- November 18, 2024
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I’ve changed my perspective of God/Jesus over the years. First, He was vengeful. One cuss word, and I’m going to hell.
Rick Doolin wrote those words during the final few weeks of his life. Confined to hospice care in his P-section home, Doolin, a popular professor of sciences at Daytona State College, drafted his own eulogy on the backlit screen of a smartphone. He died early Sunday morning of pericardial mesothelioma, a rare form of cancer. He was 43.
Hundreds of friends, family and former students gathered at Palm Coast Community Church Tuesday night for a superhero-themed life celebration. The service sprinkled in clips from the (2009) Star Trek movie, one of Doolin’s favorite franchises. Will Wight, son of pastor Billy Wight, fondly remembers catching the flick with Doolin at a Jacksonville IMAX theater on opening night. When it came to the scene where Spock asks his dad why he married a human, receiving the reply “marrying your mother was logical,” Wight jokingly recalled, “Rick leaned over and said, ‘That’s what I told Stacey when I proposed to her.’”
Doolin leaves behind his wife Stacey and sons Jesse, 10, and Noah, 7. The couple attended a marriage accountability group at PC3 for the last several years.
“Rick was a guy who would break the rules, and I was a rule follower,” Stacey Doolin said. “He taught me how to have a lot of fun, and I appreciate that. Because now, these boys will be able to know that and just grow up the way a man should — having a good time and breaking some rules.”
Then, I thought God indifferent. Not caring about the physical suffering, just the spiritual growth.
While Rick Doolin’s final lecture is in the books, he’ll continue to teach science. Doolin elected to donate his body to the Anatomical Board of Florida, where it’ll help shape the next generation of doctors and scientists. After that, he’ll be cremated and his ashes scattered over the Gulf of Mexico.
At DSC, Doolin taught Biology and Anatomy and Physiology. He’d ascended to the top of his field — earning a doctorate — but those who knew him say you wouldn’t get a hint of his lofty credentials from attending a lecture or sitting in on a class. Rick kept his content relatable and entertaining.
“He knew how to get the lesson through to us, through the family,” said Diana Johns, who was a student of Doolin’s starting in 2009. “I remember on the final he would ask questions referring to Speed Racer (a cartoon) — and that was the correct answer on a final exam.”
Doolin wasn’t purely a bookworm, either. Friends noted his penchant for vintage cars and his prowess as a bodybuilder.
“I remember Rick being back in the children’s rooms at the church, and he’d have his arms out, and the kids would hang off his arms,” Crayton McBride, a family friend, said. “It was the coolest thing for the kids to have this statue of a man be so kind, just because he loves them.”
The turnout for Tuesday’s celebration was touching for Stacey Doolin, but not terribly unexpected. It was more like a reunion with the swirling sea of faces that’s supported her clan for a while now.
“I appreciate it a lot, however I have to say — Rick’s been sick for a long, long time, and students and friends and strangers have been with us on this walk for over a year now,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet people, but these connections are not surprises to us. We’ve been living this life together for two years. It’s a nice time to meet them face-to-face, but I’m thankful they all got to meet each other.”
Now, I have an image of me and Jesus, sitting on a bench. We’re both kind of beat up and hunched over. I say ‘this sucks,’ and He says “yup.’ And we just sit together as old, tired friends.
Jesse Doolin stuck by his mother’s hip as the first few well-wishers in a line wrapping around the hall paid their condolences. He both sought and offered comfort, alternating between rubbing Stacey Doolin’s back and resting his head on her side, eyes closed. After a time, Jesse mixed in with a bunch of the younger children.
The brown-haired boy wearing the blue Avengers T-shirt played, roughhoused and smiled. Whenever someone approached him, he kept his grin and said, “I love you guys.”
Doolin requested that one song in particular be played at his service. He dedicated “The Words I Would Say,” by the Sidewalk Prophets, to Jesse and Noah. Among the song’s lyrics is the line, “You’re gonna do great things, I already know.”
The Wights spoke candidly with Doolin about his impending death during church men’s group sessions. Once, Doolin walked out on a session and drove away without saying a word; he didn’t want all the conversation to center around him, Billy Wight said. When he returned, the pastor chastised him.
“People need to hear your story,” Wight recalled saying. “They need to hear what you’re feeling.”
For the 43 years Doolin spent on earth, his friends and his students, his wife and his children felt loved.
“Look, when you have your needs meet by your parents and your God, you never run out of the ability to take care of other people,” Stacey Doolin said. “That’s just the way it is. (Our kids) just get that, even though this sucks.”
