Today's post got me thinking about my dad. Thought I would share the eulogy I wrote and delivered at his funeral. A greater man I have never known. There are so many days I want to talk to him or know his comfort. I know he is in my heart. I talk to him all the time and although it's impossible I know he still guides me. In some strange, ethereal way, he still fathers me.
Saint Augustine said, "No eulogy is due to him who simply does his duty and nothing more." Though my father lived simply, he certainly did far more than just his duty.
When I began thinking about what I wanted to say about my dad, I gradually came to the realization that his life was a repetitive process of building something from very little.
He was born to Hungarian immigrants who came to this country to build upon the foundation they had as a family. My father's mother died when he was young and the entire family pulled together to make ends meet. Even at the tender age of 9, my dad went out to pick beans to help earn money to contribute to the family. Though this was not unusual in the era he grew up in, it began his lifelong commitment to getting a job done. He was not a procrastinator and when something needed to be fixed or taken care of it was done immediately. I am sure all of our husbands are very thankful that this set the precedent for our expectations from the men in our lives. I believe no matter how hard they work they will never catch up with what we believed our father capable of.
This commitment to duty and selflessness continued when his country called upon him to serve in the Second World War. He and his two brothers, Mike and Stephen, enlisted and served until honorably discharged. Our father was a radioman in the air force and saw much of Europe while fighting in the war. He looked upon every opportunity he had as a learning experience and though he did not have a long formal education his vast knowledge was evident to anyone who ever had the good fortune to have a conversation with him.
I believe my father's most altruistic act was when he married our mother. I'm not sure what kind of man meets a woman with seven children and doesn't run but our father was him. Again, he took a fragmented unit that our mother was struggling to keep together and built upon that foundation. He became our rock and the person we could run our problems by first. He possessed a certain calmness and rational thinking that was helpful before presenting the problems to mom. I think we can all agree she wasn't always as understanding.
Our father loved to cook and host family holidays and get-togethers with friends. His cooking was a process of taking little bits of nothing and combining them into something substantial and wonderful. Though putting a meal together seems the most mundane of chores, he created recipes and traditions that we all use and will pass down to our own children. Being all together was the real benefit of his wonderful meals.
He spent 37 years as a longshoreman where he took a simple job and made it a career. He was admired and respected by the men and women he worked with. He was never judgmental or pretentious and his co-workers respected him because he earned it not because he was owed it.
Anyone who knew our father will attest to his passion for golf. Though he did not even take up the game until around his 50th birthday, it was his joy. I'm not sure whether all of the time and effort he devoted to the game ever paid off though. Every time he got home from the course mom would ask, "How'd ya hit 'em?" The response was always , "Meza, Meza--half good, half bad."
This half-good, half-bad philosophy held true for other aspects of my father's life. Along with the good times our father faced cancer not once but twice in his lifetime. He did not wallow in self-pity or look upon it as a death sentence. He calmly found out what he needed to do and proceeded to do it. He was courageous at a time when most fall apart. He faced adversity with resolve and continued on with life. It was this kind of attitude which made our father's life so full and worthwhile. It was knowing that in the big scheme of things, when God needed him he would go and until then he would squeeze the most out of every day.
Hermann Broch said, "No one's death comes to pass without making some impression, and those close to to the deceased inherit part of the liberated soul and become richer in their humaneness."
That's us. We, each one of us, have a responsibility. A responsibility to live our lives as our father did. There was something unique and special about our father that made people want to be around him. That was a gift. A gift we can all possess, by living our lives more simply, non-judgmentally, more humbly. By living the way God wants us to live-striving to always be kinder, more patient, more understanding and humane.
Some people leave this world with a lot of fanfare and pomp. Our father left the way he lived; with a quiet dignity and an acceptance of the inevitable but he left behind his wisdom, his strength and his goodness in each person who was lucky enough to know him.
I leave you with these words by Henry Van Dyke.
I am standing upon the seashore
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts
For the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength
I stand and watch her until at length
She hangs like a speck of white cloud
Just where the sea and sky come
To mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says;
"There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull
And spar as she was when she left my side
And she is just as able to bear her
Load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone
At my side says, "There, she is gone!"
There are other eyes watching her coming
And other voices ready to take up the glad
Shout,
"Here she comes!"
And that is dying.
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