Many thoughts go through your mind when you are captive to a situation 
beyond your control, sitting in what seems an interminably slow aircraft, 
with no ability to obtain further news, and imagining all sorts of 
scenarios.  I finally arrived home and the tragic truth came crashing down 
to indelibly mark our lives for evermore.
	 Fortunately Carol's sister, Judy McGibbon from Montreal, was able to come 
to be with her for three weeks.   After her arrival we went to Chilliwack to 
carry out the sorrowful and emotion bending duties that are involved with a 
funeral of a loved one.
	The funeral was originally to be on Saturday, June 25, 1994 but due to 
logistics and Croatian red tape was changed to Monday, June 27, 1994.  
Meanwhile Mark's widow Kelly had been looked after by the support system 
placed in gear by the military and his regiment, and they did this with 
great care and compassion, as they feel they have lost a brother.
	After Kelly picked out the burial site, her driver, Cpl George Macdonald 
noted that at the cemetery, painted on the driveway intersecting the 
grounds, was inscribed the row markers.  On the sides of the road, near the 
building situated at the front, the markers read, starting from the
building and on up the road: vii, vi, v, iv, iii, ii, i, z, z, y, x, w, v, 
u, and so on to the beginning of the alphabet.  Of the two sites she had 
picked out one was directly opposite and in the middle of the "I Z Z Y" on 
one side of the road, and the other site was directly in line with the point 
of the
flagstaff in the cemetery slightly down the hill and toward the site 
ultimately chosen. My father had been called "Izzy" throughout his life and 
I never was.  Mark was known as "Izzy" by all his regimental brothers and 
the moniker had been used in various other instances also.
	As you said in your telephone conversation, Mark had said to you in one of 
his letters, "Is my number coming up?"   He had, for the first time ever, 
suggested to me a foreboding of disaster when he said to me that he felt 
that "something was going to happen on this tour, not necessarily to him, 
but something was going to happen."
	We were slated to do an interview with the National Film Board crew after 
the viewing Sunday, but coincidence dictated that it would be done before we 
went to the funeral home.  They interviewed us on camera for about forty 
minutes, of which I remember very little and recall nothing  of what I said. 
 Carol however was able at this time to release a lot of pent up feelings 
and therefore was able to attend the viewing and funeral without further 
problem.  The director said to me numerous times after the interview that 
the message she had was powerful, and I recall that while she was talking, 
these two hardened journalists and cameramen were outwardly
weeping.
	Things went as smoothly as a funeral can be expected and the service was 
gracefully carried out by Padre Ted Moeller.  We got a call from Dave 
Breese, a friend who had attended the funeral and returned to Comox, and was 
keeping an eye on dad, that conditions were worsening.  Dave and staff had 
told dad what happened and that I was on my way home.  Whether he 
comprehended mattered not, but he must be told and he was.  The staff and 
Dave indicated that he knew something was up.  On arrival home I went to the 
hospital where Dave had sat with dad for the previous twelve hours and when 
I went to him he grasped my hand, not with a firm grip, but with a 
recognitive grip and response to my voice.
	 I went home to bed and returned in the morning.  Dad was labouring and 
seemingly still fighting the "Angel of Mercy" so close by him.  He opened 
his eyes for about 30 seconds and looked at me but I don't really know if he 
recognized me at this time.  Carol came down later and he immediately 
grasped her hand with a definite firmness different than the response to my male
hand.  I went home and got my mother's and father's wedding picture and 
picked a flower on the way in to the room.  About twenty minutes later he 
opened his eyes wide.  I took that opportunity to show him the picture, then 
I showed him the flower and moved it back and forth in front of him and 
there was definite eye movement following the flower.  He closed his eyes 
and shortly thereafter died peacefully in the presence of Carol and I, and 
Dave and Lynn, Dave's wife.
	 The proximity of the deaths, Mark's foreboding concerns, the similarity of 
the two personalities, and all the coincidental occurrences of the period, 
for example the fact that Mark had been involved with numerous reporters 
shortly before his death, had been directly involved with the film crew, 
that some felt that dad knew something was happening, all meld together into 
an unexplainable web of circumstance that I surely am not going to try to 
resolve, but must acknowledge.
	 I hope that this, and it does not cover all the happenings, will help you 
to become a little closer to the penpal you knew but never met, and from the 
gist of your letters and recollections, also came to love just a little.  As 
I said before we will meet in the future but for now, "so long."

Following is a few letters from Mark through the years of his Military career

Mark Isfeld                   Tuesday June 17 86  "Boot Camp"


     Well it surely is nice to have your name called at mail call.  I 
appreciate the encouragement also, especially now we are in one of the 
toughest weeks out of the ten.  But only one.  There are more to come.  This 
week we got our NDA national defense act test back.  I got 70 percent.  Not
as good as I would have liked (so tired all the time and want you to learn 
so much so fast, it's confusing.) Any way I was above average.  Tomorrow we 
do another test - practical - first aid.  Plus we have 2 PT double periods.  
That's 1--80 min. physical training (tough) and 1--80 min. sports training.  
It will be a stressful day.  Thursday we do our saluting test and rank 
insignia test. 
You need to pass both to attain a cap badge along with the associated base 
privileges.  Salute you pass or fail.  The rank you need 85 per cent.  I 
know them all 100 percent anyway but the salute is what makes me nervous.  
Drill is tough.  I like it when things go smoothly but they give you so 
little time to learn so much and only one session.  I try my damnedest 
though and to top it off we get our rifles Friday - more kit to clean and 
more drill to learn.
    	 Boy, the days go faster here than anywhere in the world.  And to prove 
it today is the 19th.  I had to sign off because an NCO was on the prowl.  
Now I have my cap badge.  I got 98 on my first aid.  And we had the platoon 
balloon's inspection.  2, Count em, 2 people got their weekend pass.  We 
lost radio privileges, pizza is out and we are confined to barracks.  I 
didn't have enough polish on my boot soles, one shirt was not quite ironed 
enough and I had the paper from which the enclosed clipping came.  PT pack 
was complimented but no stamp on the station card.  Actually I didn't do so 
badly but the new platoon is either trying to prove something or is 
genuinely tough.  I've heard 10 platoon is one of the toughest to graduate 
from.  But sometimes it's hard to figure this shit out.  Like I worry my ass 
off about some test, and they give lots of fuel for worry, then they 
practically give it to you.  For example some of the dicks looked like shit 
saluting.  If I was an officer I d wonder what kind of knobhead NCO could 
give such an ass a
cornflake and feel right about it.  As well, we did a practical artificial 
respiration test.  I did it perfectly and others failed yet got a pass.  How 
can you save a life in an emergency when you don't know what the hell to do? 
 Some times it doesn't make sense, something I ll have to become used to.  
But overall, this platoon is a tough one.  Our kit and quarters are never 
good enough.  I'm sore.  Today was a really physical one.  Drill was like 
PT, and PT was unbelievable.  I did about 300 pushups, about 150 sit ups and 
countless squat thrusts.  To start PT class I came  out into the gym jogging 
and I had forgotten to take my keys off so I ran up to the Corporal and
asked if I could do fifty?  He found that amusing and said "that's the 
spirit."  You see if we do anything wrong, i.e., hands on hips walking on 
the gym floor, even if someone farts he'll say "who shit?"  And depending on 
how bad it smells you do push ups.

On to part 4

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