This marks the one-year mark since Paul Coakley left this world for the next.. I never knew him directly; I’m sure we interacted a time or two because of all the mutual friends we had, but were never friends. However, I think I speak for many of my fellow alumni when I say that he touched my life in a profound way. Looking back on what I wrote a year ago, this has only become more true. Rest in peace, Paul. Pray for us.
I went to college in a small run-down former industrial town in the armpit of Ohio, about an hour south of Youngstown in the hometown of Dean Martin, called Steubenville. At my alma mater, students committed seemingly every fashion infraction known in the history of humanity. Several homeschool alumni (and non-homeschooled Catholic nerds) donned stringy long hair, frumpy long skirts, capes, and often refused to pluck their eyebrows or wax their girl-‘staches. They rode unicycles around campus, LARP, and say things like, “Praise Him!” as if they have some kind of holyroller Torrets. On Saturday evenings, students can be found sitting in circles, passing around cups of Boone’s Farm, sharing what they’re thankful for from the week. Many willingly go to Mass every day and raise their hands in the air whilst praise and worship music blares.
It’s a weird place.
And it’s mine.
Earlier this month, a fellow alum passed away from a brisk and aggressive cancer. He leaves behind his wife, three kids, and one on the way.
Fellow alumni came together when he was sick to pray. Literally thousands of people posted messages of support on Facebook. Now that he is passed, thousands continue to pray and hundreds have donated to support his family, whom he leaves in a difficult financial situation. Their house is in need of several repairs, and dozens of people have donated their time to do manual labor. All of their major appliances have been purchased by donors, and thousands of dollars have been raised. Reflecting on the situation, I am so struck by how my tiny alma mater, with all its quirks and oddities, is one of the most beautiful places I have ever witnessed. We are a community. We are one. We live a life that is not of this world, and our desire to help one of our own, even if we did not know him personally, is beautiful.
Any time I meet someone who is atheist, I find myself not angered, but feeling sorry for him or her. Described above, this life, this desire, this awareness, is not something that is of this world. It is not something that can be measured, pinpointed, or rationalized.
Though Paul is departed from his earthly life, the reality of what is happening in midst of his death shows that heaven can’t possibly be that far away. Through this odd little community, the veil between heaven and earth is proving to be thinner than I ever thought.
Rest in peace, Paul. Pray for us still down here!
To donate to Paul’s family, click HERE.
