Jason Patrick Bombaci ... enjoyed gardening; at 38

ROCHESTER- Jason Patrick Bombaci, 38, died of cancer on November 28, 2020, at his home in Rochester. Beloved husband of Kassandra (Field) Bombaci, treasured brother of Sarah Bombaci and her partner Daniel Hyland of Farmington NH and Jessica Hasiotis and her husband Costa of Somersworth, Jason was the cherished son of Mary L. (Whalen) Bombaci and Peter J. Bombaci of Concord.

Born in Boston, Jason grew up in Salem, Mass. and Concord, N.H. Wherever Jason was, you would find life springing up around him. As a child growing up in Concord, he transformed whole sections of his parents' home into floor-to-ceiling terrariums, replete with every imaginable kind of reptile. Attending college at the University of New Hampshire he bred rare species of geckos while also overseeing huge indoor composting projects in his dorm.

After graduating he moved to Newmarket, where he constructed a large series of trellises in the backyard of his apartment, stringing them full of any and all manner of flora that he could get to vine. Later, at the home he shared with his wife, Kassie, he utilized every square inch of space in their backyard to put in garden beds, and with the help of his father, Peter, he built a chicken coop for his hens. There was even talk, at some point, of owning goats -- something some sensible party probably had to talk him out of. If Jason could do a thing, he would.

The desire to create and to encourage growth in all things, found equal expression in his painting. Jason was an exceptionally rare talent--the kind of artist who is not just born with a gift, but who has the wherewithal to improve on that gift through diligent study and constant practice. He worked hard, and worked constantly, at his craft.

​In 2007 he received his Bachelor's degree in Fine Arts cum laude from the University of New Hampshire, and in 2011 earned his Master's Degree in Fine Art from the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art in Philadelphia. Though his oil paintings covered many subjects over the years, landscapes--and the ocean in particular--were of primary concern to him. The sea loomed large in Jason's heart, and this relationship was reflected, over and over again, in his paintings. The play of light across the water in particular fascinated him. He enjoyed, among other things, the challenge of painting something that was always changing--of pinning a moving object to a still canvas.

He was never far from the ocean that he loved. After college he enjoyed working for several years on a lobster boat, and even after becoming an instructor of art at the University of New Hampshire, he settled with his wife in Rochester, a twenty minute drive from the ocean.

He never stopped painting or improving. The paintings he made in the last several years of his life were especially bright and wonderful. They were the paintings of an artist working in good earnest, and there ran through them a simple warm-heartedness that was often profound but never sentimental. They were honest, beautiful paintings.

​As serious as Jason was about his art, he was deeply unserious in other aspects of his life. His brand of humor was sarcastic, consistently irreverent, and unapologetically juvenile. His closest friends knew that you couldn't offend him with any kind of joke, and that, inversely, taking offense at any joke of his would be to miss the point entirely. A sense of humor, to Jason's way of thinking, was indispensable. A conversation with Jason could shift from a dissertation on obscure 15th century painting methods to the kind of humor that included crass jokes, wordplay, gallows humor--these were all in Jason's wheelhouse. He genuinely believed that there was almost nothing in life you couldn't find humor in, if you just looked hard enough--and he never lost that belief.

​He also never lost what was arguably one his most wonderful qualities: his warm and deeply charitable nature. Jason's family and friends understood the depth of his capacity for kindness and giving.

​In the tradition of his parents, and carried on also by his two sisters, Jason would never allow a guest in his home to leave empty-handed. You'd be sent home with something from his garden--a bag full of whatever was ripe. Maybe squash one time, maybe cherry tomatoes the next. And the same rules applied if he was a guest in your home: he would never show up empty-handed. A bag full of fresh-picked basil and a bottle of wine might greet you in the doorway. And--of course--a bear hug.

​You wouldn't have thought, maybe, looking at him quickly--standing tall and strong with a reddish beard and broad shoulders--that he could contain so much warmth, so much affection. But Jason was engaged and invested in the lives of those closest to him. He wanted to know how you were doing, what you were working on, what the "lay of the land" was, wherever you were. He wanted to know what you were thinking. He cared, and cared deeply.

​Jason was capable of great love. He loved his mother, Mary, and father, Peter, with all of his heart. He loved his two sisters, Jess and Sarah, with an equally powerful--and protective--love. He loved Sarah's Dan and his old college roommate, Costa, who later became his brother-in-law and in many ways his brother. He also loved his niece Olivia and nephew John. One of the great joys of Jason's life in his last year was getting a chance to read a bedtime story to Olivia, whom he absolutely adored. Jason cherished time with his extended family and always made them feel loved.

​And, of course, he loved his wife Kassie, in whom he'd finally met his partner and muse. He knew what he had found in her, and he knew how lucky he was to have found it. It was not lost on Jason--nor on any of those closest to him--that he had unquestionably found in Kassie true happiness and the love of his life.

The enormity of his presence is still with us, so that even in passing he has not left us empty-handed. If anything, he has left us almost too much--has left us an ocean's worth of memories and paintings and laughter. He would want us to remember, though, that it is not meant as a burden, however hard it may be to bear. It is a gift.