I went to the funeral for John Kostanecki, today.

I went to the funeral for John Kostanecki, today.

John was an acquaintance. He lived in our community of Forest Lakes, Charlottesville, Virginia.  I met him and his wife through my kids who play sports and go to school with his kids.

John was a paraplegic from a car accident he suffered in high school some 30 years before.

If anyone had a reason to whine, bitch, and complain, I think John did.  I couldn't even imagine living his life without being depressed and bitter.  I meet people every day who blame someone else or some occurrence, or circumstance for who and where they are, now.  It's their bosses fault, or it's their ex-wives fault, or because it's raining, or their parents were awful...

But not John.  He took complete and utter responsibility for who he was AND for what he was able to become!  He joked how a stupid choice he made 30 years before had left him paralyzed, and he spoke of the divine gift of life God was still willing to allow him afterwards. He considered it a gift because he was allowed to live and do the things he did.  And boy did he do some stuff!

He skied, he fished, he went camping, he was in Marathons, he was an accomplished sailor, he played golf...the list goes on and on.  And almost every day we'd see him wheeling along the steep sidewalks across from our house as he "walked" Charlie, his yellow lab. He did more things than I've done in my lifetime, and I'm his age and have the use of all four of my limbs. 

But you know, we're all handicapped in some way.  John's was just visible.  Yet when you were with him, he had a way of making his handicap invisible.  It was part of him and was him, but it didn't limit him.  When you shook his hand, when you looked him in the eye, he was there with you, strong, not absent on some self driven mind set. John genuinely wanted to talk with you, fully attentive and interested-a great talker, to be true, but an even greater listener.

As my wife and I shared in his remembrance at the Episcopal church, and the reception following, we realized that he left a legacy.  He was well loved. We cry now not for him, but for us.  We selfishly know that he touched us.  By coming into our lives he helped clarify some things we already knew, but needed to be reminded:

•1.     Drop the ego.  It's not just about you.

•2.     Learn to be present.  Turn off your cell phone and really get into, and be with, the ones you love, now.

•3.     Be active.  Don't let life just happen, go out and experience it. 

•4.     Live life to its fullest every day, but don't hurt anyone in the process

•5.     God, Family, Business.  In that order.  Don't compromise on that balance.

•6.     Become a learner.

•7.     Get in touch with your big why-the thing that drives you, or could drive you if you knew what it was that drove you.

•8.     Plan your attack, step by step and get going!

•9.     God WANTS you to be successful, he WANTS you to be happy. 

•10.   God gave us choice.  Sometimes we make good choices, sometimes bad.  Accept your responsibility in that equation.

•11.   Stop blaming people or circumstances for who you are.

•12.   Accept what is and surrender to it.  Don't give up.  But surrender.

Look, I'm scared to hell of death.  I'm not sure exactly why.  But I surrender to it because it's part of the package of life. Maybe I'm scared to die ‘cause of the process.  I mean the act of dying stirs up images of getting my head chopped off, or falling off a high rise, or being mangled in a car accident.  And maybe it's intensified by the unconscious fear of living, too.  Because we're all ruled by fears-fear of abandonment, fear of financial loss, fear of not being loved, fear of talking in front of people-we're scared.  And often times we don't have the solid answers or certainties to nullify our fear. 

But when a man dies who has lived a beautifully full life against all odds, we have questions that can't be easily and readily answered.  We cry, we ache, and the pain of the unfairness overwhelms us.  Spiritual faith allows us to put responsibility into the hands of that greater power, that omnipotent being who saw fit to set things in motion and make this and that happen.

We cry out "Why God? " You left two young girls and a wife to be alone and without the man who was both father and husband.  And you made it all so much harder for them because of his handicap.  Couldn't you have cut him some slack?

But you know, if John were here reading this, he would be disgusted.  What kind of crap am I writing, he would ask? We make our choice, to live as active participants, or curl up in a ball and try and avoid it.  But I think John would recommend we go out and embrace the challenges of living-do it all, everything, with a gusto and energy that leaves you absolutely breathless.  And when you get to the Pearly Gates and greet God you can say "That was fantastic!  Thank you, Lord, thank you for the chance to live-can I go back and do it again?"

John, you are missed.  We love you, think and talk about you often, and thank you for living and sharing yourself with us.