The Park Bench That Changed My Mind

A quiet park trail surrounded by native prairie grass, a bench adorned with flowerpots, beside a slow-moving river under sunny skies. A perfect memorial.

There’s a park near my home that doesn’t try too hard to impress. It sits on the footprint of an old farmstead with gentle hills, prairie grasses, a slow river on three sides, and the ruins of a forgotten commercial grain drying operation. The loop trail around Eaton Preserve is just about a mile long, and mostly walked by people with their dogs. It’s my kind of place. Peaceful. Grounded. Honest.

I grew up in farm country, and this park stirs something in me—memories of dusty boots and blazing hot summers spent working the fields for Mr. G. on his 300-acre spread back in high school. Today, craving that simplicity, I carved out a few minutes before a work call to visit. My plan was simple: sit on a bench overlooking the river and just be.

As I approached my favorite bench overlooking the DuPage River, something caught my eye. A bench nearby covered in potted flowers with a printed note that read:

“Please take a plant to honor Mark’s memory.”

I paused for a long moment and contemplated the man behind this plaque. Who is Mark Crabtree? How lovely that his family brought his memorial to life today.

Mark Crabtree, I would soon learn, was a local coach and founder of a youth athletics program. A man who loved fishing, softball, and, above all, his family. He passed away in 2017 at just 44. His obituary spoke of a man who poured everything into life—especially into his wife and their children.

That flower-covered bench did something that no bronze plaque ever could. It felt alive. Like someone still present, still missed with the same intensity. This is how love feels, even amid great loss.

I picked a small pot of pink blooms, sat quietly on a nearby bench, and offered a prayer for Mark and his family. I brought that plant home, and it now sits on my desk—a living reminder of a stranger whose memory touched me deeply.

For years, I viewed memorial benches as performative civic fundraising—plaques, bricks and trees “sold” by park districts to raise revenue, not unlike speed camera citations. But today, the Crabtree family and their beautiful memorial to a father and husband gave that cynicism a quiet death.

Thank you for the beauty. For the flowers. For helping me see.