The Eugoogly

This is the eulogy I wrote for Dad's funeral. I'm really happy with the way it turned out. I was in no shape for public speaking, so my friend Jen read it for me.

My dad has only been gone for a week, but I know that I speak for both my mother and I when I say that I cannot believe how much we already miss him. Dad has been sick for most of my life, and we knew that his death was coming, but his loss has touched us in a deep and profound way. It may sound cliché, but I honestly feel as though something inside me has died. I feel as though a clock inside me has stopped, and that I am lost without it’s constant, gentle ticking.

          I wish that more of you had gotten a chance to know my father. As he got sicker he became more and more uncomfortable around anyone other than my mother and me. The lung diseases that ultimately took his life made it difficult for him to walk, to hold conversations, or to go outside.

          However, I think that his sickness really brought out one of his most admirable traits: his fighting spirit. In our house we called him The Juggernaut because of his incredible will to live and his forceful personality. If Daddy wanted it done, it was going to happen. Time and time again he defied the doctor’s predictions on how long he was going to live, and what types of activities he would be able to do with the time that he had left. Dad fought to stay as self-sufficient as possible right up to the end of his life. He only retired when he was literally unable to walk the distance from the parking lot to his desk anymore. When he went to the hospital for the last time the ICU nurses told us that he would die at any moment; instead, he defied the odds and lived a full two months so that he could see my last day of nursing school.

          Dad also had an unexpected sweet side. He loved children and babies, and he was thrilled when I was born. My parents were married 11 years before I was conceived, and Dad was so happy to finally have a daughter. My dad had wanted a girl, but I’ve always joked that I was my father’s only son. We spent a lot of time doing the kind of things that guys do together: woodworking, playing Nintendo, watching Sci-Fi, and talking about American history and current events. I’ll always treasure memories of weekends spent riding around in his F-150 and picking up supplies at Home Depot while we blasted Metallica and AC/DC. These memories may not sound all that tender, but I think it means a lot that Dad always took the time to explain things to me, even if I was a little too young to grasp them. I was probably the only 7 year old in my school who understood the importance of a good dovetail joint, or how to slide a door off its hinges. 

          When I think back on our time together, it makes me wish I had been able to spend time with my father back when he was still young and healthy. Dad was a submariner in the Navy, and he was a real wild card. He was a natural athlete, and had been the President of his high school class. He and my mom married young, when Dad was 25, and mom was 20. They had so many adventures together in the years before I was born, cruising the country in my dad’s candy-apple red GTO and staying out all night at clubs. They loved to go dancing and to go to parties, the way all young couples do. My dad played anything with a ball, and he was always in a baseball league.

          I love looking at pictures of him from those times, especially to see what kind of a get-up my dad was wearing. In those pictures he usually has a mischievous sparkle in his eye, and he’s usually wearing an incredible leisure suit. Dad cared a lot about his appearance, and always had a comb in his pockets despite not having very much hair to work with. I don’t think he ever saw a plaid he didn’t like, but he spent most of his time at home wearing t-shirts that supported his beloved Philadelphia teams. Dad was born and raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia, and he was a die-hard fan of the Eagles, the Phillies, and his beloved Penn State. It didn’t matter that the Eagles never won a Superbowl; he was a devoted fan who kept the faith with a steadfast belief that maybe this time it would be their year.

          My dad served as a sailor, and then an instructor for the Navy, for over 21 years, and he retired as a E-8 Senior Chief when I was 2. During their 21 years of service, my parents were stationed in Connecticut, Washington State, California, Maine, Virginia Beach, and South Carolina. Even though I my dad wasn’t active duty while I was growing up, we definitely still lived in a military household. I was raised to always be on time, to dress appropriately, and to do the things that needed to be done weather or not you personally wanted to. I was also raised to love and respect our country, the country that my father loved and fought to protect. He treasured our country, and we always had a copy of the Declaration of Independence hanging in our home.     I’ll never forget an important moment we had at Disney World this time last year, when my father was already gravely ill. He spent the trip in a wheelchair, bundled in sweaters, coats, and blankets, and was too weak to put on his own shoes in the morning. One night we were in the Main Street section of the Magic Kingdom, and dusk was starting to fall. A choir began to sing our national anthem, and my father took off his hat, rose out of his chair, and put his hand over his heart to salute the flag. He stood for the entire song, and practically fell back into his wheelchair when it was completed. To anyone around us it may have just looked like an old man showing his respects, but we knew what a colossal effort those actions took. He was saluting the country that had given him so much, and the men and women who had sacrificed their lives to protect it. It was one of the most moving moments of my life.      

          Over the last week it’s been difficult to believe that dad is really gone. My mom and I constantly see little things that remind us of him: a TV special on outer space, a new action movie being released, or his favorite candies at the store. I feel like he is on a business trip, and will be home soon, but I know it’s not true. It feels almost impossible that I won’t go home and see him sitting in his favorite chair, watching CNN and fussing about the state of the economy. My mom and I are still failing miserably at cooking for only two, and whenever my phone rings it’s still a shock to realize that it isn’t him, and that it won’t be ever again.

          My father was not a religious man, but I hope that wherever he is he has found peace, and rest, and comfort. I hope that he has a new, strong body, and the he is finally able to take full, deep breaths again. I hope that he is somehow able to do the things that he always wanted to do, but that was too sick to do by the time he retired. I hope he has steady hands and good eyes so that he can and create beautiful woodwork and lay out intricate model train sets that go on for miles. I hope that he can dance again, and that he can walk through fields and forests the way he always wanted to. I hope he gets to meet his heroes like Tolkien and Walt Disney, and the he finally finds that special hidden entrance to Disney World that he absolutely believed existed. Lastly, I hope that he can still hear us so that we can keep telling him how much we miss him, and how much we love him, and how much we hope that, one day, we will be able to see him again.