Eulogy

At the memorial service for my dad, I forgot to bring the eulogy that I’d written. I’d printed it up, carefully folded it and put it into my jacket pocket. Then decided not to wear my jacket to the church. I winged it — luckily I remembered some of what I’d written. So here it is, what I’d actually written. It’s a bit rambling — not my best writing by any stretch of the imagination — but I thought I’d share it anyway.

One of my favorite quotes is by Stephen Donaldson, in his Thomas Covenant series, when a character of his says, “Joy is in the ears that hear, not the mouth that speaks.” It is a burden — a responsibility — to speak to you about my dad. But for me, it is also something of a joy.

When I’ve talked with others about my dad, I’ve often been asked if my parents were divorced. They weren’t – they were happily married for 57 years. But I had a separate relationship with my dad. We did things together, just us, like driving down to Padre Island and camping on the beech, fixing up the old 1954 Ford pickup that he bought for me, or the summer I spent refinishing player pianos with him. Our relationship was apart from the relationship I had with my mom, and different than what we did together as a family. Those relationships helped me to see my parents as people, and enabled me to become more independent.

In many ways, my father didn’t treat me any differently than the boys while I was growing up – though you may get a different story from them. However, I learned how to wire a light switch, fix a car, and change my own oil. My dad and I didn’t do much plumbing, but I feel confident talking with plumbers about the work that I need done.

Then again – I feel confident about everything. When I remodeled my kitchen, I tiled the floor, as well as the counter tops and back splash. Dad always said I could do anything. And because he believed in me, I can. It was one of the marvelous gifts that he gave me, as well as to everyone he met who needed encouragement.

Dad loved with an open heart and open arms, collecting as many hugs as he could. He always operated from a place of generosity, not scarcity. Every day – every moment – was a gift to be savored.

In one of my favorite myths, Coyote meets a warrior on a spirit journey, and leads her to a den. A female coyote lays on her side, nursing two pups, while other pups play with the bones that are strewn all over the floor. Coyote turns to the warrior and says, “See? There it is. Life, death, and rebirth. What more do you need to know about change?”

And that’s what I see here, with my family. Life, lived big and strong, with so much love and encouragement. Death, the passing of my father and the older generation. And rebirth, with the little tiny babies and the other children who have recently joined us. What more could you possibly ask for?

Well – maybe some cake.