PART 4

RELIGION: JOHN’S FAITH AND SPIRITUALITY

John spoke about his religious beliefs and spirituality in a very forthright and honest manner in many of the interviews he did. The first instance was in the article Bill Allmann penned for the Beaver County Times on August 20, 2006:

“I’m down to 100 pounds and all I am is skin, bones, and muscle so when I get shots, they hurt. . . . I’m closer to God now, too, I know that’s my only way out of this. It bothers me that I’m not able to do things for myself, too.

“My back starts to hurt when I’m sitting on the golf cart. But when it does, I reach for this chain (a gold chain holding a cross around his neck). The chain was my grandfather’s and when the pain gets bad, I hold it and it gets me through. . . . Sometimes I have to hold it a lot and sometimes I fall asleep holding it.”

When John said, “I’m closer to God now, too, I know that’s my only way out of this,” it reminded me of when I was thirteen and felt the only way I could get through things was with God’s help. Up to that point, I was not a very religious person, but like many people who find themselves in difficult situations, I suddenly found religion. In John’s case, though, his Roman Catholic faith was something that had been with him from a young age.

Gina and Scott told me, “We raised our kids Catholic, and John, he always prayed when he was growing up. So when he spoke of his relationship with God in interviews, his faith had always been there.” When speaking of the cross that John wore and that Bill Allmann wrote about in his story, Scott remembered how when John came home from the hospital after the first chemo treatment, each night Scott would wake up around three in the morning and look in on him. John was always lying backward on his bed, his grandfather’s gold cross in his hand, and was looking straight up at the ceiling. “That always bothered me,” said Scott. “He seemed he was in a world by himself, all alone.”

John’s good friend Taylor Dettore spoke to me about John’s faith. “He and I would talk about life and death,” she said. “I remember us always texting each other when one of us was more sick or struggling to keep it up and keep fighting. We would mention that we needed each other to get through this and that we were both going to make it through and be miracles. John and I were both so sure that we were going to make it. He and I would also get frustrated that we both lost our athletic ability. We missed playing sports so bad. John had mentioned to me that he was afraid of dying, as did I back to him. But then I would tell him my favorite Bible verse of all time: ‘Have no fear in bad news, your heart is steadfast trusting in the Lord’ (Ps. 112:7). He mentioned about leaving his family behind and that he had a responsibility to watch over his sister. He told me that I need to stay close with her and help her when needed. I felt like I was a part of his family, and I would do anything for them.”

When John wasn’t able to make it to school, Joe Signore (Gina’s boss and the director of the Beaver County Domestic Relations office) visited him on his lunch hour; often they would take drives around the area. As Joe related to me, those drives were very special to both him and John. “We didn’t have to talk about anything, and on most occasions, I could see he was content to look around at the sights, almost always in a reflecting mode. He’d ask a quick question and I gave a quick answer, and back we both went to just enjoying each other’s company. Thinking back, these little rides to nowhere carried quality time together. I had an Our Daily Bread pamphlet in my car (which is a pamphlet that gives a spiritual message each day of the month). John picked this up and read the day’s message one day. It was on courage. . . . I was able, by the grace of God, to answer some tough questions, answers that actually put a smile on his face. I remember laughing with him at this time as I made a few wisecracks that he ‘ain’t beating me to heaven. I get to go first.’ That more or less became an inside joke to us, and it led to him trusting in my faith (not taking away from the faith he or his family had at that time) and . . . feeling better about what he may put his family through in the future. I believe he simply needed reassurance. He had faith for sure, and he began to describe these rides as ‘church in the truck.’ ”

In May 2008, on one of their drives, John was more quiet than usual. When Joe asked what was wrong, John began to cry. “I’m losing this fight,” he said. They stopped along the river at Big Rock Park in New Brighton and sat on a bench, pulling themselves together with scripture, parables, and accomplishments.

Then John asked for two favors, Joe said: “Number one: at my funeral, please do something special for my family. They don’t deserve this.”

Joe told him it wasn’t fair to assume he was getting into heaven before he did, and John replied, “I’m going to win that race, Joe.”

Joe remembered, “He told me to please acknowledge their hardship with him and to ‘bring them up front of the church. I don’t care if there’s only ten people at my funeral . . . bring them up front!’ I asked, ‘Then what?’ And he said, ‘They probably won’t be able to talk, so that’s up to you!’ I told him, ‘Only if you bring my kids and wife up front at mine,’ and he said, ‘Deal.’

“Now I’m thinking if that’s number one, I’m afraid to ask about number two. But without a chance to ask, John said, ‘And for my second favor, pour a bottle of Corona on my grave on my twenty-first birthday. It always looks refreshing when you drink it.’ ”