I learned today that my cousin Marc died on December 22, 2018 in New York City. I hadn’t seen him for over 25 years. Though I visited New York many times during those years we never ran into each other. Not that was a likely occurrence to happen.
There were family issues that existed as I imagine exist in most families. Marc marched to a different drummer as did I and my mother, and as do we all to the drum beats that end up separating us.
So what do I remember about this beautiful child? He was bright, he had wit, he was very mean, backbiting, a gossip, fragile and insecure. One afternoon after a day of doing what I do not remember we ended up in the kitchen of the house on Bennet Avenue having a heart to heart of sorts in which he tore into everyone in the family and I said to him “When I leave what will you say about me”?
Marc had a fine eye for art and design. Marc had style and grace. One party I remember he had at his apartment when we were all in Chicago, he served the best Pimm’s cup and was proud to point out a Max Gunther painting he acquired.
Marc married well and had beautiful children. Two sons, two daughters and beautiful grandchildren. All seem to live well and prosper. The last I saw any of them was at Marc’s brother Basil’s daughter Audrey’s wedding.
Such are our generations. It was Marc’s oldest daughter Elizabeth that brought my mother back from estrangement with her family after 25 years. Of course, she had no idea that she had a role to play but that is a story for another day.
Dear Marc, beloved cousin, I choose to remember you as we are here. Long before the wars began. You shall remain in my heart all the days of my life.