Sam Michael Campanello

In the autumn of 1993, in the small English city of Doncaster, a nurse placed Sam in the waiting arms of his mother, Mary Jo Campanello, while all around her, the rest of the Campanello family celebrated. Shortly thereafter, they received the news that, due to complications during birth, Sam was different. Their beautiful boy had cerebral palsy. He would not walk. He would not talk. He would not grow up as other little boys.

The family did not care. They were determined to give him a wonderful life, and they did. Sam spent his early years adventuring all over England. There were day trips to Manchester City, road trips through Wales, and hikes into the Lake District. At the farm on which he lived, he was a favorite of the animals—the horses, sheep, and cows who received the boy’s gentle affections as readily as he gave them. But sometimes the things that are good in life must be forgone for those things that are best. In 2001, Sam and his family moved to America, where Sam discovered his one true passion: basketball.

He watched each game with an intensity that sometimes surpassed that of the players, and when night fell and there was not enough light to continue, Sam particularly cherished the moments when players would stop by his chair to say hi before his family wheeled him back into the van and took him home for a marathon viewing of his favorite cooking shows. The kitchen, like the basketball court, was a sacred space for Sam.

Growing up in a large Italian family, he spent countless hours watching the preparation of his favorite dishes and laughing at the loud banter and impromptu concerts that would ensue. He especially loved it when his siblings would swing him around in his chair to the latest hits and a few golden oldies. These, for Sam, were perfect days, and he had so many of them.

Do not assume, however, that because he would listen to anything, his taste was not discerning. Sam was known to protest a song played one too many times, insist on new board games, or request a different movie. These were invitations to surprise him. They were expressions of a personal philosophy: life, he believed, should never be boring because people are never boring. This is what all of his pastimes had in common: they let him watch people.

Take him to a baseball game or a movie theater, and he would crane his neck around to look, not at the spectacle in front of him, but at the people who had gathered to watch. And of course, he had his favorites. Sam loved his family more than anything in the world, and the fastest way to lighten his mood was to put them all in one place together. It didn’t so much matter what they were doing as long as they were with him.

People often speak of a person’s smile and how it lights up a room, but Sam’s was truly luminescent. There was no guile there, no cruelty, no pretense. It did not matter how bad your day was; getting one of Sam’s cheeky grins was enough to chase away the darkness. And the best part is, he had so many to give. Even now, the memory of his smile is enough to bring light and joy to those who knew him. People often told his family how lucky he was to have them, but they know that they were the lucky ones. Every day he taught them to be kinder, to be more patient, to choose joy, and delight in the simple things the way he did.

It is the strange wisdom of providence that those with the least always have the most to give; so it was with Sam.

He is preceded in death by his loving mother, Mary Jo Campanello. He is survived by his loving father, Lorenzo Salvatore Campanello, and devoted siblings Nina Elizabeth Lewkowski (Kevin), Nicole Michelle Campanello, Josiah Matthew Campanello, Joy Christine Love (Stephen), and Annabelle Stephanie Gebauer (David).

A memorial service will be held at Cashner Funeral Home in Conroe, Texas, on Saturday, February 1, 2025, at 10:00 A.M. A graveside service will follow in Garden Park Cemetery.