May 6, 2015
My ‘old man’, as he insisted I call him, had been dying for almost ten years now. You would have thought this eulogy would have been written and rewritten and rewritten, but I never started it until last night.
He outlived the doctor who told him he wouldn’t see the end of 2014.
He outlived one of the largest recorded abdominal aneurysms.
And unfortunately, in his own mind, he outlived his usefulness. Once he realized that he would be confined to bed, he said, ‘Fuck it. That’s it. I’m done.’ And in less than two weeks, he was gone. And that’s how he wanted it.
I think it was about five or six years ago that I really pushed to get him to move in with my family and me downriver. I wanted to spend more time on a daily basis with him while he was still able to get out and do things. He teetered back and forth for a spell, but then decided that he couldn’t give up and move out. He lived in a run town trailer park in Mt. Clemens, drove an old Chrysler, hit certain spots for breakfast, but mostly stayed at home with his cat. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to move.
What I didn’t realize then was what he couldn’t give up on.
He couldn’t give up on his long and valuable friendships with his two neighbors, Ray and Bill, who have been to me, over the years, a great source of comfort whenever I couldn’t reach my dad and feared the worse. Thank you for that.
He couldn’t give up on his church family and all the friendships and desserts that resulted from that relationship. I’m especially looking forward to those peanut butter cookies after the service!
He couldn’t give up his independence, no matter that the doctor “suggested” he stop driving five years ago. He said, “It’s okay. I stay in the right lane and go real slow.” Then we all cringed as we watched him turn left out of Ravis (Travis?) one morning after breakfast and the entire road just about had to come to a stop for him.
Yes, he was rough around the edges, gruff and feisty, missing some teeth, and not concerned about wearing spot-free clothes, but once you made your way past that barrier, you were rewarded with the real gold that was inside. He would do just about anything for you, but only if he liked you.
I remember one specific event in my life many years ago that changed my outlook of him. He had been divorced for a number of years, and the 30th anniversary dinner at St. John Hospital was coming up. He didn’t want to go alone. I was a young hippie then, partying and thinking parents were a drag. But I felt bad that he didn’t have a date so I agreed to go. I can’t even remember if it was the standard rubber chicken dinner routine or something more fancy, but what I do remember is this: when they finally announced my dad’s name to come up for his years of service award, he rose and headed to the stage in his tuxedo to a standing ovation. I was amazed. It was a very long ovation, and it turned out to be the only one that night.
When my dad came back to the table and saw the look of amazement on my face, he said, “You didn’t know your old man was so popular, did you?”
It was that moment that made me wake up and take the time to get to know the guy beneath the gruff. I haven’t regretted it since.