I’ve been fascinated by the concept of community for a long time.

Communitarianism, sometimes called “community,” is a concept I’ve been captivated with and have read widely about for the past 25 years. I even got to play in the “laboratory” and forge elements of this concept in various places around the state of Maine. I think the germ for me was first planted by Wendell Berry’s writing on the subject.

When I was directly engaged in community-building and nonprofit work during the first decade of this century, Berry’s foundational values: place (it matters), community, good work, and simple pleasures resonated with the side of me that tended towards seeing what was ideal, if not always practical. The best part of the time I spent engaged in what I found to be “good work” however, was that it taught me that people working together could produce positive results that benefited many and rippled outward long after I was no longer around doing that work.

My son embodied these values. He saw the good in people. Mark also had the capacity and the drive to move beyond mere words and playing around the fringes of social justice. He actually took action.

Friday, as youth around the world came together in a global chain of voices and actions around protesting climate change, I was reminded of the ultimate sacrifice that Mark made for what he believed in. His death profoundly altered my life and the life of his mom in ways that we’ll never be able to step away from. Loss is forever.

This weekend, our new community—the place where we’ve opted to put down new roots—came together along the river that flows between Biddeford (where we live) and the neighboring city of Saco. The weather was perfect. Summer gifted us with one last weekend to treasure before slipping away until next June.

RiverJam Fest was a chance for people to gather downtown: “down by the river” as one of my favorite artists sang about in a song. It began on Friday night with Fringe Fest, which was a pot pouri of art, music, coupled with food and drink. There was some performance art, K-Pop, and it was nice for Mary and I to finally live in a place where we could walk out the door and access some of the happenings. Then, when we were tired of them, turn around and walk back home.

The last time we were within walking distance to a downtown was when Mark was a student at Yellow Bird Nursery School in Lisbon Falls. That was a long time ago.

Community as a concept and an intellectual exercise to be talked about and debated is always neat and clean. Community acted upon, however, can sometimes get messy. People all want different things. We also want many of the same things, too. And as others have written about like Berry and the eminent sociologist Amitai Etzioni, community ultimately originates and emanates from the people—from the ground up, really—not in individuals ruggedly acting alone.

I must confess. I’ve struggled with the ideal and simply holding the spirit of community in my heart for much of the past two-and-a-half-years. People that used to love to talk about community with me apparently haven’t recognized that living in community means supporting others who are going through difficult times. Losing an adult son surely qualifies as difficult.

Living in a neighborhood is new for us. It means that houses are closer together. Sometimes you hear and see things you don’t like, or wish you weren’t so close to. It also forces you to look up and occasionally wave to another human being, or god forbid: have a conversation.

There are days when I come home from work, or from an errand and I’ll look across the street and see my neighbor taking care of their property. Their love of their little corner of Earth benefits me. At times, they’ve motivated Mary and I to take extra care of our lawn or garden out front. They also wave back, too.

When we were downtown on Friday night, our new neighbors texted and invited us to stop for a drink when we got back home. We enjoyed seeing their house, meeting their dogs, and learning a little bit of history related to the street and area of Biddeford we’re living in. We even learned about “the curse of the Saco River” the river we ended up cruising up and back on Saturday, the landmark around which Biddeford-Saco originated centuries ago.

Downtown Biddeford as Captain John takes us out onto the Saco River.

Sometimes it’s been hard for me to consider gathering with others over the past 2+ years. Community demands that we not give in to our misanthropic inclinations after the floor of one’s life opens up and drops them into the pit of sadness caused by grief and loss.

Mary and I have been talking about inviting people over to show off the new crib. RiverJam weekend seemed like it might be the best opportunity. Of course, being as busy as we’ve been in moving and work and life doesn’t always lend itself to cleaning the house and fixing up food for a gathering of older friends, family, and some new friends, like our neighbors. But sometimes you have to be a friend to have a friend, or something like that.

Friends, family and neighbors on the patio.

Mark became a friend to many people in Providence, the city he adopted as home and the place that also adopted him. I also recognized in reflecting back upon his life that in 2014, he went through a period of sadness and I think, isolation.

At Mark’s celebration of life, we marveled at all the people who talked about how Mark was the “best listener,” or a “friend who was really interested in my life.” What I’ve come to believe based upon conversations I had with him and some of these remembrances about Mark is that in 2014, he made a decision to “be a friend” so that he’d forge connections with other humans. In hindsight, it seems like that was rooted in wisdom beyond his years.

Reaching out to others is hard. They can say “no” or reject you. After years of connection, they can disappear, or even break your heart. That’s the risk you must take, though.

I’m sure next week some shithead will piss me off or something will happen and again I’ll say to myself or come home and tell Mark that “I hate human beings.” Sometimes humans do suck.

But as Mark found out on his final walk across the country, many good people stopped because they saw a barefoot man walking down the road and thought he might need some help (or a pair of shoes). Sometimes I think about a well-intentioned person offering a plant-based vegan super hero a ham sandwich and I smile. Mark would always thank them politely. He appreciated the thought and heartfelt gesture that was being extended by his fellow human beings.

Saturday night was a good night. For more several hours I wasn’t sad. I smiled and laughed. People were glad to see us and our new house and where we lived. It was awesome to see old friends from years past. It was also special creating some history with a new group of people.

Another artist I was fond of and who often brought me joy through their music, Daniel Johnston, passed away last week. He had a song called “True Love Will Find You in the End.” I’m not sure this was ever true for Johnston. I know it’s rare for many people to find true love. But I think Johnston and Mark, and others who truly hoped that our better angels might win out in the end believed that. I’m going to work harder at holding that in my own heart, even if it means I must hold onto two opposing ideas, simultaneously.

Maybe that’s part of what embracing community is all about.