Mark, Jim and I grew up during the 60’s in three towns that border each other in central Connecticut: Jim in South Windsor, Mark in Vernon and me in Manchester. We met and became friends through Community Baptist Church. When I went to Camp Wightman in July 1971, I met Sheila and moved to Mystic to be with her in May of 1972. We were married at Union Baptist Church in June of 1973. Jim was my best man and Mark was an usher. Mark met Sheila’s sister, Dianne, at my wedding and they married in 1975.
Jim drove down to Mystic around midnight the night my twin sons were born on April 1, 1976. This was just one of many times he came down to see me, first in Mystic and then in North Stonington when Sheila, Andrew, Jeremy and I moved there in 1978. I also saw my friend and brother-in-law, Mark, many times over the years in the 70’s and 80’s, but then Sheila and I divorced in 1989. Jim and I remained close after that but I saw very little of Mark, especially after he moved to New Hampshire to be the pastor of a church in Wolfeboro.
One afternoon, Jim and I were playing pool at his home in Manchester when I told him that I hadn’t seen Mark in years and doubted that I ever would again. I felt a real sense of loss for a relationship that had been a part of my life for many years.
About eight years ago, Andrew told me that Mark and Dianne were thinking about buying a house in Westerly less than a quarter of a mile from me. It was a very old house, built in the late 18th century, and had been in bad shape for a number of years. I drove by it, and sure enough, there was a For Sale sign on the front lawn, but it seemed unlikely to me that Mark would buy a house that would require so much work.
Then one winter day I got a phone call from Mark to tell me he had bought the house. One of his (and my former) sisters-in-law had given him my number and he was calling to see if it would be possible to stay with Sandra and me from time to time while he worked on the house, which didn’t have working electricity or plumbing at the time. After getting the okay from Sandra, I told Mark he was more than welcome. There was a lot of work for him to do, so Mark stayed with us a number of times over the next year or so while he ingeniously and almost singlehandedly converted “this old house” into an attractive, comfortable home.
Mark and I have been neighbors for several years now. During that time, we’ve been getting together on Tuesdays for a couple of hours to read and discuss books. Sometimes Mark comes over to see me and sometimes I go to see him. Since March, we’ve been zooming on Tuesdays and then on Sunday evenings with Jim.
More than once I’ve thought that having Mark live right around the corner from me after all those years of being apart is a miracle. By that, I don’t mean God interceded to reunite me with one of my two lifelong friends. To me, believing in such supernatural interventions opens a theological quandary that can be managed only by excluding rational thought. However, I do believe in the possibility of improbable events in life unexpectedly bringing welcome results. When defined that way, being reunited with Mark is a “wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.”
David James Madden