Evan Spirito Memorial Foundation

Read by Dawn Baybutt

Evan’s Aunt & Godmother

By the edge of a wood, at the foot of a hill,
is a lush, green meadow where time stands still.
Where the friends of man and woman do run,
When their time on earth is over and done.
For here, between this world and the next,
is a place where each beloved creature finds rest.
On this golden land, they wait and they play,
till the Rainbow Bridge they cross over one day.
No more do they suffer, in pain or in sadness,
for here they are whole, their lives filled with gladness.
Their limbs are restored, their health renewed,
their bodies have healed, with strength imbued.
They romp through the grass, without even a care,
until one day they start, and sniff at the air.
All ears prick forward, eyes dart front and back,
then all of a sudden, one breaks from the pack.
For just at that instant, their eyes have met;
Together again, both person and pet.
So they run to each other, these friends from long past,
The time of their parting is over at last.
The sadness they felt while they were apart,
has turned into joy once more in each heart.
They embrace with a love that will last forever,
and then, side-by-side,
they cross over…together.

November 5, 2011

Grace Church, Providence, RI

Could all of Evans teammates please join us on the stairs.

Good morning, I am Adam Tracy; I had the very special opportunity to share the captaincy of the football and lacrosse teams with Evan at Moses Brown. We skated on the same line.

For those of us who were close to Evan from the Moses Brown, Gordon, and Providence community, we are deeply saddened by the means that we come together again on this beautiful Saturday morning. From the period of middle school and high school we celebrate and remember the life of our loved, respected and incredibly talented friend, Evan. Evans booming character extended well beyond the mountain peaks that he would eventually conquer out west. Throughout all of his athletic endeavors, his calm and serious attitude and his ability to maintain composure was an ideal combination that would bring success to any team. Evan was a teammate who led by example. Without ever complaining or directing attention to himself, he would listen to directions, perform them with perfection, and then extended himself above what he was asked to do. Evans quiet and humble approach to every sport he played made it easy for coaches to direct their focus to talkers and the adolescent disruptions that needed attention. Small talk in the locker room would sometimes lead to wondering if Evan had even been at practice, however come game time, everyone knew who number seven was. On the football field his sticky hands and lightning speed were unstoppable, in the rink he never backed away from digging the puck out of the corner, and on the lacrosse field he was a textbook example of a two way midfielder, his clears were simply beautiful. The number of game changing and winning plays that Evan was a part of is far too extensive to count. We will always remember these outstanding performances through the 12 seasons of MB. However, it is his gentle attention, dedication and purpose about the task at hand that we admire, learned from, and now, will take with us forever without ever forgetting the companion and true friend who taught us all, in any situation, how to lead by example.

November 5, 2011

Grace Church, Providence, RI

I don’t know most of you and for that I am legitimately sorry. My name is Jesse Strauss, and I had the good fortune to live with Evan senior year in a house we called “The Wolf Den” for no other reason besides it was cool. And it was.

I would like to start with a quote from Kurt Vonnegut if that’s ok with you.

“It is just an illusion here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone, it is gone forever.”

This illusion we all share is both a great truth and a great tragedy. That we can watch moments, an infinite number of them in fact, go by without acknowledging how special each one is.

We all shared moments like these with Evan: moments that we did not recognize as the irreplaceable and invaluable things they were as they were happening. Powder days at Vail, Dark and Stormy’s on the beach, the simpler pleasure of grilling on our back porch watching my dog Ella and Evan and Anne’s beloved Brady play in the yard.

Too often by the time we try to reach out and touch these moments, they’ve already joined that great clump of beads at one end of the string commonly referred to as “The Past.”

But Evan had the power to cut through this illusion, and it didn’t take much. No ski pass or beach or piece of steak was necessary. No context was required at all, just the man himself.

When my father was diagnosed with his own serious illness eighteen months ago, it was all I could do to not stop and scream. Tragedy upon tragedy, it was almost too much to bear. Almost too much.

Without my friends it certainly would have been. It was always Evan who asked how my dad was doing and, what’s more, how I was handling it. Was I Ok? This wasn’t just a formality or some idle conversation, Evan really cared and not just about my dad, but about ME.

Take a moment to think of how insane that is.

I would answer as best I could, stammer out a few “It’s rough dude”s or some other non-response that made it clear that I just didn’t know what to say. His selflessness floored me each and every time he asked. That Evan could find time in his day, despite everything that he was dealing with, to look after my emotional wellbeing says it all. He had every reason in the world to avoid the topic, but he would look me in the eye and say “How are you doing?”

These moments cut that illusion for me. These moments are NOT gone forever. Consider when we would toss a ball straight up in the air for the dogs to fight over. At a glance the ball goes up and down in one fluid motion. But in truth there is a moment when the ball has gone as high as it can and is about to start heading back down. But it hasn’t. There is a moment when it isn’t going up and isn’t going down. It is just floating there. To truly see that would be nothing short of miraculous. That is the power of the present. And Evan could show me that with “How are you doing?”

Think back on your own moments with Evan and see them as I do. Not as the past, never to be repeated, but as timeless instants, each its own miracle, you will with you forever and always.

November 5, 2011

Grace Church, Providence, RI

“When you part from your friend, you grieve not; for that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain. And let there be no purpose in friendship [but] the deepening of the spirit” —Kahlil Gibran

Evan was my best friend. I shed tears of sorrow the day I got the message that he was sick, and my heart has wept since. But today my tears of sorrow and pain have dried; the tears I weep today are tears of love.

I met Evan when he came to Gordon school in 6th grade. We had the same homeroom and were the only boys- we immediately became friends. There was something about him that just made him cool; when everyone else was trying to act grown up and wear clothes like upper classman, Evan just wore a white t shirt and jeans to school. He was just cool, and everyone liked him- he immediately became the most popular kid in our class. Throughout middle school, it was Terry Joe, Evan and Ben, we would sleep over at Terry’s and play Grand Theft Auto and watch wrestling till the sun came up- Terry had the best wrestling movies.

When I came to Moses Brown for high school I knew that Evan would be there with me. For Evan, he was reunited with Liam, and he became one of my best friends as well. Terry and Joe came with us to Moses brown but we had no idea that we would meet the best friends we could ever imagine- Hillary, Johnny, Tom, Conal, Nate, John, Mike, and Prahbat- all became our brothers.

There are the moments our friends will always remembers about Evan- the night after Roses in the Snow, 50 yard line meetings after winning football games, Senior Prank and more. But the moments I’ll remember most are the one that you almost forget-the nights Evan and I would just listen to Westly Willis songs, or watch a football game, a movie, or just play video games in his basement. Those are the moments in time I will hold closest to me.

People might remember Evan as quiet, but he was anything but. He might have said the least, but he commanded the most attention. He let his actions speak.

He was more than a friend, he was a brother. He was my brother-

I could tell Evan anything and he would listen.

We did everything together, I truly looked up to him.

In his life he gave me so much, his laugh and smile, his humor which was completely original, the way he made everything look easy, and above all he was someone I could always rely on.

In his death he is leaving me with one final gift.

In his death, Evan’s gift to me has been his life, with deep pain I accept his gift. It is the final gift we leave with the ones who loved us most. This gift is not mine alone but a gift to all of us, the gift to have lived.

Everyday I will hold his gift in my heart, and cherish his life. He was my best friend, my brother, and I will always love him.

November 5, 2011

Grace Church, Providence, RI

We first knew Spirito as a football player at CC. The problem was, the football and lacrosse teams, historically, didn’t get along. Evan quickly made it apparent that he would be the one to bridge that gap. His commitment to the grid-iron barred him from participating in our fall practices. This left us unsure of the impact he would have on the field, but of his importance to our locker room, there was never any doubt.

This was fully confirmed on the 22 hour bus ride from Colorado Springs to San Diego, the spring of our freshman year. Due to the fact we only stopped once, it made it impossible not to quickly become much closer with your teammates. Within only a few hours on that bus with Evan, it felt like we had been friends for years. Unfortunately, before we even got the chance to play our first game of the trip, Evan tore his ACL during one of our practices. Evan had every right to be down. But, as we all know, Evan was not one to let anything get in his way. Although, his playing season was over, his injury didn’t prevent him from becoming a cornerstone of our team.

He further exemplified this team first attitude the next season when, at 2am, in a McDonald’s parking lot next to our hotel in Granville, Ohio, it wasn’t until after the first of 60 sprints that we realized Evan was running in his timberlands. He never complained, finished the sprints and was the only one in our class not to unleash a string of four letter words.

The Spring after his diagnosis, it was made clear, on another trip to Ohio, that although we missed his daily presence, his contributions to the team were not solely determined by his performance on the field. We were set to play Kenyon and had not been able to see Evan since the end of fall semester. That day, we were lucky to enough to have Evan make a surprise visit to our game. When he walked in to our locker room prior to the game, the feeling that took over the team was incredible, we were whole again. The courage that he had exhibited, the constant selflessness, it had inspired us all to work harder and to be better. That day his presence led to a team playing more inspired than any I have ever been apart of. There was no question, that day we were going to win, no one had any doubt. That’s the effect Evan had on his teammates. He inspired the people around him to be their best, bringing those around him, up to his level.

We were fortunate enough to live with Evan our senior year. And although we shared him with Anne, his rock and the love of his life, his heart was more than big enough to go around. We will never forget his quick wit, his kindness, and his courage. We love you Evan.

November 5, 2011

Grace Church, Providence, RI

Some of you may recall what the Wizard says to the Tin Man at the end of the Wizard of Oz that is so very real to so many of us here today: “Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable”. Our hearts are broken because we lost someone who had such a kind heart, the kind of heart the Tin Man was seeking so desperately.

There are many wonderful things that have been said about Evan on Care Pages and Facebook including : an inspiration, courageous, gentle , respected and loved by so many, one of the kindest people I have ever known. But very few know much about Evan’s last 2 years and 10 months because he tried to live his life as normally as possible and not take on the identity of a cancer patient. But for those who did have a chance to observe him during this time, you couldn’t help but see that his heart was untouched by his diagnosis and how much grace and courage he displayed in coping with a terrible disease.

When I emailed his doctor in Colorado to tell him that Evan had died, he replied, “Evan was one of those remarkable young men that really made an impression on everyone he met here”. His doctor in Boston, Alice Shaw, emailed me this : “Evan was so special to me and to everyone who knew him. He was such a trooper to put up with everything. I cannot tell you how deeply disappointed I am that we weren’t able to get him more time”.

There were some clues before his diagnosis that Evan had the skills, grace and fortitude to cope with cancer. There were the fingertip catches in crucial situations at MB. And there was the first play of the first game of the season as a freshman at Colorado College when he caught the opening kickoff over his shoulder in the end zone and much to the chagrin of myself, his uncle, and his cousin, who were screaming take a knee, take a knee, he returned the ball to the 50 yard line.

But how one copes with the unimaginable is the true test.

Evan was diagnosed with Stage 4 non small cell lung cancer on January 9th, 2009. Despite the dire diagnosis, his plan right from the start was to only miss one semester of school and return to Colorado College in the fall. Susan and I wanted this for him too because we knew that Anne would be there to love and take care of him in our absence. And despite long odds, he and Anne did return to CC in the fall of 2009. There were 5 houses in a row off campus filled with friends and he was so excited to be back on his own and living in one of them. Most of these friends are here today.

He was also excited about playing lacrosse so he worked out with the lacrosse team to prepare for the spring season even though every third week he was too tired from chemo to run or weightlift. Eventually he realized that he wouldn’t be able to play that spring because of his ongoing treatment. But he did do go to class those many weeks he was tired and graduated last December, only one semester behind his classmates.

Shortly after Evan was diagnosed, we were in the car together and he asked me, “What does it mean to beat cancer?” Here is the answer:

If you can’t play lacrosse, you ski. But you don’t just ski, you ski 32 days despite getting chemo every third week. And then after graduation, you become a ski instructor. Safe to say there aren’t too many ski instructors who have lung cancer but then again Evan rarely told anyone at work or at school that he had cancer.

How else do you beat cancer?

Even though you start to cough a little and everyone knows this is not good, you tell your parents that as long as you feel good enough to ski then you won’t worry about your cancer. And with your parents visiting on a night when you get 18 inches of powder, and even though it is obvious you are trying to suppress your cough for their benefit, you say let’s catch the 7am Vail bus so we can ski fresh tracks.

By early March Evan’s coughing was getting worse, he was more and more tired, and we had decided that he would return home for more treatment. But he wanted to stay in Vail until the end of the month because good friends were coming to Vail to ski the first week in March and his cousins were coming the third week. That’s how you beat cancer.

After coming home from Vail at the end of March, Evan was hospitalized with a pulmonary embolism. Shortly after he left the hospital he had 3 weeks of whole brain irradiation for metastases, but often drove to Boston himself for these treatments. He started on a new experimental drug but it made him so sick that he lost 30 pounds before we all finally agreed that he couldn’t continue on the trial. So how do you rise above cancer under these circumstances? You endure countless procedures, get poked and prodded , and say thank you after the doctor is done. You have pain that requires narcotics, frequent coughing, and trouble catching your breath when you eat, but when someone asks how you are doing, your answer is, “Doing well, thank you”.

At the end of July , Evan started another new experimental trial, his third, and Evan began to feel better and started talking about the future. One day last August I came home and Evan had brought his golf clubs up from the basement because he wanted to go to the driving range. He wanted to get some practice in the hope that he would be able to play with the Fallons at Point Judith in a few weeks when he was stronger. And also even though he was one of only a handful of people in the world on this new experimental drug, so no one knew how long it would work, Evan said he wanted to find an unpaid internship in finance, preferably with specialists in green technologies. But 3 weeks after that he was hospitalized with a life threatening staph infection.

And in the end you beat cancer by maintaining your dignity.

One week ago yesterday, Evan and I discussed the possibility of postponing the chemotherapy treatment due last Monday. Evan was sitting in a chair in his room and told me he just didn’t think he could do another round of chemo but that he didn’t want to let down his family and all the people who had done so much for him. When I started to cry, he stroked my arm and said everything would be all right. Later Evan told Anne that he felt love from people near and far and that he wasn’t scared because he knew their dog Brady, who died over the winter after being hit by a car, would be his guardian angel.

During one of his last hospitalizations, a priest came by to see Evan but he was asleep so I spoke to the priest for a few minutes. After I told him a little bit about Evan including the fact that he had recently lived in Vail , I said what I wanted for Evan was for him not to fear death and to have a vision and belief that he was going to a better place. The last thing I expected to hear from Reverend Mahoney was his comment to me that, “skiing fresh tracks in the back bowls of Vail is as a good a vision of heaven as I can imagine”.

Last March, a few weeks before Evan came back East, he purchased a video camera for his ski helmet. He put a few of these videos on You Tube. In one he is skiing alone. It is a beautiful day and you see the terrain rushing by as he skis through glades and bowls. Sometimes the tips of his skis, and occasionally his shadow can be seen. When you watch the video you are struck by its grace as Evan carves turns down wide powder filled bowls and courage as he skis full speed between narrowly spaced trees in the back bowl glades at Vail, something he loved to do.

So today as we sit here and mourn the loss of a beautiful and kind son, boyfriend, grandson, nephew, cousin and friend, I am comforted by the image of Evan, with his unbreakable heart, skiing the back bowls of heaven with his dogs, Brady and Gus , happily running along on either side of him, tails and tongues wagging. It’s a beautiful day as he gracefully carves first tracks and then courageously skis full tilt straight through narrow glades filled with deep powder. And someday those who love him will be by his side as he guides us down through the untouched powder, smiling his beautiful smile.