2024 Annual Memorial Booklet

A Gathering of Healing and Support for Suicide Loss Survivors Sunday, January 28, 2024 Arlington Street Church Boston, Massachusetts

Connect. Heal.

Remember.

We gather today to acknowledge the profound pain and sorrow that comes with the loss of a loved one to suicide. We extend our deepest condolences and hope that as a community, we can provide a space for healing and support as we come together to honor and remember the lives of those we have lost.

Program Opening Remarks Sissi O’Shaughnessy, Senior Director of Suicide Grief Support Services

Opening Song “A Broken Heart Still Beats” Performed by Michele Kelly

Readings in Order Follow along in the program book.

After the last reading, audience members who have not submitted a reading will be invited to share brief remarks.

Reflection Kathy C. Marchi, Chief Executive Officer & President

Candle Lighting Ceremony

Closing Song “We Remember Them” Performed by Michele Kelly

Closing Kacy C. Maitland, Chief Clinical Officer

Reception Please join us in the chapel for refreshments and conversation.

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Opening Song

A Broken Heart Still Beats Words and Music by Michele Kelly There is a sorrow in my soul Shrouded in darkness, it cannot be consoled, It lies in wait for me, then swallows me whole There is a sorrow in my soul.

There is a chasm in my heart Littered with debris from when it broke apart It’s tainted with grief and riddled with scars There is a chasm in my heart.

Handle it gently, it’s fragile and weak Please be patient with the silence it keeps Give it space to mourn, give it time weep Help it understand how A broken heart still beats I’m not the person I was before She vanished suddenly through an unfamiliar door Life stripped of reason, shaken to its core I’m not the person I was before.

Handle me gently, I’m fragile and weak Please be patient with the silence I keep Give me space to mourn, give me time weep Help me understand how A broken heart still beats None of us knows how we’ll respond When the storms of life come crashing down We’re left with jagged pieces that no longer fit together And wonder if we’ll swim or if we’ll drown.

There is a sorrow in my soul Shrouded in darkness, it cannot be consoled, It lies in wait for me and taunts me with defeat But here I stand This broken heart still beats.

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Space To

Mourn

Please be patient with the silence I keep Give me space to mourn, give me time to weep

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The Healing of Sorrow – When Someone Takes Their Own Life

by Norman Vincent Peale Submitted by Jane Quercia

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In many ways, this seems the most tragic form of death. Certainly, it can entail more shock and grief for those who are left behind than any other.

And often, the stigma of suicide is what rests most heavily on those left behind. Suicide is often judged to be a selfish act. Perhaps it is. But the Bible warns us not to judge … I believe this is one area where that Biblical command especially should be heeded.

for as long as he could. Remember, now, that his battles and torments are over. Do not judge him, and do not presume to fathom the mind of God where this one of His children is concerned.”

I think our reaction should be one of love and pity, not of condemnation. Perhaps the person was not thinking clearly in his final moments; perhaps he was so driven by emotional whirlwinds that he was incapable of thinking at all. This is terribly sad, but surely it is understandable. All of us have moments when we lost control of ourselves, flashes of temper or irritation, of selfishness that we later regret. Each one of us, probably, has a final breaking point–or would have if our faith did not sustain us. Life puts more pressure on some of us than it does on others. Some people have more stamina than others. When I see in the paper … that dark despair has rolled over some lonely soul, so much so that for him, life seemed unendurable, my reaction is not one of condemnation.

Here are some of his words:

It is, rather, “There but for the grace of God…” and my heart goes out to those who are left behind because I know they suffer terribly.

Children, in particular, are left under a cloud of “differentness,” all the more terrifying because it can never be fully explained or lifted. The immediate family of the victim is left wide open to tidal waves of guilt. “What did I fail to do that I should have done? What did I do that was wrong?”

To such grieving persons, I can only say, “Lift up your heads and hearts. Surely you did your best.

And surely the loved one who is gone did his best

A few days ago, when a young man died by his own hand, a service for him was conducted by his pastor, the Rev. Warren Stevens. What he said that day expresses, far more eloquently than I can, the message I’m trying to convey.

“Our friend died on his own battlefield. He was killed in action fighting a civil war. He fought against adversaries that were as real to him as his casket is real to us. They were powerful adversaries. They took toll of his energies and endurance. They exhausted the last vestiges of his courage and strength. At last these adversaries overwhelmed him. And it appeared that he lost the war. But did he? I see a host of victories that he has won!

“For one thing — he has won our admiration — because even if he lost the war, we give him credit for his bravery on the battlefield. And we give him credit for the courage and pride and hope that he used as his weapons as long as he could. We shall remember not his death, but his daily victories gained through his kindnesses and thoughtfulness, through his love for family and friends, for animals and books and music, for all things beautiful, lovely and honorable. We shall remember the many days that he was victorious over overwhelming odds. We shall remember not the years we thought he had left, but the intensity with which he lived the years he had!

“Only God knows what this child of His suffered in the silent skirmishes that took place in his soul.

But our consolation is that God does know and understands!

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Memorials

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for Jordan Bearak August 19, 1999 – January 16, 2023 Submitted by Adena & Artie Bearak

Jordan Bearak (aka Jordan Brooks) was a very talented singer, songwriter, guitarist, and producer. He acquired his first guitar at age 15 in the spring of 2014. He was a natural at guitar, and very soon after he taught himself James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” and David Wilcox’s “Rusty Old American Dream”. By August of that year, he upgraded to a Martin guitar, and shortly after mastered the loop pedal.

He also started voice lessons, and he was often compared to Ed Sheeran in the way he sounded vocally, as well as how he played the guitar and loop pedal.

After COVID, Jordan started creating his own music, and eventually started producing his music. He performed gigs at restaurants and bars. Jordan released 5 songs, and had written many more, some of which are being completed by friends.

When he was younger, Jordan was a “sports guy,” and loved playing baseball, soccer, and especially basketball. We spent many hours as a family in gyms across eastern MA watching him play basketball on various teams. He was also amazing at technology, and spent a year selling cell phones at Best Buy. He was wonderful connecting with families and figuring out which cell phone would be best for each family member.

Jordan had a gentle soul and struggled with mental health issues for many years. In spite of our best efforts, he was not able to overcome these struggles. Jordan took his life on January 16, 2023 at the age of 23.

Jordan is greatly missed. You can find his music at Jordanbrooksmusic.com.

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for Ann Haffey Quinn September 10, 1952 – September 9, 2013

Flight in November Written by Ann Haffey Quinn Submitted by Charles Haffey

In regiments of fluid “Vs”, the wild Geese honk across the sky, while in our clanking Ford my son and I chug down the road.

Our faces up we watch the geese; then I Watch him flap his chubby fists. “Whon, whon.”

He grins and imitates, “Whon, Whon.” The wild Geese honk in regiments of fluid “Vs” Across the sky. And I, I am astounded By the symmetry of generation Here then gone, above our heads, the flash Of bottle green on wing, a do-si-do Of flight on dead November sky, the wild Birds’ call. I look down at my bundled son And know the destiny and chance of reeling Flight. Sun glares down on our window shield, And, for a moment, I am driving blind.

The Open Gate: Four Deerfield Poets, p 50.

Deerfield Academy Press, February, 2000.

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for Edward J. Hingston, III July 30, 1973 – March 15, 2001

I’m Free Submitted by Donalda Hingston

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m Free I’m following the path God laid for me. I took his hand when I heard him call.

I turned my back and left it all.

I could not stay another day, To laugh, to love, to work or play.

Tasks left undone must stay that way, I found that place at the end of the day.

If my parting has left a void, Then fill it with remembered joy.

A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss— Ah yes, these things we all will miss.

Be not burdened with times of sorrow, I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow.

My life’s been full, I’ve savored much— Good friends, good times, a loved one’s touch.

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief, Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief.

Lift up your hearts when you think of me.

God wanted me now, he set me Free.

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for Glen Avery

December 31, 1988 – June 18, 2023

The Young Dead Soldiers Do Not Speak Written by Archibald MacLeish Submitted by Montie Avery

Nevertheless they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them?

They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.

They say, We were young. We have died.

Remember us.

They say, We have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.

They say, We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.

They say, Our deaths are not ours: they are yours: they will mean what you make them.

They say, Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say: it is you who must say this.

They say, We leave you our deaths: give them their meaning: give them an end to the war and a true peace: give them a victory that ends the war and a peace afterwards: give them their meaning.

We were young, they say. We have died.

Remember us.

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for Norma Laurenzi June 1, 1957 – November 16, 2018

The Pond Submitted by Larry Laurenzi

You always came to this clearing in the woods where trees stand in a circle around me— a silent congregation.

My surface still; black liquid glass mirrored you that spring.

Chestnut curls untamed, your brother’s T shirt, skinny brown legs, bright red blood in fine lines across your shins where thickets sprang back up and hung on.

Your eyes small, a never present brown stolen by the weights behind them.

You were panting and the slopes of tiny arm muscles were moist from trying to outrun the screaming in that kitchen.

Yells climbing higher and louder cracking, about to slip off the edges and fall out of control— the snap of skin smacking skin.

This clearing like a bubble sealed from the world,

Only you who always came and stared at your reflection and the hawk circling above, the mute watchman resuming his post.

Fluorescent green then, unfolding tender from thick skinned branches.

And when the sky had turned royal blue then ink and the moon rose in me, your white T shirt faded in a black strip of trees.

The back of your neck craned to see as you felt your way over roots.

One August late you came from the tutor; you were failing math.

Pleated skirt and books.

Father sent you to private school to prove he’d molted his immigrant skin.

A sleeve of green algae collected at my edges; the cricket’s drone hung in baked air.

Dragonflies one on top of the other, their beating wings synchronized.

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for Norma Laurenzi, continued Mosquitos darting in small frenzied spheres just above the water.

Your reflection in that uniform; no delicate waist for pleats to fan and fall from.

Dainty sleeves tight with stocky arms, white blouse showing up olive skin he was forever trying to bleach.

Your nose was wide not thin or pug with freckles, hair stiff from ironing out the curls.

Autumn years later, you came to see me.

I dressed your reflection in flaming red and yellow leaves floating there.

Water lilies had bent their white elbows and thrown up limp arms over yellow heads.

Your eyes were puffy from crying— you still did not have the answers you came for.

Your eyes fearful.

There was less time left, the days were getting shorter.

And a delicate vine had begun to climb across your face; under your eyes, the corners of your mouth, and where skin folded when you smiled.

Something had made you smile.

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You came last winter but you had no reflection, Thin black ice had formed on my surface, encasing brown leaves and bubbles under cold glass.

Branches clicked against each other, tapping out some morse code.

The trees creaked.

You watched the wind rip the last stiff brown flags from their branches and drive them to the ground.

Something was different.

Your gaze—brown eyes had been released.

With one last throb of red, the sun’s red globe sunk into the ground, leaving its spills behind.

Once the snow had lost its rose hue and the moon painted a yellow streak across me, you dug your hands into your pockets, pulled the coat tight around you and left.

Something was different.

Your gait was sure and directed, heading into the wind.

Your coat faded into black as you felt the roots in your path.

And a light snow began, white grace falling in silent ceremony for you.

for Joseph Brady November 26, 1975 – July 24, 2023 Submitted by Ryder & Rebecca Brady

Joseph P. Brady-Auburn--Joseph P. Brady, Joe, passed away July 24, 2023 at home. He was born November 26, 1975 in Lynn, Massachusetts, the son of Thomas and Gail Laverdiere Brady. Joe was educated in Beverly and Hamilton, Massachusetts, a proud vocational graduate and grew to impact countless lives as an Adaptive Seating Specialist for the State of Massachusetts.

Most recently, he worked for Central Distributors in Lewiston, dedicating most of his time to his family and friends. An avid fisherman, Joe scoured the Maine coast for the perfect fishing spot, catching friends, turtles, and memories along the way.

Joe picked up the guitar at 33 and quickly mastered his favorites, sharing his love for his family and friends through laughter and songs. Joe reveled in dad jokes with his children,

silly puns and dad stereotypes, always ready with whatever power tool or grill spatula needed. Quick to laugh, happy to share a smile or listen, and the first to help, Joe will be missed deeply.

He was predeceased by his fishing teacher, friend and father Thomas Brady. Survivors are his adoring and beloved wife Becky Brady, his children: Ryder Brady and his partner Flynn Leonard, of Lowell, Massachusetts, twins Tucker and El Brady, of Auburn, Maine, his mother, Gail Brady and brother Mitchell Brady of Ipswich, Massachusetts, and his sister, Tiffany Purcell and son Kyle of Danvers, Massachusetts and her son Trevor of Burlington, Massachusetts. Survivors also include many cousins, old and new friends and extended family who love him.

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for Lawrence David January 20, 1963 – May 7, 2022

Inside His Face Written by Ted David

A love story can have moments that are tender, and defy the ability to be recognized, until it is too late.

The final drive was finally the final mile of our journey.

It was a drive together, where we breathed the same oxygen, inhaled each others’ warm carbon dioxide, and streamed photons through the windshield as we glided down the road.

He secretly gifted himself and gifted me with it.

He knew, and knew it had to be this way.

We shared DNA, so I knew his drape, his shape, his mannerisms, and even some of his darting thoughts and anxieties.

The blend of novelty and familiarity, brotherly intimacy.

I didn’t know in that moment, for I would not have experienced it the way it needed to be.

But he did know it was our last ride.

An asymmetrical mirror image of only time we were closer, when were our pre-selves, sharing the fluids that suspended us, and riding through the motions of our young mother.

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The playback pours into and around my mind, a liquid orb, glinting, hanging there, to be watched, analyzed, cradled, obsessed over, and molded, into whatever I want.

I daydream about our sendoff, and whether he had just a single tear.

So small that gravity would not have the strength to pull it down past his bottom eyelid, and its surface tension would keep most of it floating on his eye.

The slightest portion coating the lower lid, just enough sheen to have a faint reflection,

of the blue of his eyeball hovering.

To be noticed only by a brother, but I never quite saw it.

I picture his face so close up to see whether he stole it for himself, on his ride home.

I picture his face so close up that the contours become the roads and hills, and dim edges, of the road that he rode away on.

I picture his face so close up that I go inside to see what he saw I picture his face so close up that I go inside and then further inside again I always picture his face so close up

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for Robert Burns Wardwell, III August 16, 1961 – October 7, 1992

Mystic Soul Written by Wheeler & Carol Submitted by his mother, Joan R. Wardwell

How many days have gone by since I have seen your face I thought that I’d seen you the last of you But some things time can never erase

Now the moon is sailing a raven sky A beacon of light on a midnight sea She’s sending a message to this open heart “Remember the truth and let it be”

CHORUS CHORUS At Christmas, in the mystic soul The rivers of my life run home And all the love that we have known Is once again reborn, and then All the love that we can hold Is carried on the morning wind The sun awakens a northern day a peaceful time in eternity And my love and I are still apart But (S)He’s never ever away from me CHORUS Brothers and sisters and lovers I see In a dance of rhythm and grace And mothers and fathers And others I know Were one family someplace, long ago

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Yes, all the love that we can hold Is carried on the morning wind Love, Mama

for Andy Nacht January 24, 1974 – May 27, 2023

For My Big Brother Written by Ashley Judah

How lucky was I to be born and get to have you as a brother?!

It’s a precious gift I will always treasure, To have someone like you in my corner Your heart, too massive for this world Your arms, always wide open for your little sister Your silliness, unmatched Your protection, always having my back Your advice, when I needed a little push How do I get through this life without you?

I can hear you say, “one step at a time sis” You are now our north star, the brightest in the sky I will see you in the sunsets I will hear you in songs I will feel you in the breeze Always with me, how lucky am I?

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for Saint Severin June 1, 1991 – July 14, 2022

Sobriety Written by Saint Severin Submitted by Kate Quinn

The only time i can value myself. In the shade of a drug. I’m so afraid when you end. I’ve built a person on black sand.

Beautiful. Easily covered, smothered, changed. Sometimes I wait for death; other times I fight. Fight harder than the word emotes in you. My fight is terrifying. My whole body is fighting.

The only time I feel alive.

Run from me. But if I am to stay here, to live, keep going; I’m lost without you. Everyday I wish I would shrink into the palm of your hand so the weight isn’t so great, so noticeable. I so desire someone who wants me large.

Who zooms in on my person. Who watches the way I sway to melancholy songs, to the pop songs, to the rage and indifferent, to the unknown and directionless.

The only time I write is when I’m high.

When did I lose my slightly unfocused but willing self. 4th grade in dad’s office telling him I was going to write a great book. Maybe a sentence in, I found it to be a lot of work. A lot of avenues to travel but one car with unsure wheels. I decided to sit in park in the driveway. The keys were proof enough for me. I could, if I wanted to.

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I can dance. I can dance. Let me show you. On my rooftop. What a cool thing to get to say. I danced on my rooftop in Brooklyn against the NYC skyline. The way I dance, the way I feel, I feel you.

Am I off? Or are you lying? Or is black and white irrelevant on a rainbow.

I had everything when I was high. And internalized none of it. Now that I have none of it, I’ve internalized all of it.

If given one of the golden keys back to the palace, with the possibility of ridding myself of even a little bit of this survival tool kit... If I couldn’t take you with me. Even though I may not have survived the swamp without you... Could you blame me for leaving.

I wouldn’t blame you either. We know how unspeakable and unbelievable this place is, the palace. I’ll bow for the prince now. As long as my linens are cotton, as long as linens are a part of the package.

for Karen Douglas September 6, 1995 – October 3, 2013

To Karen Written by Dad Submitted by Brian Douglas

Karen: It’s been ten plus years now since you left us. The world today is so different from the world you left, but what doesn’t change is my love for you and how I miss you. I thank God every day for the gift of your presence in my life - the eighteen years and a month you were with us here on this earth and for every moment of that time I got to spend with you.

I sometimes wonder about the times that could have been. High School graduation, college degree, working in a field you’d enjoy. And how about that dream so many dad’s have of walking their daughter down the aisle? Maybe that was your dream, too. Or maybe your dream was entirely different but the obstacles seemed insurmountable.

So many questions; so many unknowns.

But what I do know is that I love you, I miss you and I have faith that I will see you again.

Your loving Daddy-O

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for Ethan Bagge August 19, 1998 – December 2020

Glints on the Snow Submitted by Michael Bagge

I am an ordinary person. I never strove to be anything more than that. This phrase was first used to describe me by my therapist, he said, “You are ordinary, no underlying psychological issues”. I have embraced this description of myself and expanded it to many other traits of my personality and belief system. I do not believe in astrologic signs, fortune tellers, witches, superstitions, or moodaltering pharmaceuticals. This tragedy of my son Ethan’s suicide was an extraordinary event that occurred in my life, up until then, I had lived an ordinary, but fulfilling life.

After this tragedy happened, I became a different person. The idea believing in things that were extraordinary became a possibility because I was going to do anything I could to get through this.

Ethan was not ordinary, and I do not know what he would have thought of this idea, he would have had an opinion on it though.

The first time I ever noticed the glints on the snow, was while cross country skiing on my 31st birthday in the Blue Hills. I have never seen them until then.

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many glints, so many sparkling prisms of light that I had to notice them. My mother planned her funeral to the smallest detail. Her mass card was the old Indian poem, that reference the glints on the snow. (I am the diamond glints on the snow. I am the gentle autumn’s rain... ) This combination is how I came to think of the glints on the snow as Ethan.

The glints on the snow are very real.

You tilt you head just a fraction, and they disappear and reappear.

Intangible they are. So, therefore I have chosen the glints on the snow as my ethereal reminder of Ethan when I see the glints, he is there. I am ok with this now, even if the previous version of myself would point out the crystallization of the snow and the refraction of light, to me the glints are now Ethan.

A year and one-half years after the tragedy, my family had a party, on a weekday in June, at my sister Maureen’s vacation home on a lake in NH. It was the 60th birthday party for my brother John, a big deal. It was held on a weekday, so that everyone in my family could go, everyone’s schedule was consulted, there was no way of backing out. For many

reasons, I dreaded this. We had never been to this lake without Ethan.

I hate everything about lakes now. I figure that I could go to the party, but because it was a weekday, when the time came to go on the boat, I could beg off, say that I had to work. That is why I brought my computer with me. Some urgent email was going to be my excuse. This is what people like me now call as having an escape plan. I never had escape plans, or any plans really, I just took things as they came. But, as that afternoon progressed and I hid all my thoughts inside, I pretended to be the person who I once was. Just like I do every day, because what else can I do? All these people care for me, all these people are trying to help me. So, I got on the boat, no one knowing the thoughts I was having. As we circled the lake, all the same routines came back, my hat flew off and I picked it up and put it on backwards. Near the end of the ride, the sun and the ripples in the water combined to form a phenom like the glints. At this moment Ethan was there, it was ok, a tear came in my eye, and I kept living.

From you to me 5/18/2020 Poetry fills the lines this time as love is in the air and on my mind. One things for sure and that is that I hear the beat hoppin. I’ll be here while the street is cleaned, and the roads are washed. I hot the button while we almost tried to be friends. My mind is on reply. I hope that my mind is mine today. I’ve really hit that feeling, my mind is changing. To watch someone else fail is to watch yourself fail. To see someone succeed is to see yourself succeed. I am happy, I am content, is there anything wrong with that No more wishes, no more desires. No more forcing, no more trying. At peace. I feel fixed, I feel whole. Time. Paradise. Life.

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for Kenneth Moore January 24, 1958 – November 4, 2023

Advice from an Eagle Written by Ilan Shamir Submitted by wife Joyce & daughters Angela, Jessica & Amanda

Let your spirit soar See the big picture Cherish freedom Honour the earth and sky Keep your goals in sight Bald is beautiful Fly high!

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for Maureen Kelly October 28, 1958 – September 7, 2003

My Loving Sister Written by Christine Trischitta

My Dear Sister, Maureen, My guardian angel, my guide, my love, my spirit, my hope, my best friend, and always my sister forever. You are still with me all the time. I say those words all the time and cannot change them.

Well it is that time of year again when I write you a letter to read to the people in my life who understand and get what I have gone through. Losing you changed my life for the better and for the worse. I hated losing you, my loving sister, but you have made me live life differently & realize what is important—TODAY. You guide & love me every day as my angel. As you know I always wanted to be just like you as a mother, a wife, a friend and as a loving caring woman, you inspired me!

It has been 20 years. Each year is another year without you, but still fresh in my mind. Continue keeping Samaritans in my life. There are so many struggles many people are having and it is reassuring to know Samaritans and others are there to support them. Can see that the struggles are being shared and not hidden from the world and realizing depression is an illness just like cancer.

As you know life seems to have changed alot in our society since COVID, don’t think it will ever get back to normal, whatever normal is/was. As we move on I try to find peace, joy & happiness. Think my life has gotten a bit smaller with just focusing on family, work and a few close friends.

Still doing the Samaritans 5K on our own with the family & close friends in October at your son, Robert’s house.

Such a simple and relaxing time. I remember the many years since 2004 getting the team, donations and gathering and after a few years feeling overwhelmed, so took that stress off my plate. Being together remembering you.

The best newest this last year is your new grandson. Yes, your daughter, Carolyn, had baby George. He is a ham! George Junior, little George, baby George is beautiful. He is now 6 months old and even had peanut butter and egg for the first time this week— success. You would probably never let him go. Mark (your love) & his amazing wife, Dianne, scoop up George a lot— so amazing! Carolyn is all grown up and resembles you so much in looks & personality. It’s like having you around.

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for Maureen Kelly, continued For my family: Nicholas, my son, is still in California working at a great company, Arrowhead pharmaceutical, and he transferred to San Diego last fall. He is living in paradise.

I just got to visit him in November, the best. Monica, my daughter, is attending Middlesex Community College for Childhood education and working at WinnBrook Elementary school in the before & after school care. She is doing exactly what she loves. And as you know with her struggles of depression, she is succeeding and really feeling good about herself, getting support from Samaritan “Hey Sam.” Know you are watching over us and you are with our loved ones that are with you in heaven. Please continue to always be there to listen to me.

I love you & miss you Maureen, Your sister, Christine

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for Pam Lavendier January 31, 1965 – October 28, 2019

A Different Kind of Bereavement Written by A.M. Maxwell Submitted by Rhonda Pilla

We are bereaved by suicide “How awful” people say “I lost my Mum to cancer” or “My Granddad passed away”

We all would like to change the past And most did what they could But we are wracked with heavy guilt O’er things we think “we should”

“My darling son went off to war A bullet took his life” “A motorcyclist killed my girl The shocked near killed my wife”

We should have been there earlier We should have known their mind We should have sought professional help We should have been more kind

So why is our grief different?

Why can’t we just pull through?

We mourn our loved ones just as much But we have burdens too

We should have ‘phoned more often We should have understood We should have seen it coming But we all did what we could

Your loved one didn’t want to go In that they had a voice But we are haunted by the thought Our loved one had a choice

So that is how we’re different We’re coping, best we can We’re rarely given peace of mind Please try to understand

You can’t imagine what it’s like To be where we have been For many of us had the shock Of first upon the scene That picture’s burned into our minds And it can’t be erased It haunts us still, at any time Unbidden, any place

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for Candy Lee

In Loving Memory: April 30, 2014

Dimensions Submitted by Madeline Lam

it was good to know you, so good to hold you in this lifetime i can’t mold you, no i won’t grow you into fine wine so i have to go now, i have to let you down (harmony: let you down) in another dimension, i won’t have to question do you miss me? do you think of me? in another dimension you have my affection. the moonlight hits your face, you know i couldn’t stay i miss your voice these days, i know exactly what you would say ohhhh (you are my reflection) ohhhh (i am your reflection) in another dimension, i won’t have to question in another lifetime, i won’t have to leave you behind in another dimension, i feel your affection in another dimension, i am your reflection in another dimension, i see your perfection at the end of this lifetime, i’ll see you in the next dimension

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for Helen Rose Straight June 23, 1980 – August 9, 2022

The Best Love Story of all Time Written by Drew Tidwell

OH, Helen my Melon.

What I want to say tonight… I don’t know.

But let’s try this.

Helen told me Hemingway always said, write drunk, edit sober.

Let’s see how this goes.

I want to tell you a marvelous love story.

Because that is what Helen and I had.

It all began when my colleagues in 2010 said let’s go to the Black Rooster Pub for their grand reopening.

I wanted to go to Mackey’s (the bar next door), but I relented, and we all went to Black Rooster.

That night, Helen said her very first words to me.

With it being Black Rooster’s grand reopening, it was packed. Standing room only.

I was hit in the back side by a very determined person who yelled, “get the F out of my way”.

I turned and a waitress, dressed all in black, walked off and served some beers to customers. I took one look at her and decided, I would come back to Black Rooster. (She had a nice… Well, I’ll let you guys figure it out.)

So, I went back to the Black Rooster. It started off, once a week, but soon, many times a week.

I shudder to think how much money I spent at the Black Rooster in pursuit of Helen my Melon.

The more time I spent with her, the more I realized what an amazing woman she was. She truly cared about her customers and people.

Finally… one night in December 2010, my friend Nicole said to me as she was leaving work, “go to the Rooster and tell Helen how you feel.”

Filled with confidence, I went to the Black Rooster and… I chickened out and said nothing.

Disgusted with myself, on the way home, I texted her…. “Dinner and Drinks?”

The next day, she replied, “Sure”.

December 18, 2010 was our first date. We hung out in DC and just talked about life.

At the end of the night, we stayed talking in my car in front of her house for 20 minutes.

I was working up the courage to tell her I liked her.

But before I got there, we saw red flashing lights. The Police. There had been some burglaries in the area and they thought we were scouting houses to rob.

Can you imagine us staking out houses?

Obviously, everything got sorted out, but it took about 45 minutes. By that time, I had to go to the bathroom. She said I could use hers.

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for Helen Rose Straight, continued While washing my hands, I looked in the mirror, and said “OK Drew, you have to tell her now”.

Through our videos and storytelling, she helped so many people and many of those people don’t even know who she is.

When I came out of the bathroom, without saying a word, she walked up and kissed me.

We have been together ever since.

Her videos are in schools teaching kids economics and about spontaneous order. A couple months ago, someone told us our first video, I, Pencil, had more than a million views.

That’s who Helen was. She knew I wanted to tell her I liked her and that I was nervous. So, she made it easy for me and made me feel better about myself.

She did that with everyone. That was her superpower -- she made everyone she met feel better about themselves.

We quickly fell in love, moved into our townhouse in Virginia, quit our jobs, started our own company, and began spending 24 hours a day 7 days a week together.

It was amazing.

Our bond grew stronger, she called my kids her kids and loved them as much as any mother could. She loved my mom as much as her mom. She loved my dad as much as she loved her dad.

We were married July 4, 2013. One of the happiest days of our lives.

Together we traveled, explored, and had adventures together across this country.

Many of our friends and family received a note, postcard, or small gift from our travels.

When she saw something that reminded her of someone she loved, she wanted to let you know she was thinking about them.

Through our company and our work, Helen found her true calling.

A job that helps people flourish.

Through our work, she became good friends with many crazy libertarians trying to change the world.

She was always trying to make other people’s lives better, so it was a natural fit.

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More recently, a client shared that - the story we told about a man in Louisiana helped get legislation passed - to help thousands of people. She was proud of that.

We worked together, and she always cherished working with friends.

We had an amazing life together. We had good times and bad times. We were happy together and sad together.

From that first date, we both changed.

It was no longer Drew AND Helen, it was DrewandHelen.

We were truly one.

I can’t think of the words to describe our love for each other. Maybe they don’t exist. Our love was extraordinary, it was ours.

On the Tuesday she passed, that night I was sitting outside looking up at the sky and talking to Helen. I was asking her, “Why?” and telling her all the things we still had to do together. I also talked to her about the amazing things we did together.

Then it happened. A shooting star across the sky.

It was Helen saying goodbye.

Helen my Melon was a shooting star. Bright, amazing, and gone too soon.

It is your light Helen that lights the world.

I love you Helen my Melon.

for Mark J. Van Gorder February 15, 1980 – January 21, 2005

From me, to you Written by Molly Breen

I know this time is hard for you But I know you’ll manage to get through When you think of the day I went away I know you’ll wonder why I couldn’t stay And when that tear falls from your eye Look up here, toward the sky I long for your hugs as much as you long for mine I miss you everyday, that’s why I send you signs Look for the clues that I send your way To let you know that I’m not far away I know this time is hard for you And I know you’ll manage to get through But when those tears fall from your eyes Look up here, I’m in the sunrise I’m in the sunset too I’m in everything you see and do I’m in that song you hear in the car I’m in that light at night of a twinkling star I’m never gone if I’m in your heart In a way, we’re never far apart I know this time is hard for you But I know you’ll manage to get through Please know that I am doing fine The view from here is incredibly divine I love you more than the ocean is deep So please don’t hang your head and weep

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for Mark J. Van Gorder February 15, 1980 – January 21, 2005

The Flame Written by Becky Hemsley Submitted by Susy Flynn

There’s an order that life is supposed to follow. An order of breaths we are supposed to take, as if we are passing a torch from one generation to the next.

There is nothing that can make it less painful. You would happily blow out your flame if it meant theirs could burn.

And our torch is supposed to go out before our child’s flame is extinguished.

But you can’t. Even though that’s how it should be.

We are supposed to watch them take their first breath. But not their last.

So all you can do is carry them inside you - like you did once before.

Except now they have to stay in your heart forever.

We are supposed to hear the thudthud of their heart when it starts beating. But never the silence when it stops.

And though it hurts, just know that they are safe there. They are protected.

The heart that we once carried inside of us. That breath that we gave them.

That life that we kept safe, protected.

So when the order of life is disrupted, when their torch goes out before yours, it is as if you too have been robbed of your breath and as if your heart has stopped beating as well.

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Because a mother’s love is unending.

Because it burns with every breath you take and with every beat your heart makes.

Because a mother’s love is a flame that can never be extinguished.

for Joshua DeVeer June 12, 1997 – October 1, 2023

The Life and Love of Josh Submitted by Shannon Healy

Josh was an always will be truly one of a kind, thought of as a Legend to many of us who love him. Many people can be described as such, but I’ve never met anyone as fitting for that description as Josh. He was beyond intelligent, described in his obituary as, “The Search Engine Josh”. You could ask him any question about anything, and he’d instantly have the answer, and a true passion and joy for sharing his knowledge with others. Josh’s incredibly selfless and unconditionally caring and love nature made him everyone’s best friend. As well as the love of my life, he was the best friend God had ever blessed me with. He’d give you his last penny if you needed it, and always found a way to help and genuinely be there for his loved ones when in need no matter the cost to him. His smile was his signature, the most vibrant you’d ever seen. He had a deep appreciation and love for nature and the universe, nothing and no one

ever held him back from exploring and going on the most fun, crazy adventures. He had a deep love for Jesus, and opened my life back up to God through pure patience, love and his passion for sharing his faith with me. Just his presence gave a whole new life and beautiful energy and feeling to this world, and I will forever feel so deeply honored to have been able to experience that, and to have built a life alongside Josh. I could speak for hours about Josh, his life and who he was and will live on to be. I know that he will live on through our daughter, Arya, and that he is her guardian angel. Though he is no longer physically here, I know he will always be with me in my heart, pushing me to keep going in this life. I will never stop fighting for Josh, and for others who have silently suffered the way he did.

Alia Vita, My Only.

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for Matilde Gil September 5, 1968 – June 16, 2023

Feather Written by Matilde “Mati” Gil Submitted lovingly by her sister Connie Gil

Heal thy heart remove all that hurts allow sweet nectar to fill the wound With this feather I will sweep away all hurt & the past will no longer cause pain –

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for Thomas Abbott October 26, 1951 – January 10, 1987

In Loving Memory Written by Jane Quercia

To Tommy -- My Brother, My Friend, On January 9th it was the 10th anniversary of Mama’s death and on January 10th it was the 37th anniversary of your suicide. I’m so sad to think both of you are gone but I can’t believe you’ve been gone so long. I know Mama’s up there with you and in the end I know that’s where she wanted to be. Most of us have to wait to see you again - Right now we can only remember.

We only had one bright spot in the family that I can think of during 2023.

Your great niece Samantha had a beautiful baby boy named Christopher.

CJ is growing very quickly and will be a big boy like his dad.

Otherwise 2023 was a tough one for me. My husband Lou was hospitalized 6 times between March and his death on October 27th. Yes he died the day after your birthday. He came home from an April hospitalization to a hospital bed in the living room and was living there until he passed. Transport chair, walker, oxygen tank, and commode were all a part of his daily living and scenery.

I’m still sleeping on the couch. Even though he doesn’t need me to hear

him call me during the night anymore, I haven’t been able to go upstairs to the bedroom yet. Lou had his good days when he was able to do the exercises PT taught him. But he couldn’t walk by himself because he was weak and frail and very unsteady. He did try and keep his spirits up for everyone who visited.

He didn’t really go downhill quickly until he needed in-home hospice care a week before he passed. I miss him so much. Between my retiring at the end of 2018 and then the Covid years and then his illnesses, we were more or less joined at the hip for the past 5 years.

Did I already tell you I miss him so much. I wish you had been here when I could have used your support. I know Lou is enjoying playing poker with you, Daddy, Grampa and Uncle Kenny now.

And Aunt Regina is enjoying feeding all of you.

I’m out visiting our brother Michael in California now and will be here through Christmas and the New Year holidays until January 10th when I return. Yes I’m coming home on the anniversary of your death. Please watch over my plane ride. Some days it seems like yesterday when I got the horrific call about you. I can clearly picture

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for Thomas Abbott, continued who called and what I said and did immediately after. Other days I can’t believe it has been 37 years. You’re not here in person but you’re never far from my mind. Whenever anything memorable happens, good or bad, you are in my thoughts.

I try and forget why January 10th is important. Remembering the “why” only gives me pain. It is just a nothing day. Instead I chose to remember October 26th, your birthday, which used to make me smile. Now it just reminds me Lou and you are both gone.

I have so many could have, would have and should haves about you both.

We’re all keeping Mama’s and your memory alive in our own ways. I have my favorite picture of you and Michael in front of my TV and I have pictures of Mama at home and in my visor in the car so I see her everyday too. Michael still puts out 2 extra chairs and pictures of you and Mama to watch the Red Sox and Patriots games.

I really miss you Tommy especially when we’re doing something fun or when I need your support. I can’t believe it has been 37 years since I’ve seen you, hugged you or heard your unmistakable laugh. I still have days where my hearing the unbearable news of your death is as clear as yesterday.

Most days though, and thankfully, I just remember the good times. My loss, our loss, however, is always in the back of my mind.

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Tommy I really miss seeing you and those Paul Newman eyes. I miss smiling and laughing at and with you. But most of all I miss talking with you and talking to your picture is a poor runner up. Sometimes I tell you everything that’s happening and sometimes I just smile and say Hi, I love you or Hi, I miss you. I did talk with you during the past 8 months an awful lot.

I cried a lot too. Not sure if it was for you, Lou or me. Probably a combination of all 3 of us.

I know you’re out of that deep black hole and that the extraordinary pain you were in has stopped. I know you, Lou and all our relatives are looking down on those of us left behind.

Please continue to provide guidance and pray for us.

I say this every year but this is how I like to think of you -- on a cloud, smiling peacefully (but with a twinkle in your eye) with sunshine on your shoulders and behind you. That helps me live with this tremendous loss and accept what I could not change - losing you.

Tommy, just know that I love you and I will always love you.

Your sister, Jane

for Michael Edward Winchester February 21, 1978 – July 6, 2014

Life Goes On Written by Edward Christopher Sheeran Submitted by Suzy Winchester, Richard Winchester, Nancy Winchester, Colleen Winchester, Robert Winchester, Conor McDonough

It hit like a train, I ran out of words I got nothin’ to say, everything hurts And I know love leads to pain But memories serve our sweetest refrain The waves came tumblin’ down As you float away, I’m reachin’ for ya To tell me how How my life goes on with you gone I suppose I’ll sink like a stone If you leave me now The storms will roll Easy come, hard go Then life goes on I miss the flames, the heated reserve I’d remember the way that you put me first What a heart wrenching shame that you’ll never know Just like tears in the rain A constant grey in the clouds When I hear your name, I think of love

So tell me how How my life goes on with you gone I suppose I’ll sink like a stone If you leave me now The storms will roll Easy come, hard go Then life goes on I watched the sun setting down I am so afraid, I need you now To tell me how How my life goes on with you gone I suppose I’ll sink like a stone If you leave me now The storms will roll Easy come, hard go Then life goes on

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for Nicole Thompson September 26, 1994 – September 29, 2023

In all my daydreams...

Submitted by Lindsey Lara

In all my daydreams You’re still there You’re serving the tea You’re braiding my hair

Then call a psychic hotline You tell me you’re still close You love me and you’re sorry But I should understand most

I pour us some wine I drink it alone Think of something to tell you Then pick up the phone

I never really knew god well Until we all lost you I never knew how to pray to him But now we talk through you

Send your mom a text Say how much she’s missed A website I saw Said she’s most at risk

I feel your presence all the time And I see signs you’re near I’d rather live in daydreams Than for you to not be here

Tell our friends we love them We always do that now We all wish we said it more When you were still around Login to the support group I do it once a week Talk to other people Who lost someone like me

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for Mishtu Mukhurjee December 6, 1968 – March 16, 2022

Meditating By The Charles River Written by Jonathan Forest Byrne

A great sage once said, Be water my friend

my only wish, my only desire,

I search for his wisdom in this sacred place,

is that I can be water, within this grand river,

feel the flow of the river, its tranquility, welcome its healing,

winding its way somewhere into the heavens.

watch the ghostly shimmer in the wavelets

blending us together again forever

of the MIT monolith,, on the far side, where you once pondered the cosmos, the office alongside its banks where we once attempted to predict the forces of the atmosphere the Mass Ave bridge, crossing its expanse, that leads to that moment, emblazoned by the Charles, when I first rang your apartment doorbell,

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for Richard “Skip” Child March 5, 1941 – February 10, 2022

Daddy Written by Sina Veiga Submitted by Audra Kelliher-Koopman

Your little girl

To tell me

Is so lost and confused

It’s gonna be alright

I’m runnin on empty

I wish you were here

Every emotion

To take away my fright

Has been used

I look to the stars

Since you’ve been gone

High up in the sky

Nothing seems the same

So hard it still hits me

Life is a huge battle

I lose it and cry

And I feel like

The pain is too intense

I’m losing the game

Explain it? How do I start

I have a lot of questions

It’s like a million knives

So much to talk about

Piercing through my heart

Things only a dad

It’s like a bomb

Could help his daughter

Exploding inside

Understand and figure out

It’s all too much

I need that advice

I just want to hide

Only a father could give

Everyday is a struggle

I needed you forever, daddy

I don’t know how to heal

I needed you to live

I wake up every morning

I wish you were here

Wishing this wasn’t real

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for Christian Caldaroni October 10, 1974 – May 31, 2005

I Do Believe Submitted by Christian’s cousins, Melissa Williams and Nicole Moustafa

There is nothing I can do, To make him come back There are no words I can say, That can replace the words we long to hear There are no answers I can give, That will satisfy our questions There is not another soul I can introduce us to that will ever replace his And, there is no love I can offer that will ever replace the love we all shared I cannot promise our broken heart will ever be complete I will not say it could have been worse I will not deny that it was a tragedy I will not lie and tell you he will come back He never really left I do promise he hears us when we speak I will say he loves us no matter the distance I will not deny he is in a better place And, I will not lie; he is waiting to greet us all someday He is every step we take He is in everything we do He is in the air we breathe He is every beat of our heart “He is like the wind. You cannot see him...but you always feel him.”

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Closing Song

We Remember Them Written by Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer (additional words by Michele Kelly) Music by Michele Kelly At the rising and the setting of the sun At the start of every new year and when that year is gone As we reflect on life as it marches on Oh, we remember them. Oh, we remember them.

In the chill of the winter and in spring’s rebirth In warmth of the summer’s endless days In the blowing of the leaves in the crisp November winds Oh, we remember them.

For as long as we live, they, too, shall live For now they are a part of everything we are As we learn to live with a fragile, broken heart Oh, we remember them. Oh, we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength When we are lost and broken and sick at heart When we search to find the answers to the mysteries of life Oh, we remember them.

When we face decisions we need to make When we have joys we yearn to share And as we mark the time as days we live without Oh, we remember them.

For as long as we live, they, too, shall live For now they are a part of everything we are As we learn how to live with a shattered, broken heart Oh, we remember them. Oh, we remember them.

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In Loving

Memory For as long as we live They too will live For they are now a part of us As we remember them.

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Silent Memorials

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for Linda Abbatiello October 24, 1941 – June 6, 2023

My Life Written by Anonymous Submitted by Nancy Smith

My life shall touch a thousand lives Before my day is done Make countless marks for good or ill Before the setting sun So this is the wish I always wish The prayer I ever pray Lord, let my life help other lives It touches by the way.

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for Brian Powers April 25, 1988 – October 9, 2022

Immortality (Do Not Stand

By My Grave and Weep) Written by Clare Harner Submitted by Kevin Powers

Do not stand By my grave, and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep-I am the thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints in snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand By my grave, and cry-I am not there, I did not die.

This poem is in the public domain.

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for Travers Spargo King December 27, 1984 – November 26, 2021 Submitted by Janice Gherardi

My son Travers Spargo King died on November 26th 2021. I would love to share somethings about my boy. A proud veteran of the United States Coast Guard, Travers was the recipient of many awards and accolades during his military service with the most notable the Commandant’s Letter of Commendation.

He also enjoyed honing his culinary skills, but dinner guests were often left to clean up from the resulting hurricane that tore through the kitchen.

Trav’s baby blue eyes, beaming smile and luminous spirit would light up any room.

He is dearly missed by all that love him.

Considered a brother by many, Travers left an indelible mark on the lives of all he met.

A compassionate soul, Trav had the innate ability to see the good qualities in each person. He will be forever remembered for his selfless nature, always seeking opportunities to provide comfort and aid to those in need.

He thrived in the outdoors no matter the season, enjoying time snowboarding, fishing and surfing.

A lover of animals and a skilled handyman, when home on the East Coast, Trav could be found exploring beaches and Home Depot with Larry at his side. Larry is Trav’s Golden Retriever nephew.

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for Dean Hobbs

September 29, 1948 – December 16, 2018

In Loving Memory Written by Lola Lawrence Submitted by Caroline Hobbs

Dean ~ it is so hard to believe that you have been gone for five years. You are still my first thought every morning and my last thought every night. You are truly missed by not only me but many family members and friends. I found the following poem a couple of years ago and have it framed and in the kitchen where I see it daily. I feel it was written for me.

“It is in the quiet that I miss you the most. When my mind has a chance to wander and my heart has a moment to remember.”

Sending you my love forever ~ Binks

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We Remember

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We Remember...

JAMES BATES

ALAN BURGEY

CATHARINE BURKE

March 20, 1960 – July 12, 2023

March 15, 1960 – November 15, 2016

June 17, 1969 – May 2, 1995

EDMOND CALDWELL

JOHN CASEY

VERONICA LEA RENDAKO CHARLES

July 5, 1961 – July 31, 2017

March 21, 1972 – December 10, 2015

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September 18 – February 10, 2019

MICHAEL COHEN

GINA BRANCO COSTEIRA

PATRICIA CREE

November 24, 1989 – February 17, 2018

June 25, 1973 – February 12, 2023

March 28, 1962 – July 15, 2023

JACK CRUMBLEY

ERIC DOMANICO

SHARIFF GOODE

July 12, 1952 – August 21, 2010

In Loving Memory: July 11, 2020

April 22, 1992 – January 15, 2014

STEPHEN GREEN

JOHN GRIFFIN, JR.

MARK HANSCOM

In Loving Memory: June 20, 2023

January 23, 1972 – August 3, 2017

October 20, 1986 – July 5, 2023

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JOHN HASSENBEIN

NORBERTO JACOB HERNANDEZ

GAIL JOSEPH

September 30, 1962 – June 16, 2023

October 28, 1982 – October 20, 2019

February 18, 1960 – November 1, 1999

KYLE KOMARNICKI

PAUL RHEAL LAROCHELLE, III

SUSAN LAROSA

October 2, 1993 – January 4, 2021

November 21, 1986 – February 24, 2014

February 26, 1969 – November 1, 2021

THOMAS LAZINSKI

VICTOR MOLINA

STEPHEN H. MOODY

October 28, 1990 – May 18, 2013

December 18, 1951 – July 7, 2020

March 20, 1967 – June 26, 2020

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ALEXANDER MURPHY

MARK W. O’SHAUGHNESSY

MIKE PRICE

June 7, 1993 – June 6, 2014

February 9, 1968 – May 24, 2020

December 21, 1952 – May 25, 2022

JACK STEIN

KIMBERLY THORSTENSON

HUNTER WALLINGFORD

September 1, 1996 – July 13, 2021

November 3, 1965 – October 22, 2022

April 30, 1987 – November 4, 2022

ZOE JADE WOLFUS December 11, 2003 – August 27, 2020

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We Remember...

LINDA ABBATIELLO

JOHN CASEY

October 24, 1941 – June 6, 2023

March 21, 1972 – December 10, 2015

THOMAS ABBOTT

VERONICA LEA RENDAKO CHARLES

October 26, 1951 – January 10, 1987

GLEN AVERY December 31, 1988 – June 18, 2023

DAVID BABB September 25, 1973 – March 4, 2009

ETHAN BAGGE August 19, 1998 – December 2020

ROSE BAGNAROL August 28, 1964 – October 21, 2023

JAMES BATES March 20, 1960 – July 12, 2023

JORDAN BEARAK August 19, 1999 – January 16, 2023

PAUL BILBO February 1, 2000 – March 28, 2023

MARK BOGUSKI August 3, 1954 – March 18, 2021

JOSEPH BRADY November 26, 1975 – July 24, 2023

ALFRED BROWN October 30, 1941 – June 28, 2020

ALAN BURGEY March 15, 1960 – November 15, 2016

CATHARINE BURKE June 17, 1969 – May 2, 1995

CHRISTIAN CALDARONI October 10, 1974 – May 31, 2005

EDMOND CALDWELL July 5, 1961 – July 31, 2017

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September 18 – February 10, 2019

CATHERINE BEATRICE GERVAIS July 19, 1961 – January 6, 1982

MATILDE GIL September 5, 1968 – June 16, 2023

RICHARD “SKIP” CHILD

BRYAN GLEASON

March 5, 1941 – February 10, 2022

In Loving Memory: October 26, 2021

ERIC CHRISTO

SHARIFF GOODE

March 28, 1990 – April 19, 2012

April 22, 1992 – January 15, 2014

MICHAEL COHEN

STEPHEN GREEN

November 24, 1989 – February 17, 2018

In Loving Memory: June 20, 2023

GINA BRANCO COSTEIRA

JOHN GRIFFIN, JR

June 25, 1973 – February 12, 2023

January 23, 1972 – August 3, 2017

PATRICIA CREE

MARK HANSCOM

March 28, 1962 – July 15, 2023

October 20, 1986 – July 5, 2023

JACK CRUMBLEY

HENDRIK HARTJE

July 12, 1952 – August 21, 2010

December 30, 1968 – June 16, 2006

LAWRENCE DAVID

JOHN HASSENBEIN

January 20, 1963 – May 7, 2022

September 30, 1962 – June 16, 2023

JOSHUA DEVEER

NORBERTO JACOB HERNANDEZ

June 12, 1997 – October 1, 2023

ERIC DOMANICO In Loving Memory: July 11, 2020

KAREN DOUGLAS September 6, 1995 – October 3, 2013

SOO EOM October 5, 1968 – July 28, 2023

HUNTER FAGAN November 26, 2000 – October 16, 2022

CLIFFORD GALLO May 23, 1961 – March 3, 1993

October 28, 1982 – October 20, 2019

EDWARD J. HINGSTON, III July 30, 1973 – March 15, 2001

DEAN HOBBS September 29, 1948 – December 16, 2018

PATRICK HURLEY August 23, 1982 – June 11, 2023

GAIL JOSEPH February 18, 1960 – November 1, 1999

MAUREEN KELLY October 28, 1958 – September 7, 2003

We Remember...

TRAVERS SPARGO KING

MISHTU MUKHURJEE

JACK STEIN

December 27, 1984 – November 26, 2021

December 6, 1968 – March 16, 2022

September 1, 1996 – July 13, 2021

KYLE KOMARNICKI

ALEXANDER MURPHY

HELEN ROSE STRAIGHT

October 2, 1993 – January 4, 2021

June 7, 1993 – June 6, 2014

June 23, 1980 – August 9, 2022

TREVOR KRAUSE

ANDY NACHT

NICOLE THOMPSON

May 20, 1978 – June 16, 1996

January 24, 1974 – May 27, 2023

September 26, 1994 – September 29, 2023

PAUL RHEAL LAROCHELLE, III

MARIE FRANCES O’BRIEN

KIMBERLY THORSTENSON

November 21, 1986 – February 24, 2014

December 24, 1927 – July 23, 2022

November 3, 1965 – October 22, 2022

SUSAN LAROSA

CRAIG O’BRYANT

CHRIS TOOTHAKER

February 26, 1969 – November 1, 2021

June 29, 1962 – October 7, 2022

April 26, 1990 – February 27, 2023

NORMA LAURENZI

MARK W. O’SHAUGHNESSY

MARK J. VAN GORDER

June 1, 1957 – November 16, 2018

February 9, 1968 – May 24, 2020

February 15, 1980 – January 21, 2005

PAM LAVENDIER

BRIAN POWERS

HUNTER WALLINGFORD

January 31, 1965 – October 28, 2019

April 25, 1988 – October 9, 2022

April 30, 1987 – November 4, 2022

THOMAS LAZINSKI

MIKE PRICE

ROBERT BURNS WARDWELL, III

October 28, 1990 – May 18, 2013

December 21, 1952 – May 25, 2022

August 16, 1961 – October 7, 1992

CANDY LEE

ANN HAFFEY QUINN

JACKSON WHITSETT

In Loving Memory: April 30, 2014

September 10, 1952 – September 9, 2013

March 8, 1995 – January 17, 2023

MICHAEL EDWARD WINCHESTER

KENNETH LUSCOMB

MAGGIE RAPPLEYEA

October 4, 1954 – September 19, 2012

March 23, 1994 – May 16, 2023

FRANK MACAN

EVAN REA

July 21, 1957 – May 12, 2020

December 31, 1988 – March 1, 2016

IAN MCMILLAN

ANNE MARIE REED

December 12, 2000 – December 20, 2022

June 12, 1952 – June 13, 2020

VICTOR MOLINA

SAINT SEVERIN

December 18, 1951 – July 7, 2020

June 1, 1991 – July 14, 2022

STEPHEN H. MOODY

GARY T. SHEA, SR.

March 20, 1967 – June 26, 2020

September 4, 1962 – February 22, 2011

ANDREW MOORE

DANNY SHIELDS

January 23, 1970 – February 16, 2020

September 13, 1953 – August 15, 2002

KENNETH MOORE

COLE STARBUCK

January 24, 1958 – November 4, 2023

September 2, 1988 – August 22, 2021

February 21, 1978 – July 6, 2014

ZOE JADE WOLFUS December 11, 2003 – August 27, 2020

CHRISTOPHER WOODLEY March 6, 1976 – August 2, 2023

SAMARITANS ANNUAL MEMORIAL 2024 | 53

50 Years of Samaritans Since 1974, Samaritans, Inc. has provided lifesaving suicide prevention services throughout Massachusetts. Our mission is to prevent suicide and offer hope and support to those affected.

24/7 Helpline

Hey Sam

Volunteers and staff answer calls and texts to our anonymous Helpline—part of the national 988 network— providing around-the-clock support to people in crisis and those seeking a kind listener.

A dedicated peer-to-peer texting service offers youth (up to age 24) the opportunity to reach out when feeling depressed, overwhelmed, or struggling with thoughts of suicide.

Suicide Grief Support

Education & Outreach

In-person and virtual programs provide suicide loss survivors with support from peers who understand their grief journey.

Free virtual and in-person workshops help schools and communities recognize warning signs of suicide and support better mental health.

54 | SAMARITANS ANNUAL MEMORIAL 2024

Suicide Grief Support Samaritans provides a safe, healing community for those who have lost a loved one to suicide. Our grief support programs offer suicide loss survivors connection on their own terms, alongside others who understand this uniquely painful form of loss.

SafePlace Meetings Suicide loss survivors come together to share resources and support through the grieving process. These free, drop-in groups are facilitated by trained volunteers who are themselves loss survivors.

Register at: samaritanshope.org/gssrequest Virtual meetings: Every Tues, Wed, Thurs | 6:30–8:00 p.m. ET In-person meetings for all: Check our website for Boston meeting dates Samaritans Office, 41 West St, 5th Floor, Boston, MA, 02111 Meetings for parents or guardians who have lost a child: Monthly on the 3rd Saturday | 11:00–12:30 p.m. ET Ben Speaks Office, 360 Woodland St, 2nd Floor, Holliston, MA, 01746 Virtual group launching March 2024

Survivor-to-Survivor Visits Trained volunteers meet with recently bereaved individuals and families in their homes, virtually, or another comfortable setting. Volunteers (who are loss survivors themselves) listen, answer questions, and provide support and resources.

Grief Support Facilitators These volunteers have been personally impacted by a loss to suicide and are at a place in their own healing that allows them to help others traveling a similar path after a tragic loss. If you have been deeply touched by a loss to suicide and would like to help other loss survivors, consider becoming a Samaritans Grief Support Facilitator.

Connect with grief support services at samaritanshope.org/gss SAMARITANS ANNUAL MEMORIAL 2024 | 55

Get Involved Together, we can break the stigma associated with suicide and mental health struggles. There are so many ways that you can support our work and deepen your connection with Samaritans.

Schedule a free workshop to raise mental health awareness in your community.

Volunteer with us to support those who are struggling.

Help us reach more people by making a gift or hosting a fundraiser.

Learn more at samaritanshope.org/get-involved Samaritans, Inc. Is a 501(c)(3) non-profit with no religious affiliation.

All gifts are tax-deductible

56 | SAMARITANS ANNUAL MEMORIAL 2024

Get Help You Are Not Alone If you are struggling, worried about a loved one, or need compassionate support, Samaritans is here for you.

Call or text: 988 We’re here to listen, 24 hours a day.

We are here for you in whatever way you need.

Visit samaritanshope.org/gss for Suicide Grief Support

Samaritans, Inc., 41 West St, 4th Floor, Boston, MA 02111 samaritanshope.org | gss@samaritanshope.org | 617-536-2460