Eulogy for my Father

Lynae, Mark, Sharon and I, along with our entire family, would like to express our gratitude for all of you being here today and to all those who have reached out to us over the previous week.  Although we may not have directly responded to all the messages, I can assure you that every note, phone call, voice mail and comment has been deeply treasured and has provided a significant boost at this difficult time.

My dad was the greatest person I have ever known.  In accordance with his humility, he would have scoffed at such a notion, but, to me, and I believe many others, he represented the best of humanity. 

As most of you know, dad fought for a long time against a number of health issues and bad breaks.  It’s not my intention to be morbid, but I want to mention a few of his major challenges to demonstrate how much he was able to overcome over his 70 years.  When he was 11, not only was he diagnosed with diabetes, his own father died at the age of 51.   He overcame these early obstacles to graduate from college, obtain a good job and start a family.  However, two months before I was born in 1972, dad’s mother died when he was 23.  In his early 30s, he experienced kidney failure and had to undergo dialysis until he received his first kidney transplant in 1984.  This kidney lasted a blessed 14 years before he had to go back on dialysis prior to receiving a second kidney transplant, along with a pancreas, in 1998.  He had a traumatic brain injury after falling on the ice in early 2010, and in late 2010, the love of his life and the companion that had stood by him through so many trials, my mother, passed away.  Two years later he was diagnosed with heart disease and had to undergo open heart surgery.  His second transplanted kidney failed in 2016 and he was back on dialysis for the past two years.  I confess it is hard for me to remember all the challenges that dad has faced over the years, and any accounting of them is necessarily an abridged list.  Because he never complained and did not like to ask for help, I’m sure there were many incidents of which I am not even aware.  However, lest I give the impression that he was always unlucky, I will remind you that he once sunk two hole-in-ones in the same summer over there at Green Acres.  Indeed, he never saw himself as unlucky.  To the contrary, he cultivated an attitude of gratitude toward what he perceived as his incommensurate share of miracles and the various health professionals, colleagues, friends and family that he counted as blessings.

Over the past couple of years, to the amazement of all of us, dad was working hard to get placed back onto the transplant list.  When the doctors gave him reasons why he would not be a good candidate, he asked what he could do about it, addressed them and kept moving forward.  No matter the challenge, dad had a way of simply moving ahead.  He didn’t complain.  He didn’t feel sorry for himself.  If toughness is measured in the amount of trials one must endure, dad must be counted among the toughest of men.

He once drove home from work with a shattered arm that he had broken after a fall on the ice.

In 2012, on a drive to Kansas City to visit us for Christmas, he badly cut his leg while stopped for lunch about an hour into the trip.  The paramedics were called and wanted to admit him to the hospital, but he refused because he didn’t want to mess up our Christmas plans.  That evening at the E.R. in Kansas City, he was unable to receive anesthetic because of the damage to his skin, and I watched him sit there stoic as ever as his leg was stapled shut.  I remember thinking to myself that my dad may not have been able to win a fistfight, but this is the toughest man I have ever seen.

In the immortal words of no less an authority than Rocky Balboa, “it’s not about how hard you can hit, but about how hard you get hit and keep moving forward.  How much you can take, and keep moving forward.”

Dad was always on a relentless pursuit of improvement, no matter the endeavor.  From golf to fly-fishing to hunting to personal health care to spiritual growth, he was always trying to learn, and always trying to teach.  When I was a teenager in love with baseball, he would wake me up at 5:30 in the morning every day so that he could throw batting practice and hit fly balls to me before going to work.  He loved to hunt and fish with his nephews, his brothers, his friends and me.  One of his favorite places in the world was a little hunting cabin named The Idle Hour that his father had helped build in the mountains of Western Pennsylvania outside of a little town called Tionesta.  Of the countless things my mom loved about my dad, The Idle Hour was not toward the top of the list, and I’m not sure Lynae is crazy about it either.  But, because he loved it, I loved it.  One of my fondest memories is fly-fishing with him in the meandering tributaries of the Allegheny River.        

Dad treated Lynae and I’s friends as part of the family.  As my friend Todd said last week, he never judged and he would do anything for you.  Believe me, my friends and I did not always make it easy for him not to judge us harshly.  But, dad seemed to have a perspective that enabled him to be patient with my missteps.  I think he commanded a respect simply by the way he lived his life.  I’m so grateful to my good friends, as well as my cousins, who have told me, not only in recent days, but countless times, how much my dad has meant to them over the years.  He left a positive impression on so many lives. 

The greatest joy in his life were his grandkids, Dominic, Ben, Reegyn and Grayson.  He loved to give them golfing tips and rides on the golf cart.  He enjoyed taking them to the annual Climax fishing tournament.  He liked to watch movies and TV shows with them, anything from Snakehead Terror to The Waltons.  For many years, he wanted the entire family to watch Where the Red Fern Grows, one of his favorites.  A couple of years ago we finally sat down and watched it as a family.  Although it may not have been everyone’s favorite movie, it was a great experience simply being with him and watching him enjoy himself so much.  I loved to watch joy on my dad’s face, and no other experiences provided that quite as often as simply being with his family.   

Over the past few years, I am grateful that dad was able to continue living on his own.  He adjusted well to his new routine once he re-started dialysis.  I think he even looked forward to going to dialysis on occasion, where he had made good friends with the wonderful staff and other patients.  His mood was good over the past year, and when he came to Kansas City just this past Thanksgiving, he looked and felt better than he had in a long time.  He was full of life as we enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner and games with Sharon’s family.  This final Thanksgiving was truly a gift. 

Dad’s last week in the hospital was the hardest week of my life.  Though I’m certain in time that I will come to see this opportunity to spend the final week of his life with him as the blessing that it is, it was very difficult to see my father so vulnerable.  Hospitals are not an easy place to maintain dignity.  However, over the course of the week, I came to realize that dignity is of no importance at the end of one’s life.  Integrity is what counts, and my dad was full of integrity to the end.  The nurses were constantly charmed by my dad who kept thanking them for doing things like giving him shots and taking his vital signs in the middle of the night.  He was cracking jokes intermittently throughout the week, talking about future fishing trips and plans with the grandkids.  He was even complaining about the Steelers dysfunctional season to the very end.

Over the past week, as I’ve tried to sort through artifacts and scattered papers in the house, I’ve come to ask, out of all the traits that dad could have passed on, why did disorganization have to be the one I so clearly inherited.  But, every once in a while, I’ll come across a picture, or a note, or some other reminder of how special my dad was, and I’ve come to see this as more of a treasure hunt than a chore, and I’ll be sad when the task is complete. 

There is a profound sadness in my heart.  There are so many things I want to say.  So many stories I want to share.  So many stories I want to listen to others tell me.  Again, I want to thank everyone for being here.  I am so proud of my dad and the way he lived his life.  I thank God that I was blessed with such a man as my father.  I am heartbroken, but I find peace in the knowledge that he has been reunited with my mom.  We will all miss him dearly, but we will feel his presence when we hear the call of a wild turkey, see a brook trout rise to the surface of a mountain stream or listen to the drop of a golf ball into the cup, and we will see him live on through the smiles of his grandkids and everyone else who was blessed to know him.  Thank you.