From. To.

(I had sent this to Paul in a card and John asked if I could upload. Sorry for the length!)

To my Rollins family,

I know there are no words to say for comfort but I remember Mark with love and treasure our memories together...

From running around the Methodist campground together at 6 (Uncle Paul, sorry for opening your shower curtain to introduce you to the neighborhood kids as my uncle)...

to playing on the big rocks in our backyard at 7 and naming MaryBeth Rooster because of her freaky (but cute as hell) plume...

to Thanksgiving in Simsbury when Mark couldn't get home his freshman year...and brought his laid back girlfriend whom we all wanted to adopt and talked about way too much...

to watching Mark play Yale and sneaking down to the Harvard bench to say hey...

to Grandfather John's 80th birthday on the Vineyard where Mark, John and I crashed at Pat Alleys and woke to having our feet tickled by Pat

to Mark's Luau in NYC which ended up being just a few guys wearing leis, drinking beer and watching football,

to Misquamicut and dancing on the couch armrests after the parents went to bed...

to Misquamicut Trivial Pursuit games/fights with usually resulting in my mom calling Uncle Paul a brat, like they were still 10 years old... (and you kinda were Paul, but we really did like your chili dinners)

to Mark ending most arguments with me with "that's what I would expect from someone who graduated from Fairfield."

to punching Mark

to Mark, John R and I crashing another Vineyard parent get together and forgetting to let them know or find a place to stay, so we were homeless for the weekend...

to drinks in NYC where we'd try to solve the world's problems (and our family's) and just ended up solving 463 of them...

to Mark answering Twenty Questions about my mom for her 80th birthday book.... responding with great lines including "MC's greatest talent was being there for me whenever I asked" and "MC's greatest gift was our open ended conversation"

to sitting on my front stoop in Bucks County with John and 3 year old Jack, waiting for Mark to ride his bike into our driveway, peddling 2862 miles all the way from California. I can still see him coasting down Newtown Road, lifting his hand to wave to us, or in victory, or maybe both, but it's a moment I've decided to frame in mindseye as my favorite one of Mark

To Mark, my cousin, five days younger than me, but older in too many ways. Complicated. Frustrating. But what a heart and what a soul and what a wonderful cousin.