This month, we had not one, but two memorials to attend. Not just to “attend,” but to participate in because they celebrated the lives of such significant and beloved humans. My age, which is not so advanced at 54, allows an ever-increasing number of these losses. Which makes perfect sense, of course, but that doesn’t make a single thing about letting go of people you love easier. Tim and Elaine. As far as I know, mostly unbeknownst to each other, even though we all know we’ve got a Kevin Bacon thing going on with almost everyone. Tim passed away just three days before Elaine, so this first post will be about him.

It was ten years ago this month that we lost Hap, my dad, a loss that I have written about numerous times, but what strikes me now on the upcoming big milestone anniversary of his death is the memory of what Tim said. A lot of people said a lot of stuff; the fact that something stuck means something.

Tim, my mother-in-law’s baby brother, exclaimed to me about my dad, “Now he sees! And is SEEN!” with a huge smile on his face. He made me realize how exciting and welcome my dad’s passing really was, viewed through the lens of our shared beliefs and considering the demolishing dementia that was his end to this life on earth.

Tim was quintessentially Irish, with a constant sparkle in his eye (sometimes a devious one) and a wry humor. He was an unbelievably interesting and eloquent extemporaneous speaker and teacher, and I’ve had conversations with him about everything from recorder music to granola. He loved to read and to share or gift books. He was incredibly intelligent, but also innocent as a wide-eyed child about some of the pursuits of our modern world. His thoughts were so profound, his insights so remarkable, yet he still had the best sense of humor. One that ran the spectrum between a Kindergartener and the most highbrow imaginable. He met a Pope. He put a spoonful of his hot coffee on his vanilla ice cream. He never flew without a sport coat, even if it was paired with his ancient wide-wale corduroys. Even so, he looked scholarly with his haircut and fashionable glasses. He didn’t understand the need for hummus (we disagreed on that, as we did on his high regard for Dave Matthews’ music) but he liked Fritos, when I saved him any. Just last January, he and the usual annual Flamingo Open foursome golfed their 36 holes a day, despite what was already raging inside Tim’s physical body and his age, 75.

It seems ridiculous to even note his age, because he didn’t even seem to be much over 60 at best. He was clever and fun, a humble and self-effacing jokester. A complete gentleman at heart, on the golf course or at the dinner table. He knew so many important and even esoteric things, yet was always truly curious about what the person next to him was into. He loved his hometown, but even more so the place that became his hometown as an adult. He probably wasn’t the perfect brother to his two sisters, although I think if you asked them that today they would say that he was. He had lifelong friendships, and the most sacred of those with his beloved bestie Ray, who delivered just the right remarks at his Memorial. It’s not very long, and while it’s available you can check it out here: (fast forward to 1:49:00) https://livestream.com/accounts/18862485/events/5598269/videos/236828741

Maybe he wasn’t perfect. I’ve seen Tim with a cigarette, and with a Scotch. I may have even heard him utter a profanity. He (barely) tolerated the chatter of our granddaughter or the spinning and barking of the family pets. Most would rarely detect any of that underlying impatience or annoyance though, even as he blessed babies and pets from the altar.

Yes, from the altar. I guess I didn’t mention that Tim decided as a grown man to become a Catholic priest. I’ve known countless priests–Catholic school since Kindergarten, first job was at the rectory, my grandmother was our parish cook and housekeeper–and yet even the most talented and kind of them could not translate the love of Jesus to other humans like Tim Horan could. I want to print and bottle and share almost everything he ever said. During the early pandemic, when Mass was an online-only event, my mom, Dolores, got into the habit of watching Fr. Tim broadcast from Holy Trinity Parish in Webster, New York. What an unexpected Covid silver lining, that we spent even more “time” with him than we would have otherwise. Time ended up being too short. We want more, more laughs, more words and wisdom, more golf. More of those fancy Christmas ornaments he used to give us, and more eyerolls. It is an impossible task to attempt to do him justice in words. I can’t even think of Tim’s face without it bringing me a smile, as I almost never saw him without one. I can only imagine his delight now; he sees, and is seen!

Fr. Timothy Horan; 75; former Holy Trinity pastor