Joseph L. Murray

We mourn the passing of Joseph whose life, though not fully recorded here, held meaning, connection, and moments that touched others in ways we may never fully know. Even without the details that usually fill these pages, we honor the truth that every life leaves an imprint — in memories shared, in kindness given, and in the quiet ways a person shapes the world around them.  To those who knew and loved Joseph, may their absence be softened by the recollection of better days, and may their legacy live on in the hearts they leave behind.  Please leave condolences below.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, 

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, 

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum 

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead 

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

 Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

 Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West, 

My working week and my Sunday rest, 

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; 

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; 

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; 

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; 

For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

W H Auden