Eulogies Delivered September 18, 2009

by Stephen & Peter McCarthy

EMAILS from BILLY TO HIS SIBLINGS

Delivered by Stephen McCarthy

Email sent from Billy to his siblings on his 34^th birthday

Tue, Oct 18, 2005

Thanks for the "kind" words. I neglected to cc: everyone in my response to Stephen's earlier email. As I said to him, I'm not feeling any younger these days. At least I have my health and some of my hair.

It's amazing how the time flies. On birthdays in particular, I find myself reminiscing about the 'good old days' and the great times at 8 Academy Rd. spent playing ball on the fields, chase through the yards, and torturing my younger brothers. All while trying not to tick-off my younger sister who was two inches taller than me and a whole lot tougher.

I've been blessed with a wonderful wife and 2(.9) beautiful children. I only hope that the life we provide for them is half as nurturing, loving, and all-around awesome as ours was. I can't tell you how much I value the fact that we're all so close (not just speaking geographically) and I hope
the same for my kids.

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Christmas 2007

Hello All-

I just wanted to send along a quick note of thanks to everyone for making our Christmas so wonderful. We really missed not being able to participate in the 'Cousins Christmas' but the tradition of Christmas morning at Mom and Dad's was as much fun as ever. I think we're all probably equally sentimental and I know that for me, the traditions and atmosphere we've created together mean as much to me as the occasion itself. Thanks to everyone's kindness and generosity the kids had a fantastic Christmas- and so did their parents. I'm positive I wasn't good or kind enough to deserve what's been given to me by you all.

Among my many blessings, our family ranks at the top. I continue to be simultaneously humbled and proud...humbled by everyone's selflessness and pride-filled to be a part of a family that is beyond compare. Once again this year everyone helped so significantly and in so many ways that it made our holiday as 'normal' as it would have otherwise been (you know, if I was working, making an income, etc). I'm sure it's tiring carrying me on your backs but no one has ever shown any sign that's the case. I do hope that I'll be able to pay it back in some manner some time.

Speaking of payback...I thought I was doing Auntie a favor and saving her some money by helping repair and paint her living room...In typical Aunt Mary style, she handed me a card before I was done with the job and said it was a just a 'token' of her appreciation...I resisted in earnest but she maintained it was a 'token' so I relented...needless to say, I could have purchased a new Wii and a few games with her 'token'. I'm pretty sure I saved her zero dollars and she probably would have paid a professional less but the time spent with her was such nice time together. The point of the story...if you could use my help in any way, I'm here, and I want to help. It makes me feel like I'm giving back in some small way. Oh, and I work for free (except for Aunt Mary apparently).

Love to all,

Billy

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Date uncertain 2007/2008

Eulogy of William Augustine McCarthy, Jr.

Delivered by Peter D. McCarthy

            Billy took a dim view of my crying.  As children, and being four years Billy’s junior, my tears were an indication that he had landed a stunningly effective punch to the top of my arm, or a knee to thigh, that rendered me temporarily immobile.  Never so immobile that I couldn’t limp to my mother in tears to report the infraction, mind you.  But my tears were an aggravating reminder to Bill that he was quite a bit stronger than the sidekick who idolized him. 

Later in life, the crying might occur at family functions marking important occasions, likely after I’d had a “taste” or two and felt moved to “summarize” the day’s events in a toast or speech of some sort.  These tears usually made Billy feel uncomfortable, as he was more stoic than me, though he was also deceptively sentimental and, I hope, appreciated the effort.  On these occasions the tears were, to borrow a phrase from Billy’s beautiful baby girl, “happy tears.”  Billy got used to being the focus of so many joyful McCarthy family events, and so he put up with the happy tears – so long as they were book-ended with withering but good-natured jokes about an unsuspecting family member.  Frequently the target was the handsome redhead standing next to me. 

Since July of 2007, when Billy was diagnosed, I shed a fair share of tears over my fear of losing him … but they were almost never shed in his presence.  Billy deserved nothing less than encouragement and devotion to match his determination to beat his cancer, and he did not need the distraction of my worst fears.  After all, he and his beautiful wife Heather had far more important concerns to tend to.

So I will try not to cry during these comments, because the tears would distract from the important tasks set out for us today: Thanking God for the gift of Billy McCarthy in our lives, with gratitude that we  had him as long as we did; Speeding him with our prayers to his eternal rest; and Celebrating the extraordinary love that he gave to us, and left us with.  If and when we cry, I hope they’ll be “happy tears.”  But I make no promises, because the pain of losing my brother Billy is very great.

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I am Peter Daniel McCarthy, Billy’s younger brother.  I’m joined by Billy’s youngest brother, Stephen James, and his only but still favorite sister Kathleen Mary.  On behalf of Heather, Billy’s wife; on behalf of their children William Augustine III and Thomas Joseph – or “Liam” and “Tommy,” as they’re known on the street; on behalf of Billy’s parents William Augustine, Senior, and Laurie Ellen; we thank you for being with us today.  The weight of our grief is lightened by your presence with us.  Billy and Heather’s daughter Caitlyn Elizabeth is not here today.  These proceedings are being recorded for her to review at some distant point in the future, so she can see for herself the love and loyalty her father’s friends and family gave so generously.  We thank for your understanding.   

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“Rejoice in the Lord always,” Saint Paul wrote to the Philippians.  “I shall say it again: Rejoice!  Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, from prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.  Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.” 

Billy saved this excerpt on his desktop, and took consolation in its message.  I suspect that many of the requests Billy and Heather made known to God these past two years-and-two months were exactly like those all of us have prayed since his diagnosis: “Please spare Billy from the awful consequences of this disease”; “Please, God, help us get through this next MRI with no growth or change”; “Please, God, give us more time with Billy … for the sake of his beautiful children … for our own sake.”  And so, given how events concluded, it’s very hard to feel any peace today.  Here we are, miserable and afraid and missing Billy despite his astounding and inspirational display of will and physical endurace; despite Heather’s tireless, heroic and selfless stewardship of his treatment; despite the best efforts of the exceptional doctors and nurses at Brigham & Women’s hospital and the Dana-Farber Neuro-Oncology team.  We are rightly devastated.   

But it’s a testament to Billy’s character and his deep faith that his own requests to God had much less to do with saving his own life than with sparing Heather, the “love of his life,” the lives of his children and his family.  Every single member of Billy’s family, on any number of occasions, told him, “I’d take that tumor from you and put it in my head if I could.”  Billy only ever had a single answer to such offers, and he never wavered: “I would never give it to you.”  Billy knew that things would have been far worse for him had one of his children been stricken.  How many times did he privately thank God Almighty that it was his cross to bear.  On the gurney before his biopsy, as the shocked McCarthys, Plunketts and Buckleys rallied to be nearby, my parents embraced him.  “I’m so sorry,” he told my Father, as though he’d let him down somehow.  My Dad replied, with cracking voice, “You’ve never done a thing in your life that you needed to apologize for.”  It was true then, as it is now.  Turning to his brothers and his sister, he said, “Just take care of my kids.” 

How many times did Billy pray “Thy will be done” at mass; en route to treatment with Heather; from the inside of a tube; or by his kids’ bedside.  Billy and Heather’s abiding faith taught them to trust that, however dark the prognosis or difficult their road, they were being lead on a journey of love.   

In faith, Billy was resigned.  But remember: he was resigned only in his heart.  In his mind and body, he fought relentlessly.  And man, was he ever strong!  Deceptively so.  Billy battled from the start of his medical odyssey.  Before his diagnosis, he gutted out weeks of crushing headaches with barely a complaint – though with growing concern about his health.  What was he up to during that time preceding diagnosis when he was told he had a bad sinus infection?  He gutted and renovated his new house, built his new health insurance business, and tended to his wife and three children under age-7.  Before he finally collapsed, his cousin Andrew worriedly watched Billy will himself down the driveway of our parents’ cottage, lifting each leg up to advance it forward toward the car.  What was so important to make him press like that?  He and Heather were joining friends for the Tim McGraw concert to celebrate the 4^th of July. 

And Billy fought to the end.  I saw it, and tell you truly that Liam and Tommy and Caitlyn’s Dad is this strong: The day before he left us, having lost his dominant left side, and riddled with morphine for his pain, Billy rocked himself several times, as if to get up from his bed.  Under strict instructions from his angelic sister Kathleen, I suggested that maybe he should just chill a little bit longer … until he was off the morphine.  I put my hand to his chest to ease him down.  He repeated his rocking, and I held my hand firm.  Billy advised me in no uncertain terms: “If you don’t stop pushing me down, I’m going to hurt you.”  I knew he was joking … but I believed him.  

And Billy fought every single moment in between, as we all witnessed.  He was perpetually working to get back to full strength, and he frequently hit that very high mark.  In fact, despite the radiation, the traditional and experimental chemotherapies, and the therapies to manage side effects, it was hard to perceive that he was being treated at all.  During his intial round of radiation, Billy hid the effects of his seizures so well that his doctors assumed he was merely experiencing “anxiety.”  (Truth be told, he was having anxiety … but he was also having seizures.)  Billy was so strong that he’d get wheeled from the hospital to the car on one end of the trip, then walk himself into the rink to tighten Liam’s skates on the back end.  Fortified by his radically revised and supplemented diet, he’d drag himself, his friends, his family, or his dog on long walks up West Newton Hill to inspect construction sites and test his stamina.  He’d “cram” for his neurological tests, practicing the motions and memorizing dates, all in an effort to prove to Heather that he was alright – fully aware that she was far more attuned to every measure of his health.  He reveled in going on the offensive against the cancer cells, and geared up for treatments like game days.  “Billy, this thing sucker punched us; time to hit it back” I joked early on.  He answered, “It’s nice to be on offense.”  Billy envisioned a long future for himself, and he never acknowledged the possibility that he couldn’t hold on longer … at least to me.  We convinced ourselves that, despite the harrowing odds, Billy was a “statistic of one.”  Billy made it easy to forget just how many drugs were coursing through his system.  He made it easy to think he’d live 50 more years. 

Through all the difficulties and the indignities of treatment, and while he fought with an iron will to get better, Billy’s grace and good nature were on full display.  He made friends in the waiting room with other families who shared our predicament.  He was unfailingly polite with the medical staff.  He fielded emails and phone calls from what seemed like hundreds of concerned friends and co-workers and relatives.  His conversations were about other people.  He never complained about how he felt.

And he flashed that self-deprecating humor to disarm and make comfortable all who crossed his path.  Shaving his head was a difficult concession to the treatment, but he joked that he was simply speeding up what nature was doing to his crown anyway.  Before every MRI I’d tell him “You wouldn’t believe how many people are with you today in spirit, pulling for you.  I’d climb in there with you if it would help.”  Billy would tell me: “You’re a little too fat to make that comfortable; but, honestly, I lie in there and think about everyone who’s praying for me, and it makes me feel stronger.”  He made fun of himself for the weight he’d put on when on steroids – and he let us join in, fully aware that he was still in better shape than his brothers who teased him.      

We’ve said a lot about Billy through the prism of his cancer, because it’s easy to see what kind of man he was by how bravely he fought.  But the fact is Billy was so great the past two years because he was so great the preceding 35 years.  He was the same exceptional person his whole life.  He was not a victim or a patient.  He was just Billy doing what Billy always did: The right thing.  He always seemed to do the right thing. 

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You’re here today because you know the measure of the man we have lost.  But we want to let you know what we thought of him. 

We loved that Our Billy … and Heather’s Billy … and Liam and Tommy and Caitlyn’s Daddy … was comprised of the best parts of his amazing Parents.  He had our Father’s endless reserve of patience; his good humor, self-deprecation and intuition; his integrity at work and in his personal life; his honesty.  He had our Mother’s outwardly-focused consideration of, and concern for, others; her beautiful courtesy and manner; her meticulousness; and her class. 

We loved that Billy was formed in the protective embrace of so many environments, each one more nurturing and loving than the last, and filled with friends: His schools: from Cabot to Bigelow to Newton North, to Boston College.  His neighborhoods: 8 Academy Road to the Burke’s and the Devlin’s yards, to the Country Day School and Cabot Woods and the Newton Central Little League Field; from Belmar and the Falmouth Heights Field, to Acapesket Beach and Vineyard Sound on Davis’s Whaler.  Billy’s workplaces: the Surf Drive Bath House to the Slime Shed, from Tufts to Darwin Partners and back, First Marblehead to Coastal Benefits, his very own company.  His churches: here at Our Lady’s where he was baptized, received his First Communion, was confirmed and served several tours of duty as Alter Boy; in Falmouth, at St. Thomas Chapel on the harbor or St. Anthony’s; on any weekend at any church conveniently located near a hockey rink.  His homes: From Remick Terrace – where he breathed new life into the home our Grandparents made when they landed in Newton from County Cork – to Adella Avenue, where the Mansfields and the Solaris and the Manleys and so many loving friends will help rebuild Heather’s life starting tomorrow.        

We loved his character.  Billy seemed impervious to peer-pressure.  He never tried to be anyone but himself, and he did not concern himself too much with what was popular.  Billy did not set out to impress anyone; but he always did anyway.  And he attracted good people to him. He did everything right.   

We loved Billy for his smile, and his impressive looks.  Auntie Mary Doherty claims to love all of her nephews equally, and we have no reason to doubt her.  But Auntie could not help herself from crowning Billy the most handsome of the bunch.  There was apparently no second place prize awarded, leaving the rest of us in a four-way tie for least handsome. 

We loved his humor and his infectious laughter.  He had a healthy appreciation for bathroom humor that his children seem to share, and he was an expert at detecting profanities and hidden away in seemingly harmless holiday decorations from the Christmas Tree Shop. 

We loved how he drew friends to him, and how they became his friends for life … and how their friends became Billy’s friends for life.  It was only a coincidence that so many of those friends had power boats and awesome power tools.  The more Billy taught himself to “do it himself,” the more friends seemed to volunteer to assist him with his improvement projects.  Thanks to the time and techniques his friends shared, Billy’s “home improvement projects” were really “self improvement projects.”    

We loved Billy for how playful he was, and how he would compete over the stupidest stuff you can imagine.  Who could hit a tennis ball onto the O’Brien’s patio from the middle field at Sacred Heart?  Who could double-fence it at Newton Central Little League?  Who could hit that jetty with this rock, or skip it more times, or hit the buoy?  Whose Snow-Tube was faster?  Who could ball up their table-napkin and hit the wastebasket from the dinner table?  He’d offer to “time you” to do anything he didn’t want ­­­to – and some of us still fall for that trick.  Billy always played ball in the house.  And if he didn’t have a ball in hand, it’s only because he was mastering the latest Atari or Nintendo game.  Billy played ice hockey, floor hockey, street hockey, roller hockey, hall hockey.  He loved playing “tag” and didn’t stop, reluctantly, until he was 15.  He was a natural athlete who seemed to get faster, stronger and more nimble with age.  He was so modest that you didn’t care when he sandbagged you on the golf course or the Falmouth Road Race course.  He ate pancakes like it was being broadcast on ESPN-2.

We loved him for the care amazing skillfulness and attention to detail.  When Billy worked the grill, he cared enough to never overcook the food.  That may not mean much to you, but it was a revelation to us!  When Billy mowed the lawn, the cuts were straight.  When Billy painted a room, he didn’t cheat on the closets where nobody looked.  Before a big event, he’d hit Salvi’s in the Lake for a clean-up.  Before sales calls, he polished his shoes.  He always did it right because that’s how he wanted it done.  These are minor and incidental things, of course.  But taken together, they’re instructive about the person Billy is. 

We loved Billy for how he loves Heather, and for the husband he was.  At their wedding 13 years ago, we toasted Billy and Heather for finding the counterpart that seemed to make the other whole.  For 13 years, Billy loved his girl completely and without reservation.  He didn’t have a doubt on the day they got married: He stood in the sacristy waiting for Heather to arrive in a state of perfect calm, and he has never expressed a doubt about her since.  He was devoted and faithful and attentive to her.  They didn’t spend a single day – or a single full day, at least – angry at each other.  We are eternally grateful to Heather for fulfilling her vow to our brother Billy to love him “in sickness and health,” until death parted them.  And we believe that their love is so strong that it can withstand even death. 

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Most of all, we loved Billy because we fell in love with how he fell in love with his children.  Billy was an extraordinary father, and pulled his weight as one-half of formidable parental combination.  He poured himself into his children, until he truly had nothing left.  He didn’t stay out late so that he could be up early with them.  He barely drank so as never to lose his edge with them.  He didn’t waste time on the couch that he could spend playing catch, or watch TV when he could read to them.  He didn’t sit in the beach chair when he could walk them to the back beach or swim with them.  He didn’t get angry without explaining what behavior he and Heather expected.  In terms of their activities, he let them follow their hearts … and counted himself lucky that they gravitated naturally to hockey!  So on the way to games, he prayed with them: Never asking God to help them score goals, only to aid them to play as hard as they could.        

Heather has explained to the children that the only thing we take to heaven is our love.  Liam and Tommy and Caitlyn packed Billy’s soul with so much love he must have been near bursting.  And their Dad left filled them with enough love to last a lifetime.

[TO HEATHER:]  Heather, while we mourn our loss, we are so sorry for yours.  We will do everything in our power to support you and the children, to help you form them into the best people they can be, and to make sure they know how much their Dad loves them.

[TO LIAM & TOMMY:] Liam and Tommy: From the first time he laid eyes on you boys, your Dad was a changed and better man.  He told us that he’d never felt a love like he did for you.  You’re your Dad’s pride and joy.  You made him so proud, and we know that you will continue to make him proud.  He’ll be praying for you, and cheering for you, and loving you from heaven.  We promise you’ll know exactly how much your Dad loves you for the rest of your life. 

[TO CAITLYN:] Though Billy and Heather’s “Caity-Bug” is not here, she deserves a special mention.  She loved her Daddy so much she convinced herself she was married to him.  She is her Dad’s “Little Miss Magic.”  We pledge to animate her Dad’s love for her, and remind her constantly of his presence in her life.

            [TO ASSEMBLY:] To all of you here with us today, thank you for gracing us with your presence.  And thank you for being with Billy and Heather through our ordeal.  Your love and solidarity buoyed Billy more than you know.  We take great consolation knowing that he was so well loved every single moment of his abbreviated life. 

You arranged comedy shows, golf tournaments, boat cruises, skating parties and fund raisers.  You arranged for babysitting, carpooling, house cleaning, lawn-mowing, cooking, shopping, and driving.  You visited Billy’s home, took him to lunches and dinners and walks, you emailed him and called him and texted him. 

We know Billy deserved every bit of it.  But we still are eternally grateful.

            But the great task of Billy’s life isn’t complete.  And we will need your help.  So if you’ll forgive me, I’m gonna put you all on the spot.  [Liam and Tommy: I ask you both to stand up, turn around, and look at all the people here today who love your Dad and who love you.]  I want everyone here to let these boys know that you’ll look out for them, and love them, like their Dad would want.  I ask you to raise your hand if you promise to remind them how much they mean to their Dad, and to share your experiences and memories of their Dad with them, so they know how special he is.

            Billy, we love you and miss you already.  “Pray for us / as we will for thee / that we merrily meet in heaven.”  Rest in peace, always.