Memorial Day: December 22

Five years ago, I lost my dad to colorectal cancer. I've remembered his passing each year, with a story about how caroling at the nursing home reminded me of his last days, how I missed the moment of his death, and by talking about how his dying so close to Christmas affected me.

This year, I've decided to pull out the eulogy I read at his memorial service that occurred a few days after Christmas 2004. When I wrote it, I had three additional houseguests, was still cleaning up wrapping paper, and had a three-month-old newborn along with a 1 and 3 year old. It isn't the most eloquent thing I've ever written, but I think he would've approved.

If someone didn't know our dad and just dropped in to look at his belongings and observe his life, they'd see they'd found a man with a strong inclination for neatness, detail and order.

From his incredibly detailed filing system, to the blueprints he created for his annual garden, to his workbench with a spot for every tool, pencil and rope, to his lawn---a perfect green patch of loveliness. When I was younger, I'd mow his lawn in crazy corkscrew and checkerboard patterns just to drive him crazy.

As my brother-in-law once said with great fondness, "people think your sister gets her extreme neatness from your mom; but while your mom is neat, your dad is nuts."

Our dad was also very intelligent. . .he could play a mean game of Trivial Pursuit. . .but I believe he used his intelligence not as a way to set him apart from other people, but as a way to connect to others. He loved to talk to people--all kinds of people--and he knew something about so many topics, he could almost always find a subject in common with the person to whom he was speaking. If you've ever had a long conversation with him and then wondered, "I didn't know Ed knew anything about XYZ", you know what I mean.

He was also a man of simple pleasures: a nice canoe paddle around the pond, a good piece of meat off the grill, an evening watching TV with his Fluffy cat on his lap, spending time with his grandchildren, tending to his garden, patiently teaching his sons-in-law how to do a home project. But again, he liked nothing more than sitting down with you and talking about whatever topic came to mind.

But, this is just part of the picture of my dad. He was also a guy with a great sense of humor who loved jokes and goofiness. His favorite movies were Airplane, Young Frankenstein and This Is Spinal Tap. When I lived at home, I could hear his laughter carrying down the hallway as he watched Saturday Night Live or some other late night show.

When the Connecticut River flooded our neighborhood and he was stuck behind to keep the pump going in the basement, he took my sister's Barbie sailboat and used it to hold his beer. We had a "Don't Tell Mom" agreement between us which was invoked when he purchased a large piece of electronics or when I had another alcohol-infused mishap. Every summer, he'd blow up giant dragon floats for the pond and affectionately named them Cecil and Puff, supposedly to amuse the kids, but we knew better.

And, he's the only dad I ever knew who'd hear his girls scream "TURN DOWN THAT STEREO!" when we walked into the house. He liked his music LOUD!

It is in this spirit that I'd like to read a short passage from a song that I think he'd appreciate. There were many times, even in his final weeks, that we saw his sense of humor, his strength of character, his optimism and love of life shining through:

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best

And. . . . . .always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life

(from Monty Python's Life of Brian)

Still missing you like crazy Daddy.