Mark Franklin Honeck, 69, of Hampton, passed away Wednesday, January 10, 2018, at his home in Hampton. He was born March 22, 1948, in Hampton, Iowa, to Frank and Marellyn (Luscombe) Honeck. Mark graduated from Hampton Community High School in Hampton and attended Ellsworth Community College in Iowa Falls, Iowa. Mark served his country in the United States Army. He was united in marriage to Pamela Connelly in 1970, in Nashua, Iowa, the marriage later ended in divorce. Mark worked as a Lineman for IPS and MidAmerican Energy in Hampton for over 35 years. He was a member of the Hampton Country Club and the Hampton United Methodist Church. Mark enjoyed golfing, gardening, fishing, planting trees and volunteering his time at the Hampton Country Club. He was an avid Iowa Hawkeye fan and enjoyed sports, including bowling and coaching his son, Cole, in Farm League and Little League baseball. Mark is survived by his son Cole (Ellen) Honeck of Centennial, Colorado, daughter Robyn (Doug) Pralle of Hampton, granddaughter Haley Honeck of Centennial, Colorado, grandson Allen (AJ) Honeck of Centennial, Colorado, sister Kayleen Polichetti of Honolulu, Hawaii. He was preceded in death by his parents.
Someone has supported the family by purchasing them flowers or gifts from the Healing Registry.
Buy Gift Now
"You got the wings. I got the roots."
My brother Mark always told me this when describing our differences--and our similarities.
He probably never knew that one of first stories I wrote in college was about the contents of my little brother's pockets. I emptied them one day and here's what I found. Shiny pebbles and rocks from the quarry across the street where, despite admonitions to the contrary, he climbed and fell endlessly - in the process acquiring multiple scars on his scalp. There were twigs and dirt with weeds and other microbes that I'm sure were alive. And acorns. Lots of acorns.
Little did I know what these acorns would portend. Mark's first full time job in Hampton was a meter reader for the local Utility. It wasn't long before he knew the names of all the trees on his route. ("I had to do something with all that time walking," he said. )
Mark was a tree lover all his life. On my last visit home he took me around the country club grounds where we grew up, citing names and origins and information about the trees, which ones grew well here and why.
Now. . . . speaking of the country club, I think I should weigh in on all this "gifting golf clubs" tradition. I should point out that my/our Dad gave me my first set of golf clubs when I was fifteen. I carried them around with me around the globe, making sure I played at least once in Bangkok. In Kabul, Afghanistan (where both the fairways and greens were sand). In Malawi in Africa, and in New Delhi, India. Just to keep up the tradition. So maybe this "gifting" is part of the family DNA ... or maybe it's just . . . in the water . . . (!)
Mark was also blessed with the rye, dry humor of our Granddad Luscombe, and his favorite Uncle, Glenn Luscombe, who lived in Des Moines into his '90s and would occasionally call Mark and, without identifying himself, say in his slow English drawl: "Hello ... Mark ... just checking in ..."
This reminds me of something else about Mark, and the Luscombe side of the family. Like Grandad Luscombe, he was interested in our family history, the Honeck family tree. Late in life, he was contacted via ancestry.com by another "Honeck" who lived in Texas, and he encouraged me to do the same . . . (And I am so pleased that we in Hampton have heard from other members of the Honeck clan, Bette, Ron etc.)
Mark's English sense of humor stood him in good stead over the years, as a proud father, a hard worker, a dedicated and sometimes maybe too vocal volunteer, and well mostly, on the golf course.
Thinking about him today reminds me of a poem of loss and remembrance -- written by Mary Elizabeth Frye in 1932. She was an American housewife . . . and florist. It's the only poem she ever wrote. But it's been read on many occasions, public and private, most notably in England where the poem was found in the pocket of a dying WWI soldier . . . It has been translated into more than a dozen languages.
I think it reflects Mark's sentiments . . . "Do not stand at my grave and weep ..."
Today, Mark. You got the wings. I got the roots.
- Kayleen Honeck Polichetti, 2018
Have a floral question? Call +1 888-640-1035
Healing Registry Unavailable at the Moment!