The Death of Mark D. Sojonky

On a blue sky, gentle breeze, summer day…..he would wander past the edge of the neighborhood through the fields of grass where the lumber had been dragged……like stray dogs…….friends arrived and began the plotting………walls here………boards there………bound together with string and a few nails………..the summer sun…………warming the wood and giving off that prairie wood smell……eventually the fort would become a wooden bump on the prairie……and at the end of the day………..shirt un-tucked………pants ripped…………Mark would wander home……….occasionally with a trophy in hand……a dead mouse…a bird……a worm……

When we left the sun of the prairies for the rain of the west coast we ended up in Vancouver……Mark and I had basement rooms on Cypress Street……two rooms kitty corner around a cement basement ………washing machines and a dart board with all the trimmings…………I was picking them up………He had one more to throw………it stuck in my forehead……he had carefully placed it there…………Mark laughed……..my sisters laughed………I started to cry………….the youngest in a family is always the most hard done by………

And another day I heard a shriek and Kim was running through the basement around the furnace and up the stairs………..Mark chased her with a broom whacking her gently in the head………Kim screaming blue murder……..Dad demanded an explanation………Kim was to blame…….but the twinkle in Mark’s eyes betrayed his guilt……………


My father maintains he that he had a gentle spirit………he did……but it was a mischievous one………on a few occasions my sisters got even……………it’s a family secret but when he was a toddler Kim fed him a worms……….and I remember a time when we were back in Regina sleeping in grammas basement…….grammas house meant old sweaters and holobshi……….Mark and I slept in the basement in an old bed surrounded by pickled vegetables, a ringer washer and cases of ginger ale…………..

Mark and I slept in……..Pamela with clandestine stealth crept down the stairs to offer us a candy………Mark took the bait…….and gently chewed into a piece of………soap………Pamela sprung up the stairs as Mark spat and hollered………spat and hollered…………


Mark had the kind of attitude that thrived in the mud and grass stains created with the McGee High School Rugby team………….and a spirit that loved late night games of world dominance playing the board game Risk with his friends…………some nights the rattle of the dice seemed to never end…………in his twenties he and his friends were always in the woods, on the beach, hiking somewhere to create laughter, to run and dance and swim………

That playful spirit found its way into Early Childhood Education at UBC………and grew into a desire to read the classics, poetry and the entire works of the philosopher Krishnamurti………………It was Mark who quoted Krishnamurti on life and death…….let me share it with you:

“Do you think a leaf that falls to the ground is afraid of death? Do you think a bird lives in fear of dying? It meets death when death comes; but it is not concerned about death, it is much too occupied with living, with catching insects, building a nest, singing a song, flying for the very joy of flying. Have you ever watched birds soaring high up in the air without a beat in their wings, being carried along by the wind? How endlessly they seem to enjoy themselves!!!!! They are not concerned with death. If death comes, it is all right, they are finished. There is no concern about what is going to happen; they are living for moment to moment; it is we humans who are always concerned about death---because we are not living” (Krishnamurti, Think on These Things, p.143)

Mark had no fear of death……he lived freely…..and longed for authentic people with whom he could share sacred moments of connection and depth…….the rhythm of his life was like his daily walk to the University day care…….always on foot or perhaps his antique ten speed……..gently moving to and fro………listening to the world around him………

If he had a regret he would have echoed the words of Krishnamurti……and wanted like the birds to endlessly enjoy himself………

Challenges took their toll………

Cancer creeps in to all of our lives and Mark was no exception………he had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma and survived……..he shared his story on a special cable episode on ‘Healing from within’ that he and I developed……….Later Parkinson’s disease began to eek it’s way into his life and it had a significant impact on his mobility and spirit………


Two nasty blows and he kept walking………..he loved the riverbank for long hikes and relished good food and a few cool drinks………and after he would conclude his journeys with a serenade of the music of Miles Davis, Muddy Waters, Canned Heat, Vivaldi or an assortment of children’s songs…………

Surviving significant stuff………later in life Mark recommitted himself to knowing his family and made a special effort to enjoy his nieces and nephews…………….at Christmas he came to covet his mom’s delicious French meat pies………and he looked forward to walks down the Regina Beach trails with our father debating the mediocrity of the Riders………

He had an incredible gift of connecting with children………and always had time to tell a tall tale, teach a song or sit on the ground beside them………..or swim and splash endlessly at Regina Beach……………

I often traveled to Saskatoon to visit Mark……….on occasion I would walk with him to the day care at the university where he worked………where he brought much joy and was a source of kindness to the kids……………

I will never forget…………..the spirit and excitement as we approached the playground outside the daycare………….the kids playing noticed Mark’s arrival………and in magical voices they started yelling………Marky’s here………Marky’s here………

In 1998……one of the children from the daycare presented Mark with a special plaque which said------------“A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was. The sort of house I lived in or the kind of car I drove……but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child.”


Mark made a difference in the lives of many because he took the time to care…………