LIFE & DEATH
A Eulogy: One Year Later
For my father, a year after his passing

One year.
How did this year both crawl and fly by at the same time?
A whole year, and I’m no better at finding the words that eluded me at your funeral. I allowed my three siblings to speak for me, as choking out unintelligible words through tears was not the way I wanted to honour you.
This past year, we went through all the firsts, and we did as many of them together as we could, given the circumstances. The circumstances I’m so grateful you avoided.
Is that strange?
To give anything for more time with you here, but yet feel grateful that you were untouched by the hand of this pandemic, and that in your final moments, you were surrounded by family.
I’m not religious or spiritual. I don’t pray. I don’t assign meaning. We were very much alike in this way. But it left me without a map for how I was to navigate my grief.
I didn’t know how to honour your memory properly. I’m still not sure I do. But every day, I see things that remind me of you, and I see things in me that are you.
The way the kids can ask a simple question and I go into some long detailed explanation, or correcting their grammar, or even saying “are you asking me or telling me?” when the kids would speak with typical childish vocal inflections.
Jeopardy is a family institution in our house, and I take such pride when I obliterate the board the way you used to, or even when I just answer one really tough one.
I know that’s you.
So much so, that the loss of Alex Trebek this year was the first time a celebrity death has ever made me cry. It was like losing you all over.
Moving was probably one of the hardest things to do without you. That was just your thing.
You would have most definitely tried to lift and move things far too heavy, and Mom and I would have undoubtedly yelled at you for it.
But you also would have hung my pictures, fixed the broken garage light, assembled the furniture, and probably put something up without asking because you thought it made sense there, like the showerhead in my first house. I would have been annoyed, but I would have thought of you every time I saw it.
I see your hands and eyes in my daughter’s drawing skills, I hear your curious voice in my son’s questions.
I know how much you loved Jack and how happy it would have made you to see us moving forward with our lives together. But mostly, I am just so proud of all of the “you” that lives in me.
It will never have been enough time, but I’m grateful for the time we got.
I love you, Daddy.
