Today is one of those rare days when I must take pause and refrain from indulging in the fun and frivolity of blogging in order to pay my respects to something greater. As I mentioned last weekend, my dear friend Mark suddenly lost his father and the shock and pain still resonates strongly still one week later. I mentioned yesterday that I have made my way back home to Detroit, MI to be with Mark and his girlfriend (my BFF) Sarah to attend a day-long memorial service at their home for Mark’s dad today. As a result, I am only writing one post today … in honor of Mark’s father Michael Kora III, who I had the extreme pleasure of knowing:

Michael Kora III, or Pseudo as he was known by close friends and family, touched many lives in his 66 years. Before he built his family with his wife Clare, he proudly served his country in the US Navy in the mid-60′s serving aboard the USS Intrepid (which is now permanently docked as a museum ship in NYC, NY) from which he was honorably discharged in 1967. After he returned home to Michigan from his loyal service, he and Clare settled down and brought into the world 3 beautiful children … Denise, Mark and Michael.
Pseudo was the kind of man that could immediately make you feel loved and welcomed as part of his family, his life. He was they kind of guy you could easily have a deep conversation with or laugh riotously over pints of beer or glasses of his homemade wine (from Pseudo’s Psellar) telling silly stories. He instilled in his children, Mark especially, the ability to listen with an open mind and love with an open heart. In all the years I’ve known Mark, it became evident to me that the amazing man that his is a direct reflection his father’s influence. Pseudo was a thinker, a talker, a joker, an artist and a friend. He is sorely missed by all who knew him and it is my sincerest belief that he is now a part of each of us because even tho he is gone from this physical plane, he lives in our hearts and minds … forever.
Pseudo was very fond of the 1920′s poem Desiderata written by Max Ehrmann and I think it absolutely represents everything he was about. Understanding this poem is understanding Michael Kora III:
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
Rest well, Pseudo … thank you so much for blessing our lives with your love, knowledge, artistry and friendship. We love you, always.
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