Say Hi to Eli aka Elias Robertson Tootalian aka Mile High Eli, Denver resident and first born son to my nephew Nicholas and his wife Emily, and first grandson of Nick’s dad, my brother Mark Steven Tootalian. Mark passed into the world of the Spirit in the early morning hours of May 2nd, bringing to a close his courageous, two-year, three month battle with Pancreatic Cancer. Eli, born January 1, 2019, crossed paths in the material world with his Grandfather for just over four months, becoming the apple of his Papa’s blue eyes. The picture above - sent in a text April 18th - was my final communique with my brother.
The photo was the last in a long line of beaming mug shots, the first arriving Tuesday afternoon January 1st, soon after Eli himself. “Meet Elias aka Eli Tootalian” wrote Mark. I responded with excited Grandpa congrats, a mash of emoticons, and the long-distance doting was On. “Gimme an E”/Gimme an L”/”Gimme an I” I’d text intermittently, followed by “What’s it spell?” And then “Where’s Big Eli?”, soon answered with the latest photo of Eli looking adorably angelic. “He reminds me of the infant Superman Kal-El on Krypton before Marlon Brando sent him to earth” I commented on a photo of a month-old Eli glowing otherworldly white. Back would come a GIF of a spinning Superman S, and then another of a soaring Super Boy, proclaiming, “I am here to save you.” Eli in the Bumbo Seat. Eli in his Magic Sleep Suit. Eli watching MSU in the Final Four, sporting green and white. Eli dancing, Eli sporting dinosaurs, Eli looking “Full and Alert. A Good boy” per his Papa’s comments. “Eli The Healer” Mark dubbed him a few months back. “On so many levels.”
I happily convey all this here because my brother and I had our differences in life, the distance between us only increasing at the onset of his illness — at least initially. Communication was strained, that is or was until all twenty-four inches of Eli The Healer closed the gap. Reading highlights off my phone to my sister Debbie, she responded, ”It sounds like you guys totally reconciled.” The latter half of April proved difficult for our entire family; with Mark’s health turning, we gathered at Easter, enjoying several rounds of Tootalian-style Jeopardy competition, the version where you out shout your relative as well as Alex Trebek, and then ask: “Wait, what was the answer?” Family activity being good for us all, the last few weeks were spent around Mark’s home in Orchard Lake, Eli going from wonder boy in short, texted videos to showing up in (perfectly pink) flesh and (Tootalian) blood, a blessing and reminder of life’s endless cycle.
Mark was honored in a Catholic Mass moved by The Holy Spirit at The Shrine Chapel at Orchard Lake Schools. His Bible was discussed, filled with hand-written notes and excerpts of passages from Thoreaus’s Walden, his favorite. “We must learn to reawaken,” read the cut and pasted pieces, “And keep ourselves awake.” Days later Team Tootalian took on our first Purple Stride in Detroit, the walk to end pancreatic cancer, with every member sporting #51 in honor of Mark’s standout high school football career and his well-known admiration for 1970’s Chicago Bear’s linebacker Dick Butkus. We raised over $32,000 in the mere days between my brother’s passing and the race, with our almost 90-year old Mom Louise rolling the 5K course. We’ll be there next year as well as in the years to come, punking it out proper with purple wigs and track suits, honoring our Husband Father Papa Son Brother Friend Mark T. Forever.
Shots and commentary on Eli’s beaming mug weren’t the only missives Mark and I exchanged. A video of the Crosby Stills and Nash concert he attended came through on March 21st. I’d forgotten I’d shared this old story with him, my favorite memory of Mark launching into Find The Cost of Freedom as he buried my pet parakeet. “Watch at 1:08”, he wrote, when they stopped harmonizing and ripped into Ohio. “That’s Amazing”! I responded. Did I share that story with you!?” So at the same time we hooked it up, therein also is my one regret regarding my brother - that I didn’t know they’d be passing a mic at the post-mass luncheon and didn’t get to tell that tale, of him and his chain-link wallet, back pocket bandana and denim, jean jacket tuxedo of a 70’s teen, singing the great memoriam of America’s Civil War fallen to my dead bird. But that’s alright, because we’ll be telling Mark stories for the rest of our lives. He will be dearly missed.
Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground
Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down
Find the cost of freedom, buried in the ground
Mother earth will swallow you, lay your body down