known as well for spending long hours in the gym and, in the past few years, the yoga studio. He also enjoyed gardening and spent many, many hours creating the lovely yard at his home on Venus Circle in Holladay.

Mark was always a talented artist but decided while he was young not to try to make a career out of it. He lamented not having more time for his art during his working years; but after retiring due to his cancer, he found great pleasure in drawing and painting.

While not a religious person, Mark was a deeply spiritual and very sensitive man. Always thoughtful and a seeker of truth, he had turned more seriously during the last eight years or so to living a life of contemplation, meditation and – most of all – love and compassion. The day Mark was enrolled in hospice in February, he sent an email to his family in which he said, among other things, that, “my body will fail, but my energy of love and compassion will continue to contribute to the universe.” It did, and it does.

Mark is survived by his husband, Joseph, with whom he shared 4-1/2 glorious years, and by Joseph’s children, who had become his own: Sarah (Dave) Delong (and their two children, Lizzie and Johnnie), Adam, Hannah (Cary) Stewart (and their daughter, Hazel), Rachel, Micah, Nathan, Aaron, Esther, Levi and Annie. Mark deeply loved the children, and they in turn loved him. "He touched our lives in a deep way," Sarah wrote on behalf of them all, "and we will all grow into better people because of him."

Mark is also survived by his mother, Joan (his father Frank having predeceased him), his uncle Robert (Jean) Koepke, and by four loving siblings: Debbie (Neil) Zeller, Tim (Marie) Koepke, Sarah Hoffman and Rebecca (Rick) Arnold. Mark loved them and each of their children: Paul, David, Rachel and Sarah Zeller; Marina and Sophia Koepke; Megan and Michael Hoffman; and Andrew, Rachel, Elizabeth and John Arnold. One of the joys of Mark’s last years was the time he was able to spend with his siblings, nieces, nephews and a growing generation of grandnieces and grandnephews. Theirs was truly a circle of love, and Joseph felt privileged to be a part of it.

Mark also leaves behind many, many friends, coworkers and associates from a life well-lived who shall always remember him. 

"We feel his love and grace, and through our tears 

see his exuberant spirit and kindness. 

What a privilege to have known him."

Mark's Memorial Service will be held at 1:00 on Monday, March 21st at Holladay United Church of Christ at 2631 Murray-Holladay Boulevard in Holladay, Utah. The public is welcome. Anyone who wishes may make a donation in his memory to Huntsman Cancer Institute.

Goodbye, Mark

My beloved husband and best friend left yesterday on his next great adventure. I will miss him.

Hospice

Mark enrolled in hospice this morning. His pain and fatigue levels have increased substantially within the last 7-10 days, and his appetite has dropped off. We had always considered, even recently, that hospice was something we could hold at arm's length. Now that it is here, we know we perhaps should have invited it earlier.

It is anticipated at this point that Mark will be with me, with us, for only a few more weeks, perhaps until the end of March. The news is shocking, unanticipated, sobering. and utterly devastating. I am sharing because I know there are many who would like to know. Thank you to all those who hold a special place in your heart for Mark, for us and for what he and I have shared on this wonderful 4-1/2 year-long adventure. 

The Landscape of Cancer: Where We're At

I've started to write this post a number of times over the past few weeks, but each time I have eventually turned away from it, unable to express ... something.

Mark's cancer continues to progress. He has been experiencing more fatigue, less appetite and more pain, and he is therefore taking more pain medication. His mobility has become much more limited. It has been excruciatingly difficult for him to miss this ski season--the best we've experienced in years--but he worked through that and has come to a place of peace and resignation about it. He spends most of his days reading, drawing and napping. We enjoy an occasional night with friends. Sometimes we go out, but mostly they come here to our house. We're grateful for them and the laughter that fills our house when they're here.

We're also grateful for our children and the happiness, love and laughter they bring. Mark and I are especially proud right now of our 17-year-old son, Nathan, who just earned his high school diploma. There was a time when we were very concerned for him. He had dropped out of regular high school and lacked direction. Eventually, however, he found something that he thought would work for him, and it has. In just six months, he essentially completed three years of high school work. He has awakened to his potential, and it has been a thrill to behold.

As for me, I continue to work away at my memoir and a couple of other writing projects. I started a six-week creative writing class that meets one night a week, and I'm enjoying that. Between my writing, attending to Mark's needs, going to the gym and yoga and spending time with the kids, I am staying plenty busy.

Thanks to everyone for the prayers and thoughts. We feel blessed.

The Landscape of Cancer: Where We're At

We're here in Silverthorne, Colorado, elevation 9000+ feet. We came to do some cycling, but between the rainy weather and other factors, we've only gotten in one ride on this trip. "Other factors" refers to Mark's cancer.

Back in January, I first wrote about Mark's pelvic pain in a location where a bony mass was detected when he was first diagnosed with prostate cancer. The pain manifested itself for the first time after returning from a trip to Maui. It eased off during the next couple of months, but it has become more intense and more persistent since then. 

Within the last month, Mark has realized that he can no longer use the elliptical at the gym. Now, it has become apparent that he will likely have to give up cycling. These are bitter pills to swallow for a man who has been very active his entire life. Nevertheless, he remains philosophical and positive, as do I. There is so much life to live, and we are more fortunate than others have been.

Meanwhile, we spend our time in other pursuits before Mark's family reunion starts on Friday. Mark's painting and sketching. My writing. Our reading. Last night, we had a wonderful dinner with a group of friends from Mark's ski patrol days at Copper Mountain back in the 80's. Tonight, we will drive to Denver and have dinner with a good friend there. Life is good.

Ten Little Jizos, a Bodhisattva and a Family

I received a remarkable and deeply meaningful gift from Mark for Christmas: one large Jizo statute and ten smaller statues, all of which now grace our back patio. Anyone who knows me will recognize the significance of the number ten - it's how many children we have. Each statue represents one of them. The large statue represents me.

One has to know a bit about Jizo in order to understand and appreciate this gift. He is one of the most beloved and revered Bodhisattvas in Buddhism. A Bodhisattva is an archetypal being dedicated to helping others, and embodying specific spiritual qualities. Jizo is known for making a vow, despite the fact that he achieved enlightenment, to be present with and benefit all suffering beings on their respective paths to enlightenment.

This was the first Jizo statue we saw, in Ueno Park in Tokyo. This depiction is more severe than the many others we saw, but he is recognizable as Jizo because of his staff holding six keys (whose jingling is said to warn animals of his approach, thus preventing mutual harm) and the jewel he holds in his left hand, "the bright jewel of Dharma truth," the light of which banishes all fear.

I first learned about Jizo when Mark and I made our trip to Japan a year ago this past fall. Temple after temple, we ran into him, or rather statues of him. He is a beloved figure in Japan, special to pregnant women and to those whose children have died, and thousands of Jizo statues in Japan are particularly dedicated to children who have been aborted.  

We saw hundreds of Jizo statues at Hase-Dera Temple outside of Kamakura, Japan, all in memory of a child who had been aborted, stillborn or died young.

Jizo statues are often wearing tiny children's clothing or bibs, and grieving parents place toys and other offerings beside the Jizo statue to invoke his protection of their dead child. We ran across the very beautiful and poignant statute depicted below at another temple. Note a small child rests atop the Dharma jewel. The second picture shows items left at the feet of Jizo in memory of a lost child.

In North America, the personage of Jizo takes on a more archetypal and less literal meaning. His qualities include unflagging optimism, courage, and gentleness, and a nurturing love for all beings. He plunges fearlessly into any place or situation to help those in need and is especially concerned with taking care of those who are vulnerable. In this regard, Jizo is said to be the patron saint of lost causes because he never gives up. As the protector of travelers, he seeks to benefit travelers at important life crossroads.

I love Mark's gift. To me, the large Jizo statue that represents me is a constant reminder to strive always to develop the qualities represented by him: optimism, courage, gentleness and compassion. It is also a challenge to remind me of my role as father of my children: to be a guide for them, to be with them and help them in time of need, to never "give up" on them and to love them unconditionally.

The smaller Jizos represent each of our ten children, and together with the large Jizo, are deeply symbolic of life's journey, of my love for each one of them and of the roles they in turn will fill as they go through life - as parents, as friends, as human beings who seek to walk through this life with love and compassion.

Lastly, the Jizos will also be a constant reminder of the role that Mark has played as a Jizo-figure to my children. He has truly been an example to them of love and compassion and nurturance, and their lives have been blessed as a result.

This fact was beautifully expressed in another gift Mark and I received this past Christmas from our daughter Rachel - a video she made in which many of the children express their love for Mark (and for me) and what he has meant to them. As our daughter Hannah so beautifully expresses in the video, Mark filled a need - a gap - that they didn't even know was there. I cannot think of a better definition of a true Boddhisattva.

Our Teenage Son's First Blog Post - About His Gay Dads and Depression

Our soon-to-be sixteen year-old son wrote and published his maiden blog post today. With his permission, I am sharing a link to the post. He writes about coming to terms with his dad's sexuality, Mark, Mark's cancer and the depression that he struggles with. It is well worth reading. 

Here's the link.

Our Daughter's Thanksgiving Tribute to Mark

We have a new tradition in our family. Every Sunday morning on weekends the Quads are with us, we walk a couple of blocks down to Sharon's Diner in Holladay to have breakfast. We know our usual waitress by name, and we are recognize as "regulars." It's so nice for the kids to have that experience - of going somewhere where somebody knows your name and where the waitress already knows what you want to drink and what you usually order.

This past Sunday, our daughter Rachel brought her camera along. She is an extremely talented photographer and videographer, and she produced a video about that morning. Out of the simple, she creates meaning and loveliness. She surprised us yesterday by sending a link to the video she had just completed. With her permission, I want to share it with friends, family and whoever else reads this blog.

This is what Rachel wrote in the email containing the link to the video:

"As you know, the song choice is the hardest. Throughout watching the footage, I couldn't help but think of Mark's diagnosis and the good news you just got on Friday. I realized when I watched the footage that the video captured a simple moment: a family going out for breakfast. But I felt like it was so much more. It captured, I think, the love we all feel for Mark, and the sense of 'family' we get from being around him. Hence why I chose the song, even though not all the lyrics apply to him (you'll see what I mean when you see it)"

Here's the video:

Thank you, Rachel.

The Landscape of Cancer: Thankfulness

Mark and I have much to be grateful for at this Thanksgiving season. Just last Friday, we received an early "Thanksgiving gift": for the first time since it started rising almost a year ago, Mark's PSA actually went *down* a half-point over the past month. His oncologist was (pleasantly) somewhat surprised. Now, rather than having the PSA drawn every month, we don't have to come back until January. If the trend continues, every other month will become every three months. Of course, the cancer is still there. It will always be there. But, for now, it is contained, and we are grateful.

Mark expressed some of his thoughts to members of his family in an email this past weekend. With his permission, I am sharing some of what he wrote:

"Just wanted everyone to know that my PSA (tumor marker) has stabilized and my last visit on Friday showed it decreasing. It means the medication I'm on is working. I was curious as to why after slowly rising for several months my PSA leveled off and is now going down. I believe it's related to several things. Every time we start our physical yoga practice, we are asked to set an intention for class. Mine has been to send my love and consequently the love of the universe to my cancer, never to be adversarial or have any other negative energy regarding the cancer.  

"Additionally I believe all the love sent to me by my family is a significant factor. Most importantly I have the love, support, and extremely positive influence of my husband Joseph who keeps me on the hopeful rails and reminds me daily to be here now. 

"I generally feel well. I skied everyday last week. My yoga practice is deep and refreshing. The ducks in my life are all in a row and I am content."

As it happens, we are currently on our way to visit our daughter Hannah and her family in Vancouver, B.C. for Thanksgiving. What a sweet time it will be, to share this special time with family.

Wrapping our granddaughter Hazel's (belated) birthday presents yesterday. I used to read these books to my daughter Hannah when she was little. Now, she reads them to Hazel, teaching her to say "their good old Bulldog *Jack*, just the way I did with Hannah. 

Before we head on up to Canada, however, we are stopping in Anacortes, Washington for a couple of days to visit friends we have met on our cycling trips. I wrote here about one of the couples we are visiting who have had their own experience with the landscape of cancer. Jen was the one who leaned across the table at lunch on the last day of our cycling trip and said to Mark, "Decide not to be a number [a statistic], Mark." He has so decided, Jen, and Jizo continues to watch over him.

Through the Lens: Home and Family

We have our four younger children this weekend. I got out my new camera again and tried using the different effects and settings in taking pictures of our house, the kids and Mark. Our home. Our family. Through the lens.

Nathan and Mark's nascent bonsai and bamboo collection

Annie and Esther

I love this picture. Sisters. Esther the athlete. Annie the tablet queen.

Working in the back patio

Levi

Aaron

Ajax and Aaron

Levi