A Celebration of Rick's life was held on Friday, November 11 in Holy Spirit Catholic Church,
5455 50th Avenue N.W., Rochester MN. Thank you to all who made it such a beautiful time of deep appreciation.
Read here the two eulogies that bear witness to Rick's astonishing capacity for depthful friendship, delivered by his lifelong friends, Doug McGill and Chris Gomez.
Read here about Rick's contributions to civic life in the Rochester Post Bulletin's, "Lives They Lived" feature, "Remembering a Generous Life," published on Nov. 17.
Read here about Rick's contributions to civic life in the Rochester Post Bulletin's, "Lives They Lived" feature, "Remembering a Generous Life," published on Nov. 17.
Rick Plunkett enrolled himself in home hospice care the week of September 12, 2016 after his doctor told him, "Your cancer is getting smarter."
Too smart for current medical knowledge, alas.
Amid the cozy, congenial chaos of his northeast Rochester home, Rick lived his last days in hospice surrounded by family and love. He died in their infinite embrace on the afternoon of November 2, 2016. He was 61 years old.
His wife of 28 years, Carol Christenson, their three adult children, Kate, Alex and Luke, his sisters Pat from Hawaii and Pam from Alaska, were ever present. His days were further deepened by visits from sister Mo, conversations with father Richard Sr., and the full lyrical flow of extended family, friends, colleagues, fellow sojourners.
So many joined Rick on his path. All felt blessed to walk with him--in dignity, grace, humor and blazing purpose--until he turned off, to make his own journey to life's end.
All plans were in place. Rick was ready for something. He had unusual energy on October 31, Halloween, noting with characteristic impish wit while contemplating his Halloween costume aloud: "I'm going to go as a pre-ghost." Rick lived his final purpose that day, working with otherworldly focus and tenacity until he resolved all. Everything that mattered most, might trouble others. Done and done.
He was waiting for only one thing: a sunny day for photographs to be taken of his beloved childhood home, Windamere Woods. Today is that day. Look up, laugh and embrace the moment.
Look up, at the sky, in wonder and gratitude for the light Rick brings to this world. Always.
Still.
More.
More sky, more sky!
Read Rick's obituary published in the Rochester Post-Bulletin and Minneapolis Star Tribune here.
The blue sky we share The Plunkett family on one its many memorable active vacations in the mountains, above. From left: Rick, Kate, Alex, Carol and Luke. Rick and Carol described on their 2014 liver transplant Web site documenting the gratitude they feel for his liver transplant—from the remarkable liver donor, to the phenomenal surgeons, to the many family members and friends who kept long vigils of prayers and poems and hoping hearts. From all this, they are filled with a sense of living in blessed abundance. They wrote then, and feel still: "...the bird song I hear is the same bird song we all hear. My blue sky is our blue sky. The life-nurturing sunshine and gentle rain fall on us all. Friendship is a blessing for each of us. In the most important respects, are we not all blessed in a similar way?"
The blue sky we share The Plunkett family on one its many memorable active vacations in the mountains, above. From left: Rick, Kate, Alex, Carol and Luke. Rick and Carol described on their 2014 liver transplant Web site documenting the gratitude they feel for his liver transplant—from the remarkable liver donor, to the phenomenal surgeons, to the many family members and friends who kept long vigils of prayers and poems and hoping hearts. From all this, they are filled with a sense of living in blessed abundance. They wrote then, and feel still: "...the bird song I hear is the same bird song we all hear. My blue sky is our blue sky. The life-nurturing sunshine and gentle rain fall on us all. Friendship is a blessing for each of us. In the most important respects, are we not all blessed in a similar way?"
Seeking wisdom
“Wisdom is out there. And hey, if I am wisdom -- as you all are telling me I am -- then I am out there, too. Tap in, " Rick told his family (photo left), gathered in his hospice room in their Rochester home, at the close of a lovely, lively, sprawling conversation Friday, Sept. 16, 2016.
At turns spirited, reflective, teary and bursting with belly laughs, the conversation closed with this from Rick, cocking his head stiffly, straining to see over his shoulder to look out the window: "I’d like to go outside, actually."
