Month: March 2017

Changes in Latitudes

Reading departure signs in some big airport
Reminds me of the places I’ve been.
Visions of good times that brought so much pleasure
Makes me want to go back again.
If it suddenly ended tomorrow, 
I could some how adjust to the fall.
Good times and riches and son of a bitches, 
I’ve seen more than I can recall.

These changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes, 
Nothing remains quite the same.
Through all of the islands and all of the highlands, 
If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.

Dad passed peacefully in his sleep early this morning. We’ll share details about his service when we have them.

___

Mark Wallace Dahl, 62, a longtime resident of Beaverton, died March 7. He had cancer.

Born June 3, 1954, at West Seattle Hospital to Bernt and Vivian Dahl, he was a lifelong resident of the Pacific Northwest. After growing up in Everett and Spokane, Wash., he graduated from Spokane Community College with a degree in electronics technology. He married Judy Ann Handegard on July 10, 1976, in Spokane.

The newlyweds briefly lived in Sunnyvale, Calif., as Mark built missiles for Lockheed Martin. He took an engineering job at Tektronix and the couple settled in Beaverton, where they began their lifelong endeavor to build a family and a home.

Over the next decades, he and Judy had three children and hammered together a house that remains under their perpetual construction.

An engineer through and through, he was fascinated with the way things work, often dragging his kids on tours of dams and bringing home spare electronics parts to putter around with in the garage. Friends called him MacGyver for his ingenuity to fix anything, anywhere.

Mark volunteered in many capacities at St. Matthew Lutheran Church in Beaverton, particularly with Boy Scout Troop 124, for which he was the webmaster. He was a representative of Lutheran Men in Mission.

He loved road trips around the West, seeking out back roads and markers of bygone days. His favorite way to travel, though, was on a bicycle. He participated in Cycle Oregon, a weeklong tour of the state, for 26 years, and would say of every small town in Oregon: “I’ve been there on my bike.”

Survivors include his parents and younger brother Steve in Clifton, Texas; his wife, Judy; children Tracy Dahl and Keith Knipling of Alexandria, Va., Katie and Scott Dai of San Leandro, Calif., and Peder and Lucy Dahl of Hood River, Ore.; grandchildren Simon and Cecily Dai; and countless friends.

Memorial donations can be made to the Cycle Oregon Fund at the Oregon Community Foundation.

Thunk Hurts.

First off, you should know that this entry is being written by Katie. We’re not quite at the finish line, but it’s within sight. So, how did we get here?

On Wednesday, February 22, Sparkplug spent the night in the ICU. To be honest I don’t know all the medical details, just that the calcium in his system had reached dangerous levels. He mentioned in his last entry that he had a bladder biopsy scheduled–that came back positive, and a scan at the hospital revealed that the cancer had spread to his bones. Still, his oncologist was optimistic about alternate cancer treatments, and the physicians here were able to get his calcium levels and kidney function back to a state where they were comfortable sending him home. He was discharged on Tuesday, February 28, and slept in his own bed that night.

We spent Wednesday figuring out what the new normal was going to look like for Dad as he regained strength and prepared to resume cancer treatments. I asked him if he wanted to dictate a blog post and I’d type it up for him. He said he’d been thinking a lot about what to say to folks, and in very Sparkplug fashion, he made a math analogy. “I expected this to be a slow decline, like a battery running out. Instead it’s turned out to be more like a step function–I was holding steady up here, then all of a sudden, THUNK.” Imagine the facial expressions and hand gestures that accompanied this conversation. He chuckled and admitted, “Thunk hurts.”

Wednesday evening, he sat down at the dinner table and shared a meal with Mom, Peder, Lucy, and me. And then he had a stroke. The ambulance was there within minutes; he would have appreciated the speed run and flashing lights.

They removed a blood clot. Bleeding in his brain continued. Treating the cancer is no longer possible. Tracy’s here now. He’s mostly sleeping.

Dad always was exceptionally precise. He was diagnosed on March 3, 2016, and told the “statistical average” was 12 months. On March 3, 2017, his treatment was discontinued; he’s on compassionate care now. We move to hospice tomorrow.

Once he’s settled we’ll share the address and visiting hours, for anyone who might want to come say goodbye.