I Was Picked

by Howard Shapiro

  John made his final public appearance on August 2. Karen Roman and the rest of the council members of Conway Borough invited John to be a special guest at the Conway Community Day celebration; they made him the honorary mayor for the day. John looked frail as he walked slowly with Debbie Rose, a council member. Conway Borough laid out the red carpet for him. WPXI, a TV station in Pittsburgh, came down to interview John about his role as mayor. He had had two or three snow cones in a row and had trouble talking. “I had to laugh,” said Scott. “The station worked with him until he got the feeling back in his tongue.”

  According to Scott, John wasn’t going to speak that afternoon, so he had Lexie pinch hit for him. Mayor Trombetta handed the microphone to her, and she read John’s speech. As she went to give the microphone back to the mayor, John grabbed it and said, “Technically, I am the mayor today. So have fun, don’t break anything, and don’t cause any trouble. Just have a good day.”

  Scott said that everyone had a great laugh. “It was a good day.”

  The following week he spoke with his friend Adam Rose one final time. “I was at football camp for Geneva College, and John had left me a voice mail message,” Adam recalled. “I called him back at night, and he said to me, ‘It’s not good. I’m not doing good.’ Still, we talked about football, hunting, and fishing. I had been on vacation down in Myrtle Beach and John had been there the previous summer, so he asked me a lot of questions about what I ate when I was there, what restaurants I went to. He loved food right to the end.”

  That same week, John had lunch with Shawn Lehocky. It was what happened at lunch that spoke to John’s true character and spirit. Shawn usually stopped over to see John twice a week, and this particular day John was craving a steak sandwich. They ordered food from the local bar and started eating at his kitchen table. Halfway through lunch he asked Gina for a red Solo cup, and they continued their conversation. “Little did I know that the whole time he was unable to keep his food down and would throw up every few minutes,” said Shawn. “He didn’t make a noise or a face, and it wasn’t until after I was finished eating that he informed me of what was going on. This speaks to John’s true character—he did not want to interrupt our meal or stop our conversation, even though it was making him ill.”

  Scott recalled John’s last few days. On Tuesday, August 12, 2008, John was frail but able to walk. He had a doctor’s appointment at Children’s Hospital, so Gina, John, and Scott parked in the garage. John got out of the car and walked in all right, but the nurses put him on a gurney when they reached the examination room. “I’ll never forget the male nurse taking John’s blood pressure and pulse, and he said it was 120 over 80 or something like that. He said his pulse was 70. . . . His pulse was never 70. John called him on it, and the nurse said, ‘No, you’re good,’ ” recalled Scott.

  John made Scott get family friend Lisa Land to ask someone else to take care of him and take all of his vitals. He knew his pulse was never perfect. Lisa made a call and another nurse showed up to take it again. John had been right. The pulse was just where John said it was supposed to be at: 90. It was always 90. “I know it sounds petty,” said Scott. “But to John—if his chart said one thing and his pulse was really something else, this is just another example that he knew what was going on in his body.”

  After the blood pressure and pulse ordeal, John was lying on the gurney, and out of nowhere he called Gina over. He said, “Mom, tell Dad to put the oil can away that was in the corner of the room.” Scott asked him what he was talking about, but Scott knew it was the beginning of the end; he had read that hallucinations were the start of the final chapter of life.

  John had his appointment in the afternoon and had walked into that appointment on his own. But by the time they left, he had to be taken out of the hospital in a wheelchair. It was night and day in just a matter of hours.

  When John came home, the family knew it would not be long. He had no body fat. All they could see was bone, the bone around his eye sockets and jawline. “I never thought it would be like this,” said Scott. “He was so weak.”

  John was a big fanatic about brushing his teeth. He brushed his teeth for five minutes twice a day. The Thursday before he died, he was so tired and weak that he couldn’t hold the toothbrush in his mouth. Gina held the toothbrush for him, and John moved his head back and forth to brush. “It was so sad, but comical at the same time, because he was so determined to brush his teeth that day,” recalled Scott.

  From that day forward, John faded in and out of sleeping. On the last Saturday of John’s life, August 16, 2008, he woke up hungry for something refreshing, so Gina stepped out to buy him a root beer float. Other than the teaspoon of applesauce he had that evening with his pill, this would be John’s last meal.

  That day, John’s friends came to the house. They sat in the living room with him and just talked. “You could see the sadness in their eyes. When they said good-bye, they hugged him. Some families don’t want people around when this happens to them, but it made me feel good to see his friends there. We know it made John feel good,” said Gina.

  The Monday before John passed, he was having trouble taking his pills. The only pain medication he was getting was from a pain pump that Trudy from hospice had hooked up to him.

  Scott recalled John was out in a deep sleep Sunday and Monday. “I thought he was comatose, and I remember going in his room. I sat next to him. I grabbed his hand. I remember telling him it was time to go be with his Pappy Tiberio in heaven, and that I would take care of his mom and Lexie. I swore to him that I wouldn’t start drinking or smoking again. John had that fear after he got sick that I would start again. I quit smoking in 1986 and I quit drinking in 1996. Well, I went on for ten minutes more or less telling him he could die, and all of a sudden he opened his eyes and he said, ‘No!’ Then he shut his eyes and went back to sleep.”

  The night of August 17-18 was one of the hardest. Gina had been sleeping on John’s bedroom floor for the last two weeks. At nine o’clock in the evening, she sat on a chair in his room and watched TV until midnight, when she decided to get some sleep. She slept for about two hours before waking up. She needed to talk to John. She knew he didn’t have much time left. She held his hand and put her mouth really close to his ear so he could hear her better. “I told him I loved him and that I was proud of him. I told him I was glad to be his mother and that he was a wonderful son,” Gina said.

  Tears were coming down my face as she recalled this. “I told him God was coming for him, and he needed to go with him [so] that he wouldn’t be in pain anymore. I told him his dad, Lexie, and I would be okay, and someday we would see him again. About this time his eyes would open, and I just closed his eyelids. I felt his mouth was probably dry by now. . . . I had a bottle of water, so I took the cap off of it and filled it. . . . I put it in his mouth, and he swallowed it. I filled the cap up five more times, and he swallowed it. I said some prayers and asked God to be with all of us. I’m not sure how I did this, but being his mother, I knew I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I know I didn’t move until about seven in the morning.”

  Gina’s sister Joanna stayed Monday night going into Tuesday. Gina slept on the floor in John’s room again that night, and Joanna joined her at around seven in the morning. “Because I’m very hard of hearing, I had John’s walkie-talkies we used for hunting—one for John’s room and one in our bedroom. I could be there faster if Gina needed me for any reason,” said Scott. “John wouldn’t ever use a bedpan or anything. . . . If we had to drag him to the bathroom, that’s what we had to do. . . . He would crawl if he had to.

  “It was exactly seven in the morning, and my walkie-talkie went off. I went running into John’s room . . . Gina asked me, ‘What’s wrong?’ I said, ‘The walkie-talkie went off, and I came running.’ I turned around and looked at John. John never spoke, [but] his eyes were open, and I said, ‘Are you in pain, buddy?’ and he blinked his eyes. So I went over and pushed his pain pump and he gave me a li
ttle smile. I told him I loved him, and he squeezed my hand. That walkie-talkie was clear across the room. . . . How did it go off? That was the first time I saw John’s eyes open in two days, except when he opened and closed them when he yelled no about going to be with his Pappy. He didn’t do it, just one of the many weird things that happened.”

  Gina remembered how as the morning went on, his chest would go up, then go down. She would wait for his chest to go up again—then all of a sudden, it would. “We just knew today was the day. John was holding on for something. Coach Wetzel [hadn’t] been around for a week or so. I knew this was real tough on him, but I had Scott call him and he told him we needed him to come over. Something was holding John on. I didn’t know if John was waiting for Steve to come back to see him before he gave in.”

  Trudy, the hospice nurse, came over about ten-thirty to check on John. She rinsed John’s mouth out with a little green sponge on a stick, doing everything she could to make him comfortable. She was certain it would be today. Before she left, she sang “Amazing Grace” to him.

  “I realize how hard it would be to do that kind of work. It takes a special person, and Trudy was special,” recalled Gina.

  Three more people came over that morning and afternoon: Jackie Knopp, a friend of John’s, and Joe Signore and Steve Wetzel. Steve showed up around eleven in the morning and stayed for an hour. “I know it was hard on him. I could see it in his eyes,” said Gina. Jackie showed up a little bit after, and Joe came at twelve-thirty.

  Shortly afterward, Gina took a shower and Scott put a rack of ribs on the grill. Right then, Joe got Scott and told him John had passed. “I was just starting to dry my hair when Scott knocked on the door,” recalled Gina. “I really didn’t want to open the door because I just knew why he was knocking. I opened the door, and Scott said John was gone. I went straight to his room. It was so sad. I think at that moment I became numb, and part of my heart went with John forever. John passed at 1:40 p.m.”

  On Tuesday, August 19, John’s two-year battle with cancer finally ended.

  Joe Signore recalled his feelings and memories of that day. “Perhaps my only bittersweet story about John was on August 19, 2008 . . . the day he had won his race. I had not seen John for a couple days and certainly had no intention of seeing him this day. It was an extremely busy day at work, and at lunchtime I just wanted to go home and make a tomato salad for myself. Afterward, knowing that I had [an] . . . appointment, I got in my car and headed back to the office. To this day, I do not know how, when, or why I drove past the right-hand turn to Beaver that I have made for eight years [at that time], but I ended up in the Challis driveway,” he recalled.

  “It was now a quarter to one or so, and I figured I might as well say hi to John since I’m [there]. Selfishly, I remember almost pulling away due to time constraints. I walked into the home and Gina was quite thankful to see me. She asked if I would mind sitting with John while she took a shower. No problem. I went into John’s room and saw him lying on his bed, asleep. Every bone in his chest was visible, and it appeared he was struggling to breathe. I held his hand, and in his ear I whispered that if he could hear me, squeeze my hand. He gently tightened it. Despite his current physical shape, as I sat there I was convinced that I was watching a true warrior, a modern-day hero, a champion, a true child of God—a man among boys. It was a moment for me to reflect on the accomplishments this soldier had made in the past two years. The people he met and touched; the trips he made; the example by which he led; the opportunities he took to spread his message and touch the world. A simple man lying in a simple bed in a simple house in the simple town of Freedom, Pennsylvania, and how much could be accomplished through simple love. That was John. Not perfect, not a god, not an attention seeker, not egotistical or self-centered. Just John from Freedom, Pennsylvania.”

  Joe continued, “It was maybe ten minutes later that John took his last breath, with his mother still in the shower. God gave him much favor with his last breath, as even though I was watching him and holding his hand, I never saw it. It was the peace that surpassed all understanding. It was like the coming of spring.”

  PART 12

  A LIFE TOO SHORT: THOUGHTS FROM SCOTT AND GINA UPON JOHN’S PASSING

  After John passed, Gina instructed Scott to call her mom and the funeral director. Scott also texted Mike White from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. About a month before he passed, John had asked Mike to do his obituary.

  “I was trying to stay calm, but when your eighteen-year-old son dies it seems that your world came to an end,” said Gina. “I knew I had to keep it together for Lexie. One of the hardest things that I had to deal with was when they came and got John to take him to the funeral home. Mark Noll, the funeral director, came to the house.”

  Larry Hodnick was the brother-in-law of one of John’s best friends, Dallas Betz. Larry came with Mark to pick up John’s body. John used to play with Larry’s kids, Andrew and Abby, when he went to Dallas’s house. “John loved Larry’s kids, so having Larry there was a good feeling for us that John was in good hands,” recalled Gina. “They let John stay in his bed for a couple of hours after he passed, so that his grandmother could come to the house to see him. Jackie and Jody sat with John for about half an hour. I look back today, and I think John just needed to see Steve, Jody, Jackie, and Joe one last time.”

  John’s grandmother and Lexie went into Lexie’s room while everyone else went out onto the pool deck. Larry and Mark carried John out in their arms, wrapped in a blanket. Scott held the door for them.

  “I felt trumpets should have been playing when he went by me,” said Gina. “I don’t think Larry ever knew how Scott and I appreciated the care he gave John. It was like something John would have planned, to have Larry there. As parents it was a sense of comfort. I stood up and said, ‘Bye, my son.’ ”

  The next couple of hours were like a blur; the news traveled fast. Less than an hour later, they had cases of water, cakes, and roasters of food of all types. Gina got out a notebook to try to keep track of everything. There was so much.

  Scott called Steve Wetzel to ask if he could take care of all the media at the school and at the funeral home. There were three Pittsburgh TV trucks down the street from their house, waiting for a statement. “Gina didn’t want me to say anything to them, but I explained to her that the media was very good to John and that I thought we owed it to them. They were always so kind to John and my family,” said Scott. “So I brought them up one at a time for a short three-minute interview on our front porch. They seemed very grateful of the time I gave them.

  “Steve went up and told J. C. Summers, the head football coach of Freedom High School . . . by that time the media had already started to file in. Steve did a great job. A lot of people didn’t understand that I asked Steve to talk to the media on behalf of the family. John would have been so proud of him.”

  The Challises belonged to Saint Felix Catholic Parish in Freedom. But the church held a couple hundred people, and for the funeral they needed something bigger. Mark Noll reached out to Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Church in Beaver, which let them use their church. Instead of having one day for the wake, they went two days, knowing the number of people who would show up.

  The casket was beautiful. In each corner of the outside edge was a brass baseball glove figurine. Scott and Gina bought extras to give to each of John’s friends who were pallbearers.

  John had already picked out his clothes a month before. He had been sitting on the front porch, wrapped up in a blanket, when he called Scott out. “Dad, I have to talk to you,” John had said. “Don’t mess this up, but I’m going to tell you what I want to wear when I’m gone. I want to wear my white Freedom football jersey with my letterman’s jacket.” He didn’t want to wear a shirt and tie.

  In addition, John had already picked Joe Signore to read his eulogy and Mike White to write his obituary.

  Around five in the afternoon, Scott received a phone call from a local businessman, w
ho insisted he and his partner pick up the cost of the funeral. Scott was in shock. He thanked them, but could not take the offer; this was something he needed to do.

  People continued to come forward with kindness. At John’s viewing at Noll Funeral Home in Beaver on August 21 and 22, around 1,500 people came through the line, many waiting in a line that stretched through the home and out onto the sidewalk. At the viewings, cards were available that had John’s picture, and they read, “Life ain’t about how many breaths you take, it’s what you do with those breaths.”

  Hundreds attended the funeral at Saints Peter and Paul Catholic Church in Beaver on Saturday, August 23. Among those in attendance were Pittsburgh Pirates president Frank Coonelly, ESPN’s Tom Rinaldi, and ESPN producer Danny Arruda. Several other TV personalities showed up as well.

  Gina recalled the first time she saw John at the funeral home. “My heart stopped for a minute or two. I knew what John had on was the right choice. He looked so calm and peaceful, not in any more pain. Mark did such a good job on John. His face was full, no bony look; he looked like he did before he was sick.

  “It’s hard to describe what the next couple of days felt like. At times it felt like we were going through the motions, feeling numb some of the time. I just couldn’t get over the amount of flowers, blankets, and wind chimes that were sent. We even received flowers from Mario Lemieux and the Pittsburgh Penguins, New York Yankees star Alex Rodriguez, and the Pittsburgh Pirates. . . . What can be said to all the people who showed up to pay their last respects? We saw school busses pull up to the curb and . . . high school athletes from other schools showed up. There were hundreds who walked up to us and said, ‘You don’t know me, but I followed your son’s story.’ People from as far away as Washington, DC, New York City, Kentucky, and West Virginia who showed up just amazed us. One man we never met came through the line who just buried his daughter on the 19th, the day John died. I remember saying, maybe they will meet in heaven.