Let me tell you about a really great guy.
My cousin Joseph Flynn was a really great guy; he lived for his family and friends (and the myriad of ways to connect on the internet with family and friends), and always- always– had something kind and funny and true and proud to say about those family members and close friends. And really, for a guy like Joe, everyone he met became a close friend and those close friends had a way of feeling like family.
Joe died this past Saturday. And his extended network of loved ones have only begun to understand the Joe-sized void he’s left behind.
One of five kids, Joe had a keen sense of humor and a stubbornness that helped him fight (and ultimately surpass) the disabilities he was born with. Whether he was competing in the Special Olympics or working with the Lanesborough Volunteer Fire Department (for 30 years!), he had a fierce work ethic. He held a lot of sway, too. He loved to tell me, as we hung out with our Dads back in the day at the family dealership, that it would only take “One call- one call” to our grandfather in Florida, the one who had started the business, to get firings and re-hirings and quite possibly re-firings going again. Never mind the fact that his Dad was the current boss. Never mind that people laughed like he was telling a joke. I always pretty much believed him.
Forget Springsteen. Joe Flynn was The Boss.
Selfishly, I adored Joe (or Joey, as he allowed me to call him for entirely too long), because he was so patient. As one of the youngest cousins at holiday dinners, I thought he was the bee’s knees; he’d be the ally who’d play endless games with me, the one with the funniest jokes, and the pal up for pretty much anything.
Isn’t it funny what sticks in your memory after years and years? I can recall with crystal clarity the night my sister Kate and I were playing/pestering Joe with made-up games. When something turned into a mystery of sorts, he sighed, mock-exasperated, and asked us “What do I look like, Jessica Fletcher?”
That. Made. Us. Howl.
So we asked him to say it again and again and again- and he totally did. Never once got less funny (to us). To this day, I can’t watch Murder, She Wrote without bursting into hard-to-explain laughter.
Joe loved a party. Joe was the party. He never missed a wedding- or the chance to catch me up on the whos and whats of the people we both knew at the party. And so I grieve for his wonderful Dad and loving siblings- the ones for whom, really, all subsequent parties have just become a little bit quieter.
Here’s a link to his obituary. It’s beautiful. But it doesn’t- and can’t possibly- capture everything we loved about Joe.
That said, I take comfort in the fact that he’s being welcomed by his mother, by my Dad, by our grandparents, and by throngs of other loved ones who’ve preceded him to heaven.
Because while we’re down here (wondering who’s going to try and order a lunch special during breakfast hours now), there’s an ecstatic group already greeting him with eager arms.
“Guys, The Boss is here. This is gonna be good.”
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