Before reading Jim Dwyer’s column remembering John Sullivan, an advocate for homeless who died of cancer, I had not heard of him. His story is not one of dramatic heroism or grand gestures, but of a life lived with personal struggles tempered with the heart to help others. I admire him for his courage to live a life that meant something to him, forsaking the “fine living that gave him lots of travel and a closet full of Brooks Brothers clothes.”
Mr. Sullivan left one scrap of paper, torn from a book on recovery, that his former wife and mother of his son found. It asked, “what if we were liberated from worrying about things that cannot be controlled? We’d be free to let go and enjoy life.”
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