A Tampa Bay sports writer wrote his own obituary while dying of cancer in a hospice, with his moving goodbye now sweeping the internet.
David Alfonso, 73, who worked for 20 years at the Tampa Tribune, began thinking about writing his own obituary after being hospitalized in July as his body began shutting down following a 25 year battle with lymphomatic leukemia.
Armed with a yellow legal pad and a pen, Alfonso began writing down his life's story, occasionally taking breaks to watch ESPN and the Tokyo Olympics, The Tampa Times reported.
'Alfonso, David Alfred, a fine writer and mostly decent human, moved on August 6, 2021 at his and his wife's lovely abode on McKay Creek in Largo,' he wrote just days before dying.
'The end was a little rough, but, hey, no one gets out alive, nor always on their own terms. Still, he claimed one final assignment for himself, writing his obituary.'
David Alfonso, pictured with his two dogs, wrote his own obituary as he was dying of cancer
Alfonso enjoyed a long writing career, including 20 years of covering sports in the Tampa Tribune. Pictured, a clip from his early writing days at the Clearwater Sun
David Alfonso finished his own obituary days before he passing away
He joked that while he did not always make his deadlines, he was happy to have made this final one.
'I thought, 'That's my David,' Janice Alfonso, his wife, said after she read it. 'He's so frank. He has wit. It's David.'
Alfonso died on August 6, 2021, at his home in McKay Creek, in Largo, Florida.
In his obituary, Alfonso immediately paid tribute to his parents, Alfred and Grace Alfonso, a janitor and bank teller, respectively.
Alfonso said his parents worked hard to provide for him and helped him attend the University of Florida, where he studied philosophy.
While he joked about the need for such a degree, Alfonso later moved on to become a newspaper writer at the USF Oracle.
He later went on to write for the Clearwater Sun before settling at his hometown paper, the Tampa Tribune, where he fell into the world of sports reporting.
Alfonso, second from the left, covered a myriad of events while he was a sports reporter
At one point, he wrote a story on his own journey in a local triathlon, poking fun at himself
After retiring as a journalist, Alfonso enjoyed a decade of teaching at Plant High School
As he fell in love with covering college football games and the golden era of boxing in the 1980s, he met his future wife, Janice.
The couple married in 1986 and had two children together, Phil and Jenny.
He retired as a writer and began teaching algebra at his alma matter, Plant High School in 1998.
At the end of his life, he looked back fondly at everything but confessed that he still felt unsatisfied with how he died.
'Now it's time to say goodbye. A 25-year duel with chronic lymphocytic leukemia has come crashing down with a vengeance, and I do mean a vengeance. Once a two-time finisher at St. Anthony's Triathlon, I am bed-ridden and don't care for it a bit, even as the wonderful care of Hospice tries to take the edge off the inevitable,' Alfonso wrote.
'While I am invigorated by the act of writing (yes, even this), I know what follows and don't welcome it.'
His last words are advice left to the living, to enjoy a full breakfast, accompanied with a copy of the local morning newspaper.
'And remember: Kindness is free. Sprinkle that stuff everywhere.'
David Alfred Alfonso's moving self-penned obituary
David Alfonso, a fine writer and mostly decent human, moved on August 6, 2021 at his and his wife's lovely abode on McKay Creek in Largo.
He is survived by his mom, Grace; wife of 35 years, Janice, and the wonderful kids Phil and Jenny.
The end was a little rough, but, hey, no one gets out alive, nor always on their own terms. Still, he claimed one final assignment for himself, writing his obituary. And so, he will now change to the first person. I acknowledge that I didn't always make my deadlines, but, in grim retrospect, I apparently made this one.
I was born March 7, 1948, the only child of Grace Alfonso, a bank teller, and Alfred Alfonso, a janitor and life-long scrapper (15-3 as a pro) until his early demise at 63.
Their first home was a basement apartment where dad cleaned. Humility would always be in our make-up.
I rode my trike through the wooden hallways later in the day. Think a benevolent Danny in The Shining!
Al and Grace sacrificed mightily for me, always, so that I might inch ahead in life, 'make it,' if you will. And to a significant degree I did, although a determined, under-achiever side would interfere.
I was a Latino in South Tampa when such things still mattered, but I always held my head high. My educational and cultural pipeline was Mitchell, Wilson and Plant. A couple of highlights:
President of Wilson Junior High. Starting fullback on the '65 Plant Panthers' first playoff team. Member of Plant Hall of Fame (faculty-elected).
When it came to the ladies, I was a prodigious over-achiever, culminating with marriage to my Queen of Hearts, Janice Harwell.
The University of Florida was my destiny. But while I was interested in everything, I piddled through with a degree in philosophy. Really, philosophy. Not what you were expecting, right?
I worked as a 'housing counselor' and then, a couple of years later (it was the Watergate influence), I decided that maybe I could be a newspaper writer. And darned if it didn't happen.
From a volunteer at the USF Oracle to reporting gigs at the Clearwater Sun and my hometown paper The Tampa Tribune, I was a happy camper. It was the heyday of print, and I witnessed the best of Sports World.
I covered a ton of big-time college football games and had a front-row seat to the last golden era of boxing, the 1980s and Leonard, Hagler, Hearns, Duran. I saw the drama up close and mingled with THE best writers, of which I was occasionally genuinely included.
In the early 1980s I set aside my single-man ways and hooked up with single-mom Jan (we married in 1986) and her two youngsters. She was a first-grade teacher, as good as there ever was. Devoted doesn't begin to describe her.
I was 'Daddy Dave' to Phil and Jenny. They're great people -- sweet, kind and thoughtful – and will be fine.
When the bottom dropped out of my writing career, after a 20-year extremely enjoyable run, I somehow transitioned to an algebra teacher at my alma mater Plant High. I spent 10 years walking two blocks to work and teaching algebra to the utes. Teachers should be paid double.
I retired in 2008 and lived large in Largo. We lived on McKay Creek, a mile south of West Bay. If I'd had a kayak, knew how to kayak and liked to kayak, I could have been in the intracoastal and open Gulf in about 15 minutes. But since I didn't, I often sat on the backyard deck and drank in the spectacular view.
Now it's time to say goodbye. A 25-year duel with chronic lymphocytic leukemia has come crashing down with a vengeance, and I do mean a vengeance. Once a two-time finisher at St. Anthony's Triathlon, I am bed-ridden and don't care for it a bit, even as the wonderful care of Hospice tries to take the edge off the inevitable.
Funny how we get a taste for that Old-Time Religion when times get tough. I am saved by Christ, I do believe.
The pain-killers will wear off before long. While I am invigorated by the act of writing (yes, even this), I know what follows and don't welcome it. It was a great ride, with lots of laughs and tenderness.
In keeping with the tradition of obits, I ask you to make a donation to a worthy cause. They're everywhere. (Clearwater Audubon Society perhaps?)
Finally, buy a Sunday newspaper and enjoy it over a cheese omelette, crispy hash browns, thick bacon, fresh Florida OJ, and a large café con leche. And remember: Kindness is free. Sprinkle that stuff everywhere.