Let Goodness Shine

Hey buddy.  It’s been two years now.  Still so hard to believe. I’m trying to do the best I can, but every day is a fight between determination and grief.  I feel more empowered than ever before to “Do Good” for the sake of humanity. For your sisters. For your mom. For your friends. For everyone you touched, inspired and impacted. For you.  Sometimes your spirit wills me with the determination to run through walls to make the world a better place. Sometimes the anguish makes me want to crawl into a hole away from it all.

I still wish so badly I knew what happened to you.  In large part to understand what I could have done to prevent this from happening.  We’ve turned over so many stones and asked so many questions of experts in the field.  I’ve come to realize that we will never know with certainty. 

As acceptance grows, I look back and see the dots connecting. 

Like every parent, I’m fearful of something happening to my kids.  But Joel, in the back of my mind, I always felt like you might not be long for this world.  You were the last male Byrne in my immediate family tree to carry on the name.  Many times, I caught myself thinking, “don’t bet on that” 

Of all the dangers that face every child these days, I had an overwhelming concern that you would be the one.  So much that when I learned something terrible had happened at our house on the morning of Feb 4th, I instinctively asked, “Where’s my son!?”  I knew without anyone telling me that something happened to you.  And I knew the answer to my question as the words were coming out of the officer’s mouth, “I’m sorry, your son has passed”. 

This fear manifested in places here and there.

Remember the fall of 2022 when we were kicking the football to each other in the back yard?  You kicked the football into the oak tree hitting a large branch.  It snapped off, sending it hurling to the ground with a loud thump.  Two weeks later that tree was gone.  I was certain next time this happened, you’d be under the branch.  I wasn’t taking any chances.

You would get a big kick out of your friends daring you to eat certain things, some were pretty gross.  Exhibit A is the gem of a video below…

Not long after learning about your newfound talent, I saw an article about a teenager who died because of a dare to eat a slug.  I sent the article to you with a comment about making good choices.  This is probably what prompted our conversation about risk avoidance vs. risk mitigation.  This was my attempt to instill the idea that some risks must be avoided altogether.  Not long after you were faced with a situation and asked me, “pops, was that risk avoidance or risk mitigation?”  You were catching on!  We discussed this concept again when you asked me if you could practice tackling by wrapping a tree with a rug. I know your friends are not surprise by this request.

To be honest buddy, my biggest concern was you following in my footsteps as a youth and doing some of the stupid things I did.  I was convinced if you did a fraction of the things I did, you wouldn’t be so lucky.  Especially given the fact you were very, very accident-prone.  Remember the time I shared with you the story about a local teenager who fell off his roof one night and suffered permanent damage?  That could have been me. Probably should have. I was determined to impart my acquired wisdom of what not to do to keep you safe.

I felt the need to point out all the dangers that were lurking in unforeseen places.  This was a “paranoid” effort to keep you safe.  There is something strange about this.  I felt like your mom and I covered all the bases, and then some.  Yet we still lost you.  Stranger yet, we lost you for reasons still unknown, at least on this side of heaven.

It begs a question, why?  And why did we lose you for unknown reasons? 

Then I think that maybe God’s gift was that your life lasted 15 years.  Maybe my prayers were answered when you were in utero and born healthy.  Perhaps they were answered when I was riding with you in the ambulance as you drifted in and out of consciousness after falling off the plumber’s truck.  For the record, I did not tell you it was OK to go up there to eat your snack.  Maybe my prayers were answered when you come out of surgery OK after breaking both arms and suffering a concussion.  Or the numerous prayers because of the countless other injuries you sustained. 

It kind of makes me wonder; were you the way you were because you were never meant to be here long?  As I think more and more about your faith and character and comb through the various events of your life, that would seem like the only logical conclusion.  Some of these things are just too difficult to explain otherwise.

For example, after school one day, you were supposed to meet up with friends.  Something happened and they couldn’t meet, and you were at school without a ride home.  Rather than calling me or mom for a lift, you decided to walk a mile or so down the road to church for adoration. 

A few years before you passed, I couldn’t find one of our favorite books, “You are Special” by Max Lucado.  I assumed it was lost or we gave it away.  I was disappointed because I wanted you and your sisters to be able to read it to your children.  A few months after you passed, I found it with several of your other keepsakes.  You kept that book in a special spot.  It was another little God-wink that you are home. 

Then there was the time you got lost in that Christmas store in Frankenmuth.  Mom anxiously looked for you, only to find you calmly holding the cross that you wanted to buy as your souvenir.  Mom shared the details of this story with me one day after church when the priest’s sermon covered Luke 2:49, “Why is it that you were looking for Me? Did you not know that I had to be in My Father’s house?”  

You demonstrated leadership through courageous acts.  Reading the Bible before football games in the athletic hallway at school.  Unashamed.  When you got your cell phone, you did the group chat thing for a while.  But when you didn’t like what was being said, you left.  You also tried WhatsApp, only to realize it’s not for you and deleted it.  

How about the habit you adopted picking up litter?  Fortunately, or unfortunately, there was never a situation where garbage was too disgusting to pick up off the ground.  “Ewww, that’s gross” people would say.  Including me.  Naturally half of the trash you picked up ended up in Julia’s car :).  One of your teachers shared a story about you after you passed.  She said during class break one day, there was a piece of litter on the ground.  For several minutes, dozens of kids walked past it.  Finally, someone picked it up.  That person was you. 

I could go on and on.  Someday, I will… your gratitude journal, writings about your faith, stories others have shared with us about your impact on them.  Your acts of kindness, respect, humor, and athleticism.    

I’m not sharing these to blow up your ego.  Nor am I sharing it to blow up my ego as a parent.  I’d like to take credit, although it would come after mom got her due.  But clearly there is something greater at work here.  For me it is impossible to believe that your preparation to meet the Lord was an accident.  And perhaps my preparation for your passing wasn’t an accident either. 

Perhaps me breaking my jaw falling off a scooter was God giving me a wakeup call that allowed me to have the best 18 months of my life prior to your passing.  Or perhaps I was being prepared during my senior year in high school when I received the Chris Zimmer memorial scholarship in honor of a student that lost his life tragically in a car accident.  That award was one of the greatest honors of my life.  Ironically, Chris was 15 years old and a football player as well.  I got to know Chris’ mother afterwards and to this day when I think of her and Chris, I still think to myself, “I can’t image”. 

Joel, your life has given me a lot to think about.  And it has left me inspired.  I don’t want to admit that anything “good” will come from your passing.  I will only say that the good comes from the totality of your life, including your life in heaven.  Your passing isn’t what changed me.  Your life changed me.  It brought me closer to God and has made me a better person.

The weight of grief and depression only felt infinite.  In the moments when it felt like there was nothing to lift it, I came to understand that to love God and to love our neighbors overcomes everything.  Scripture is right.  The weight isn’t lifted through self-fulfillment.  There is nothing I can acquire or do for myself that will scratch that surface.  And neither will all the fame, fortune, notoriety, or money combined. The weight is lifted through serving others, even in the most basic acts.  My will to serve comes only through God’s infinite love, and it is a blessing.  

For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body ruled by sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin— because anyone who has died has been set free from sin.

Romans 6:6-7

Each day, you and your amazing sisters with their beautiful smiles and amazing spirits, inspire me to do better.

Thank you buddy for what you’ve shown us. Thank you for being you.  I miss you so much and I promise I’ll “Do Good” and won’t let you down. 

Love,
Dad/Pops

PS… Your cousin Michael asked me if we need anything tomorrow.  I told him, “Pick up some trash, find the person that needs support, say some prayers for the less fortunate, smile at strangers”.  His response says it all, “Yes sir will do.  Continuing a great legacy in his light and honor is my biggest goal”