Since becoming a mother, I spend a considerable amount of time hoping I can manipulate my son’s world into a place that turns out a good person when he’s ready to someday start his own adventures.

I think about the people and experiences that have enriched my life and why, and hope that he’ll have his own versions of those people. These people for me, are incredibly varied. Some I’ve known my entire life; others passed in and out more quickly, but made an impression, one that’s not easily forgotten.

It’s been seven years somehow, since one of those people left the picture far too quickly.

Mark Adams was my first Jr. High crush. From back in the day when one doodled hearts and initials and wrote on paper and cellphones were reserved for firefighters and policemen, and the internet was something people in Jr. High didn’t use, or even know existed. It was a different time, one I probably look at with a little more nostalgia than necessary. He was a nice guy. Witty. Smart. My Jr. High self, much like my 17 year old self, had impeccable taste in boys that would go on to be good men.

There were sledding adventures, phone calls spent locked in the bathroom for privacy, since there was only one phone at my house. It was a fun time. Eventually the crush abated, as most Jr. High ones do, but for the next 6 years, our paths crossed a lot, and I always relished the opportunity to spend time with Mark, because he was interesting. Not a lot of teenage boys were really interesting.

We had some crazy adventures, some of which our mutual friends that might be reading this would probably smile about. By the time we graduated high school, we were traveling in pretty different circles, but I still jumped on any opportunity to sit down with him at a party, or wave when I’d see him walking around town, until we both went off to our respective universities. Then, of course, it was 2001, and the internet was a thing people used to keep in touch, and we did sporadically, through MSN Messenger, and eventually Facebook. We didn’t talk a lot, but I wrote him a few months before he passed away in 2008, after I noticed he had moved to Guelph to do his Masters. I’d just moved to Toronto, and there aren’t too, too many of us from Digby that live within an hour radius.

I wish I’d made more of an effort to get together that year. It’s one of my few real regrets, like not asking my Granny to tell me once more how she met my grandfather before she passed away. I would have loved to hear about his future plans, and about Emerson, and all of the things that had transpired since we’d last crossed paths in person.

It was a real shock to the system when Mark died. When you’re in your early twenties, you think you’re fairly invincible, and having someone you know get hit at a crosswalk is the worst kind of reality check. The kind that makes you regard your surroundings a little differently, to take that extra second at lights when you would have just went for it, like you had a million times before.

An extra second at crosswalks is kind of a crappy way to remember someone, I think. It’s not very glamorous or interesting, and I think someone as outstanding as Mark Adams deserves better. I spent some time on my first child-free afternoon in months thinking about this, as Mark’s mother’s loving note to her son on Facebook reminded me of the date.

It hit me as a stranger offered me the last empty seat in Starbucks at his table with a guesture, while he continued to chat with someone on his Bluetooth. I’m fairly certain I haven’t worked on April 30th once since 2008, quite unintentionally. I was thinking about it today, as I even took a rare afternoon off from parenting. I didn’t plan it to coincide with today, it just sort of happened, as is usually the case. I can think of several times over the past seven years that I have taken a moment to reflect on Mark on this day and none of them have been while I was at work.

Going forward, I will continue to take April 30th off work, and spend the day just living, and being outwardly appreciative of that simple gift. Because I’m lucky to be living, and breathing, and learning, and spending time with my son and my family. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that just living is wonderful, and I think reminding myself of that is much more befitting than pausing at crosswalks (which I will probably continue to also do).

Thanks, Mark. I can’t wait to catch up in the (hopefully distant) future.