Our Very Own Top Gun

When I think about Marc, what strikes me most is how someone you’ve only known for a short time can leave such a deep and lasting impression.

I met him not long after he and Kiera moved into their townhouse. He had that easy confidence. The kind of guy you instantly felt like you could grab a drink with and have a real conversation. He’d stroll through the community with his perfectly styled hair and aviators, looking like he was headed into a DEFCON 1 situation. All he needed was a bomber jacket. And knowing Marc, there was probably one in his closet. But beneath all that was someone incredibly thoughtful, detail-oriented, and genuinely engaged with the world around him.

We got to know each other in small ways. Quick chats near the mailbox. A wave here, a passing comment there as he headed off to work in a sharp business suit. Then one day, he asked me about joining the condo board. I was a bit surprised, to be honest. Most people don’t exactly line up for that job. It’s more headaches than high-fives. But Marc saw it differently. He saw a chance to make a difference in a place he cared about.

At the time, there wasn’t a seat available. I told him that. He didn’t miss a beat. Just said, “I’ll be an advisor then.” No ego. No agenda. Just a real desire to contribute. And he did. He was a phenomenal advisor that year. So much so that when I started thinking about stepping away, I felt completely at ease knowing Marc would take over. I trusted his judgment. His leadership. His heart.

Marc was wicked smart. Good Will Hunting smart. Having him on our team was a gift.

He brought this calm, steady energy to the board. He wasn’t just thinking about policies or numbers. He was thinking about all 55 unit owners and their families. He showed up for everyone. We used to back channel Zoom calls with text messages. Usually something like, “WTF?” or “Did he really just say that?” Or one of my favourites from Marc: “That’s not water in my Yeti.” That one definitely wasn’t me.

More than anything, Marc was deeply caring. You could see it in how he spoke about Drew and Kiera. They were everything to him. He poured into his relationships. He made time. He paid attention.

After his diagnosis, Marc called to say he might need to take a step back for treatment, but he was planning to return. He told me, “I didn’t come this far to only come this far.” Even then, his focus wasn’t on fear. It was on pushing forward. I told him to take all the time he needed and that his seat would be waiting.

Watching the way people rallied around Marc during his illness was powerful. You don’t get that kind of love and support unless you’ve earned it. And Marc did. I was honoured to be part of that circle.

When he passed, it hit me hard. He was only 45. Kiera lost her partner. Drew, just seven, lost his dad. It’s the kind of loss that makes you question how this world works. Because Marc was a good man. The kind we don’t get enough of.

But even in loss, he left us with something. A blueprint. A quiet example of how to live with kindness, sincerity, and strength. He raised the bar. Not in a way that feels impossible, but in a way that makes you want to be better for the people around you.

I already see pieces of Marc in Drew. That same spark. That same heart. And while no story can ever fill the space his dad left behind, I hope they help Drew feel just how loved, respected, and admired Marc really was.

For me, every time I see the number 11, I think of Marc. Not just what he left behind. What he left in us. A better way to show up in the world.

Marawan El-Asfahani