(no subject)
George Quintal, age 69, formerly of Middleboro and Plymouth, died on Sept. 14, 2009 at his home in Stetson, Me. He was the beloved companion of Sylvia Camandona with whom he made his home. Mr. Quintal was born in Plymouth, MA on August 3, 1940, son of the late Antone and Philomena (Costa) Quintal. He was educated in the Plymouth School System. Mr. Quintal had worked for over 27 years as a truck driver for the L. Knife and Sons Company and then worked as a laborer doing railroad reconstruction. He moved to Maine eight years ago, where he was able to pursue his love of showing his Appaloosa Horses. Mr. Quintal's horses were nominated to participate in the World Show of Horses. He was a nature lover, and enjoyed life to the fullest. Besides leaving his loving companion, Sylvia Camandona of Stetson, ME, he was the loving father of George Henry Quintal of Cary, NC, Sean Quintal of TX, Sharon Quintal of New Bedford, MA, Jacqueline Quintal of Plymouth and the late Jean Marie Quintal. He was the cherished brother of Veronica Black of Plymouth and Joanne Quintal of Carver. He also leaves 11 grandchildren and several great-grandchildren. The funeral will take place on Friday morning at 10:00 a.m. at the Cartmell Funeral Home, 150 Court St., Pymouth. Friends may call at the Cartmell Funeral Home on Thursday from 4 to 7 p.m. Interment will be in the Plymouth County Cemetery, Plymouth. Donations in his memory may be made to the St. Jude's Children's Research , 332 N. Lauderdale, Memphis, TN 38105.For more information and memorial guestbook see; www.cartmellfuneralhome.com
loving father of Sean Quintal....
here's your proof that funerals are for the people left behind, and not the departed. see, most of the people reading this obituary dont want to be reminded that this "loving father" was basically the "boogie man" i lived in fear of finding me for 15 of the first 18 years of my life. a figment of my imagination, the only memories i have of which, are from pictures i saw years later, and stories passed around by the only people i talk to with knowledge on the subject. i talked to him once about 10 years ago, to more or less make him feel like i didnt hate him, and he never bothered to pick up where that call left off.
loving father...
part of me wants to go to the funeral. but it would just be to verify for myself that my biological father is dead, and let go of all the ideas i've carried around about resolving the past, but that's something i can do without going. my presence to everyone else that would be there would be kind of a slap in the face, and it's not like i can really say a single positive thing about the man. in fact, it's kind of difficult for me to not say a string of really horrible things about him. the only reason i dont? there's a book somewhere that says its a good idea to honor thy mother and thy father. the closest i can come to honoring the man that gave me life is to not go around and shit on a bunch of other people's good memories of him.
loving father of Sean Quintal....
here's your proof that funerals are for the people left behind, and not the departed. see, most of the people reading this obituary dont want to be reminded that this "loving father" was basically the "boogie man" i lived in fear of finding me for 15 of the first 18 years of my life. a figment of my imagination, the only memories i have of which, are from pictures i saw years later, and stories passed around by the only people i talk to with knowledge on the subject. i talked to him once about 10 years ago, to more or less make him feel like i didnt hate him, and he never bothered to pick up where that call left off.
loving father...
part of me wants to go to the funeral. but it would just be to verify for myself that my biological father is dead, and let go of all the ideas i've carried around about resolving the past, but that's something i can do without going. my presence to everyone else that would be there would be kind of a slap in the face, and it's not like i can really say a single positive thing about the man. in fact, it's kind of difficult for me to not say a string of really horrible things about him. the only reason i dont? there's a book somewhere that says its a good idea to honor thy mother and thy father. the closest i can come to honoring the man that gave me life is to not go around and shit on a bunch of other people's good memories of him.