'A gift from God'
Jeff Dent found good in disabling illness
By Damian Gessel
The Daily Item
March 08, 2007


Editor's note: Danville native Jeff Dent lived with ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's disease. While he was no longer able to speak leading up to his death, Mr. Dent communicated through e-mail. This is the final story in a three-part series.


DANVILLE — A light snow fell Wednesday afternoon as Jeff Dent's body was lowered into the ground.

The Rev. Brian E. Cope spoke the "Our Father" and nearly 100 people, surrounding Mr. Dent's flower-adorned casket in all directions and clad in heavy coats and gloves against the frigid air, bowed their heads on a high hill at St. Joseph Cemetery.

On March 4, at 39, Mr. Dent finally succumbed to ALS, the disease that years before had taken his ability to move, to speak and to live independently.

But it had never taken his spirit. That was evident, as dozens of people packed into the Roat-Kriner Funeral Home on Bloom Street for his funeral.

Every space in the parking lot was taken. Many people were double-parked.



They had all come to see off a man that, even without the use of his arms or legs, was able to touch so many.

"Jeff didn't let ALS define him," said the Rev. Cope during the service. "His life and love continued to go on. I'm not saying he didn't have places he stumbled over. I'm not saying he didn't have pain. But he had love. There's no reason to feel sorry for him."

Mr. Cope asked those in attendance not to be sad, instead urging them to celebrate Mr. Dent's life. But as Mr. Dent's own words were read out loud, written months in advance of his death, people began to weep openly.

In a letter, Mr. Dent addressed each of the mourners directly, as if he were alive and in the room.

"I've thought of ALS as a gift from God. It taught me to live every day to the fullest," he wrote. "I would not change a thing about my life, even though it was cut short. I want each and every one of you to know that I love you."

In the funeral home's front room, tacked to cork board, hung Mr. Dent's life: at least those moments of it captured by the flash of a camera.



In one photo he held his infant son against his bare chest. In another, he fished along the banks of a river. In a third he was in his 20s — a long-haired young man standing in front of an AC/DC poster. In still another, he grinned mischievously with both hands at the top of his head.

The images at once cut through the palpable sadness and elevated it; here was a life fully lived; a man fully loved; a father, son, brother and friend taken too soon.

For Mr. Dent, ALS was a double-edged sword. It confined him to a wheelchair and eventually cost him his life, but it gifted him with the deep knowledge of what was most important.

"I am honored that He chose me," he wrote. "I am looking forward to meeting all who went before me, and meeting up with you one day again.

"I will be watching. I will never forget any of you."

At one point during the service, the Rev. Cope asked those in attendance to close their eyes and picture Mr. Dent's smiling face.

And for a few seconds of unbroken silence, they did.



E-mail comments to dgessel@thedanvillenews.com.