The Final Watch: A Tribute to RP Thor
By Glenn Lawrence
President of Sons of Thor
The Last Stand of a Great Man
Some men speak with words. Others speak with presence.
Thor was both.
He didn’t need to scream to be heard. He didn’t posture to be respected. His presence alone carried weight. His life wasn’t lived for attention—it was lived for purpose. And when that purpose came to its final moments, I had the honor of being the only man standing by his side.
This tribute is not about death.
It’s about duty.
It’s about love.
It’s about the sacred bond between men that transcends blood, built on honor, tested through adversity, and proven in the fire of life’s hardest trials.
This is my tribute to RP Thor—my mentor, my brother, my father in the spirit—and what it meant to serve him as his caretaker, protector, and son in the final chapter of his life.
From Brotherhood to Bloodline
I met Thor during the darkest valley of my life. I was fresh out of a devastating divorce, alienated from my son, questioning everything I thought I knew about masculinity, purpose, and presence. I was a man undone.
Thor wasn’t just a guiding voice. He was a foundational force. He didn’t hand out comfort. He issued a challenge. And I answered it.
At first, he was a mentor. But mentorship in the masculine world—real mentorship—doesn’t stay surface-level. It sharpens, shapes, and eventually forges something deeper.
Over time, our bond turned into brotherhood.
And eventually, something sacred happened.
Thor became the father I didn’t know I needed—and I became the son he never expected to have.
Not by blood, but by bond.
Not by obligation, but by honor.
Not by need, but by destiny.
He poured into me wisdom, strength, and accountability. And I stood by him—not out of duty, but because it was the highest masculine calling I’d ever been given.
Masculine Love is Not Quiet
Let me be clear: I loved that man.
Masculine love doesn’t always look like gentle hugs or warm words. Sometimes, it looks like sacrifice. Sometimes, it looks like shutting the world out and holding a man’s hand as he dies. Sometimes, it looks like saying “I’ve got you” when everyone else walks away.
When Thor told me the cancer had spread, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t bargain. I didn’t delegate.
I simply said:
“I’m here. Whatever you need.”
And I never left.
I turned down major opportunities. I pressed pause on every project. I cleared my calendar. I didn’t do it for applause. I did it because Thor was the kind of man you show up for—all the way, to the end.
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His Final Wish: Dignity Over Display
Thor had one final request for his family:
“I don’t want my death to be your last memory of me.”
He didn’t want his kids to carry that moment. He didn’t want his wife to see the light go out of his eyes. He had spent his life giving them strength—not pain.
So when the time came, and I saw that his oxygen was dropping below the point of no return, I honored his wish.
I asked the family to step out. Not out of exclusion—but out of love.
He didn’t want his last act to be one of suffering witnessed.
He wanted it to be one of strength protected.
So I stayed.
And I became the last man to speak to him, the last man to hold his hand, the last man to stand as his guardian while his spirit left this world.
I didn’t do it as a friend.
I did it as a son.
The Last Breath
The room was silent.
No machines. No noise. Just the soft rhythm of his breath—slower and slower.
I held his hand. I looked him in the eyes. And I whispered the words I knew he needed to hear:
“You are not alone. You don’t have to be afraid. I am here.”
That was the moment.
His chest rose. Fell.
And then… stillness.
And in that stillness, I felt it.
Not just the end of a man—but the passing of a legacy.
I watched death arrive, and I did not flinch.
Because I had made a vow to the man who made me a man.
This Was the Highest Honor of My Life
Men talk about honor like it’s an abstract concept. But I lived it. I held it in my hands.
Being Thor’s caretaker wasn’t just about medication schedules or hospice instructions. It was about being a man when it counted most.
It was about showing the world that masculinity is not cold—it’s courageous. That presence is not just a leadership trait—it’s a spiritual gift a man gives the world when he refuses to abandon what matters.
Thor’s death didn’t break me.
It branded me.
It reminded me who I am, and what I carry.
The Legacy Continues
Thor’s voice isn’t gone.
It echoes through the Sons of Thor.
Through every man who speaks truth with conviction.
Through every man who chooses presence over performance.
Through every man who builds instead of complains.
Through every man who loves with honor, not just emotion.
I carry his teachings in my soul.
I carry his vision in my stride.
And I carry his torch in my hands—relentless until the end.
The Sons of Thor are not followers. We are torchbearers. We are legacy guardians. We are the continuation of a mission that was born in the mind of a great man, and passed to the hearts of those who were forged in his fire.
Final Words to My Father in Spirit
Thor—
You believed in me before the world did.
You stood by me when others doubted me.
You called me a son—and now I live to prove you right.
I will lead the Sons of Thor with strength, clarity, and relentless loyalty. I will uphold your teachings and expand your legacy. And I will never forget the honor of being chosen to hold your hand when you crossed into eternity.
You were not alone.
You were not forgotten.
You were loved.
And now—you are eternal.
Rest well, my friend, my brother, my Father.
Your sons have the watch now.
In Memoriam
RP Thor (Michael Markanson)
January 18, 1963 – May 18, 2025
Mentor. Leader. Warrior. Father.