
At the funeral, I learned that the little boy I once knew had become a compassionate, selfless man -- a role model in his enthusiasm to learn and constantly improve; encouraging others to be their best. John was an engineer by trade; skilled woodworker by hobby; triathlete by competitor; jokester by nature; family man by heart; kickboxing champion and teacher by passion, just like his older brother, Joe. His younger sister Jennifer recalled how, at 15, John stepped in as her fifth grade track coach because no parent could volunteer his or her time. And upon her graduation, when fellow students were assigned to write of their heroes, one classmate wrote of John. She thanked him for the most precious gift anyone could give -- his time.

Listening to this, I began to sorrow in missing a friend I did not get to know…until now. Why do we learn how amazing someone is after their final hour…during their eulogy? Is it because our paths did not cross much? Or did I not take the time when I had the opportunity? I was even more saddened in the aftermath to come. Going through the motions of planning a funeral is mechanical, a distraction. When the obligations and fielding calls subside, the void of your loved one’s presence becomes stronger. It becomes your new reality. A painful adjustment.

My father passed away when I was 25. He was only 66. Being a physician, I am quite certain he was aware of his pre-existing conditions that eventually took his life. Knowing he could have taken some preventive care was a bit tough to process. When we received the call at 4am, I felt I graduated into an exclusive club but not wanting membership. I somehow had gained a new experience, a new piece of wisdom on my belt -- one others had yet to earn. I looked at all the guests at the funeral with concern, for one day, they will join me with the same refrain. I remember longing for the world to pause for a bit and pay its respects. But I knew life did not work that way. The sorrow came in waves -- fine one moment, tears pouring down the next. Wondering why, at a time where Dad was finally beginning to enjoy his retirement, becoming lighthearted about life, enjoying Mom’s company once again…why would he be taken from all these good things? ...the same question I asked in John's case.
The lessons, not necessarily answers, manifested. Everyone mourns in his or her own way. We can offer our presence, but provide space and time. Believe me, they will remember each and every outreached hand. And time will eventually heal…. It will take strength to get through all the “firsts” – First birthday, Father’s Day, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas. But there will be a safe time to reminisce where laughter will replace the tears. Most importantly, I learned there is

Perhaps I had to relearn some important lessons this week. The one thing that humbles us and makes us equal is death. No socioeconomic status or skilled attorney can bring someone back. Nor prevent our time from coming. And what about life? Is it about career? Affirmation? Self-worth? Or is it about relationships? We can become an executive, move to grandiose cities, “succeed” as however one defines it. But at the end of the day, if we carry no quality relationships, what do we have? One can tell a lot about another by the company he keeps. So yes, grab life with both hands and breathe as if it were our last. Hold those we love a little bit closer. And those who are unaware of our love should be told. But also consider who have we touched? Who do we affect? How do we want people to remember us? And what will they say at our passing?
Ironically, on the day of John’s funeral, the "Quote of the Day" on this blog was: Someone must pass on to show the rest of us how to live. Thank you, John, for reminding us of this precious lesson.

John is survived by his wife, Christina and two daughters, ages one and three. Donations to their college funds can be made at any Chase Bank branch under Bridget and Brianna Corro.
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