Dougherty Brothers Funeral Home
595 Norwich Road
Plainfield, CT 06374
There will be a lunch reception following the service at:
The Spa at Norwich Inn
607 West Thames Street
Norwich, CT 06360
Please RSVP to Missy Plante at melissa.plante190@me.com
Following the rosary and vigil on the 13th Melanie and I were asked to post the remarks I delivered. You will find them below.
One year, seven months and twelve days. Too short a time and
yet in that period, from detection of his disease until his passing on Friday,
John spent every day enjoying life and growing into manhood. A parent wonders
as their child grows, “What kind of a person will he become?” And in the normal course of events that
parent might have to wait years to see if their effort to produce a moral
person, a caring person, one whose attributes truly reflect conscience,
compassion and competence, was fruitful. Yet somehow in this short time, the
crucible of his disease accelerated his maturation into a kind, compassionate,
generous man; a man that would make any parent, especially this parent, proud.
I have often remarked how amazed I have been at the manner
with which he responded to his disease and its prognosis. That if it had been
me, at the same age as John, there is exactly zero chance I would have
responded with anything close to his equanimity. And I know that his ability to persevere is
truly a credit to his mother.
In the days since his first seizure, when his friends were
with him as they prepared to play football and had to respond to that sudden
crisis, to the final night when one of his cousins and one of his friends were
with him, Melanie and I have had the wonderful opportunity to see just how much
love there was in John’s life. His friends, whether from Little League, our
Berryessa neighborhood, Harker
Academy, Bellarmine, or
Gonzaga, and his family of beloved cousins, were constantly by his side;
encouraging him, celebrating the good times, sharing stories or sometimes just
being with him quietly. Their goodness
and kindness showed us that he was truly blessed.
We thank their parents for raising young men and women who
unflaggingly gave of themselves to John’s care. We know you have had some very
tough conversations with your own children, conversations mirroring our own,
that often would involve the word “Why”. Your love and support in turn gave
them the strength to support John. Your efforts will never be forgotten by
Melanie or myself.
Melanie and I have seen, and felt, so much love. However, we also have seen too much pain and
confusion. In the final eighteen days while John was in hospice care, as the
hope for a cure dissipated, the pain on the faces of his family and friends was
palpable. This is a natural counterpoint to the greatest emotion, love. But we would never feel pain if we never felt
love. And the greater the love, then commensurately, the greater the pain. This, being the case, then John was truly
loved beyond measure.
Yet you cannot allow that pain to overwhelm you to the point
of despair. I have seen some of you on the brink both in word and look. Despair
is emptiness of hope. It is an emotion that John absolutely rejected, even on
his worst day. We all must do our best to emulate John and always have hope.
A great friend of mine shared this quote when he heard we
had entered hospice care. I think we should all take its promise to heart.
"Yet, by the grace of God, time takes its toll not only
on youth and beauty, but also on tragedy. The tomorrows come almost against our
will. And they bring healing and hope, new responsibilities and new possibilities.''
AMDG
