Eulogy for Colin William Carey
December 2, 2008The adage goes that first impressions are the most important of all. So here then was my first impression of Colin William Carey.
It was August 1996. Colin had recently begun dating my wife’s niece, Erin and Erin invited Colin to come up to our summer spot, Lake Winnepesaukee in New Hampshire. Little did Colin know at the time that he would be meeting pretty much all of his future in-laws, all at one time. Anyway, one of the favorite pastimes at the lake is mini-golf and during that vacation, the entire lot of us went out to play a round. Now Colin and Erin challenged Erin’s parents, Betsy and Dan, to a wager for lowest team score. And as luck would have it, Colin and Erin lost the match and had to pay up. So without blinking an eye, and in front of his future in-laws and everyone else at the Funspot Minigolf Course, Colin, and Erin, loudly sang “I’m A Little Teapot”, gestures and all.
Right then and there, I knew I liked this guy.
We’re gathered here this morning to remember and honor the indomitable spirit and well-lived life of my dear friend and nephew, Colin William Carey. And while it has been my pleasure to call him family and friend for just these past 13 years, the stories that make up his character reflect the man who was an absolute master of seizing each one of his days in the tragically short 31 years that Colin graced us.
If you were to attempt to describe Colin in one word, I would offer that word to be “passionate.” Colin was deeply passionate about anything and everything he did. He was passionate about life, passionate about teaching. He loved his sports with a passion. He had a passionate faith. And most important of all, he saved his deepest passion for his family, his friends, and his beloved wife, Erin.
Beginning with his passion for life, Colin has been a go-getter pretty much from the start, even from an early age. As the story goes, when Colin was just four years old, he begged his mother to make him a Superman costume for Halloween. Being the dutiful mother she is, Phyllis complied and made him the Superman costume, complete with blue tights, red shorts, and of course, the requisite red cape. Not happy enough to wait until Halloween, Colin immediately put on his brand new outfit and went outside to play. Only a few minutes later, Colin stomped back inside the house, took off the cape, completely downhearted. Apparently, Colin passionately believed that having the red cape would give him the ability to fly. Oops.
Colin has been best described to me by others as a generous spirit, someone possessing wisdom well beyond his years. There is no doubt that when it came to his own health, the deck was heavily stacked against him. But as unfair as we all saw that, never once did I hear Colin complain. He took each and every health challenge in stride and then rather than feel sorry for himself, Colin fought the battles before him with the calm of angels and the ferocity of a tiger. Amazingly, no matter how bad things got with him, Colin always looked forward to the next day. And even more amazing, he was forever the caregiver, thinking of everyone else.
His zest for life was driven by a desire to make this a better world. In fact, every summer, Colin and I would sit by the lake in the early evening, drinking beer, smoking cigars, and solving the problems of the world until the wee hours of the morning. Well, okay, I would drink the beer and smoke the cigars and he would solve the problems, but you get the idea.
Perhaps it was this desire to improve conditions of the world that led Colin to pursue another one of his passions, teaching. And by all accounts, in the three high schools in which Colin taught American History, his passion for teaching led to interesting lessons and unorthodox methods for keeping the young minds involved.
Upon his passing, his students at Oakmont High School in Massachusetts set up a Facebook page in which they could commiserate with each other, sharing their grief over losing a beloved teacher, and swap stories. One of those stories really caught my eye and reinforced what so many of us already knew about Colin’s philosophy of life. That life is for living to the fullest, but it also doesn’t hurt to laugh once in a while.
As that story goes, Colin once had this student, for the sake of argument, we’ll call him Dan, who had trouble staying awake in Colin’s class. Ever the trickster, Colin, after noticing the Dan was asleep, quietly ushered his students to the teacher’s lounge to continue studying. Meanwhile, Colin went back to the classroom and moved the clock ahead to 2:00 p.m., the end of the school day. So when young Dan awoke from his nap, he found an empty classroom and thought it was time to go home. Simply priceless.
There are many more postings on the website and the common theme throughout, besides Colin’s barely legible handwriting, was his concern for his students, both throughout their high school years and well beyond. His kids truly loved him, and that, in my book, speaks volumes. Those feelings are best summed up by a poem left by the site’s designer. It read “Science taught me that energy can never be destroyed. English taught me that the death of a great man is tragic. Math taught me that there is infinity. History made all of this matter. Mr. Carey made it matter to me.”
However, it should be pointed out that being a student in Colin’s class was not exactly a picnic. He always expected the best from his kids, as much as he expected it of himself. And the same goes for another one of his passion, sports. With Colin, you either brought your “A” game or you didn’t play at all. He played sports that way and he lived life that way.
Whether it was mini-golf (did I mention the little teapot?), or cribbage, or golf, or basketball, or heck, even Yahtze, Colin had a fierce yet fair competitive streak about him. Let’s face it – he liked to win. But more than that, he liked to play. The game was the thing.
He was fiercely loyal to his teams like the Pittsburgh Steelers, the Boston University men’s ice hockey team, (Pardon me for a second – Beanpot, Beanpot, B.C. sucks! Sorry, I promised…) the Celtics, and of course, the Red Sox. Colin loved going to Fenway Park and somehow, someway, he always managed to end the game in much better seats than he started. Beating the Yankees in 2004 (sorry, Yankee fans, for bringing this up) was as sweet as it got for Colin. And winning it all three years later made it that much better. But those wins paled in comparison to that one big win by the UConn men’s basketball team in 1999.
Colin was busy attending classes at Boston University when the Huskies finally reached their first Final Four that year. After they beat Ohio State to advance to the finals, I called Colin to do what we did on a regular basis – totally dissect the game. I was naturally very excited about UConn playing for a national championship and I asked Colin if there was excitement where he was. “Well, no,” he replied. “This is Boston, not Connecticut.” True enough. So I convinced Colin that he absolutely had to come down to Connecticut to watch the championship game with me and my wife at the same sports bar that we had watched the win over Ohio State, because, you know, Colin was as superstitious about such things as I am. Well, of course, UConn pulled off the upset win over Duke and we celebrated throughout the night. I did promise that if he came down for the game, I would drive him back to school the next day. But of course, on our way back to Boston, we heard that the charter flight bringing the team back to Connecticut was due to land soon at Bradley Airport. So we made a little sidetrip to Windsor Locks, where we joined hundreds and hundreds of Huskie fans. And when the team came out to greet us, Colin managed to worm his way through the crowd just so he could shake hands with UConn guard Ricky Moore, who made the defensive play that sealed the win for Connecticut. Walking away from the chain link fence where that contact ensued, Colin screamed loud enough for everyone to hear, “I just shook the hand of the best defensive player in the country!” It’s hard not to appreciate enthusiasm like that.
Now, naturally, the root of all these passions came to Colin from his family. And from that standpoint, Colin often shared with me his opinion that he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth. He was so devoted to his parents, Phyllis and John, and was in constant touch with both. He loved to tease his Dad on everything from the Yankees to his golf game. And he loved relying on his mother for her sage advice and constant love.
Colin was especially proud of his heroes, namely his siblings, elder brothers Sean and Justin and younger sister Kristen. It was thanks to Sean, who gave Colin half of his own liver that Colin was able to live and live well these last few years. And it was the selfless acts of donating their matching platelets that kept Colin going during the early stages of his battle with cancer. Simply heroic.
And Colin was also deeply proud of his heritage. There was no doubting that Colin was unabashed regarding his Irish roots. He would often regale me with tales of his trips to his mother’s homeland, telling me of the gorgeous landscapes, breathtaking seascapes, and most of all, his beautiful and warm family over there. Each time he traveled to Ireland, the first thing he’d do upon returning home was start planning his next trip there.
It was in Ireland that Colin cemented his deepest passion of all, his love for his future wife, Erin Clifford Carey. It was in Ireland that he proposed to her, something we all saw as a foregone conclusion but being the passionate and ritualistic person he was, he did so in a way that would make romance writers weep. Of course, the moment there was immortalized later when they adopted their kitten and named her Kylemore Abbey for the place where they decided to become man and wife.
Theirs is the perfect love story. For any of us that have known them for any amount of time, they are known simply as one name Colin-and-Erin. In searching my computer for photos of Colin to be used for last night’s wake, it was nearly impossible to find a single photo of Colin that didn’t have Erin as well. And with every shot, there was this look on their faces that said, “We have found true love and it is within each other. We are one.” There is a word for such a relationship. Soul-mate. Colin and Erin are indeed soul mates and I’m sure that Erin knows, that when it comes to true love, something as simple as dying does not stop that love, it doesn’t even slow it down. Erin, you will always feel that true love wherever you go. Colin will always be with you. And the same goes for you, Phyllis and John, and Sean, and Justin, and Kristen. And with you, his in-laws, and with you, his other family members and with all of you friends. A person as full of life, as full of love, as passionate as Colin William Carey, does not leave an empty vessel behind. Colin will always be here.
Just don’t look for him in the cemetery. And don’t look for him with sadness in your heart. Look for him when you share stories about Colin that make you laugh. Look for him on sunny days, along the shoreline or anywhere where God’s grace has made natural beauty. In waterfalls and mountaintops, in lakeside retreats and picnics along flower beds. In people enjoying each other and enjoying a good meal. In cheering on your favorite team and taking on a new challenge in your life. These places are where you will find Colin. He won’t be that difficult to find.
As for me, I will miss my close friend and nephew. I will miss our long talks at all hours, our many hours wasted watching Sportscenter, Star Wars and Monty Python. I will miss our Christmas shopping together, in search of the perfect gifts for our respective soul mates. I’ll miss the golf games, and the football bets, and making meals out of a block of cheese and a loaf of fresh French bread. But most of all, I’ll miss just having Colin around just to talk to. There has never been and will never again be anyone quite like him. But then again, I’ll know where to find him.
Thanks, Colin. I hoped you liked it.
-Uncle Tim Phillips
Naugatuck, CT