SELF | LIFE LESSONS

How To Write A Eulogy For A Loved One

This is how I said goodbye to my old man.

There’s no right way to write a Eulogy to say Goodbye to someone you Love.

Although difficult, it can be cathartic.

Trawling through memories, to conjure up the right words, to convey who this person was and what they meant to you is … well … an emotional process.

Searching for inspiration at this time is a painful journey — tears and laughter seem to intertwine seamlessly.

So to those of you out there, who have to speak the words to convey a Loved one’s life, I’ll share some takeaways that I learned.

For now, allow me to share what I wrote for my Dad.

The Eulogy

Hello everyone….On behalf of my family, I’d like to thank you all for being here today, my Dad would have been surprised given the amount of people in attendance. I’d also like to thank Fathersel Pat & Paul, the musician and guitarist etc. I’d like to thank the Doctors and nurses at the Hospital and also the amazing people at Our Lady’s Hospice in Harold’s Cross who made my father's final weeks as comfortable as possible — they were truly fantastic.

I’d also like to thank my brother in Law Tom, Michelle, Jake, Taylor, Cian and Evan and of course Paula for their support — I understand that you all feel somewhat helpless at this time. I’d also like to thank Mick for the time and support that he has given to my parents in recent months. And of course, our extended family and friends who have been ever-present throughout. We are eternally grateful to each and every one of you.

I would also like to acknowledge my mother, Eithne, who knew my Dad for 51 years — they were married for 45 years. She has been immense — I cannot begin to fathom the magnitude of the loss that you are experiencing mam. I just want you to know that we love you and will always be there for you.

I guess there’s nothing in life that prepares us for the loss of a loved one. It just happens and it is what it is. It happens to each and every one of us, and while we try to make sense of it, momentary feelings of despair can at times overwhelm, randomly blindsiding us as emotion overcomes logic.

And Time stands still.

A time when we truly are in the present, a time when we feel everything, interrupted by the occasional nostalgic thought. In effect, grief unapologetically disrupts our lives, but in doing so aligns our thoughts and emotions with what actually matters in life. Reminding us of what’s important, what’s of real value. Grief is in many ways brings meaning and understanding — albeit difficult to recognize to begin with.

The Man Himself

My dad, Paul … was a quiet man. Well at least on the surface. Having said that he and indeed his brother Jimmy had a tremendous talent that most people are unaware of. You see growing up at a time when technology was not widely available people had to improvise in order to communicate effectively. And the Myers brothers did so in abundance, although calm and collected on the surface they could ‘roar’ & ‘shout’ on-demand … yes … unleashing a vocal tsunami that would drown out Pavarotti in his prime, that I assure you.

Besides such Inchicore-operatic lessons, my dad taught us, Karen, Gary, and I, so much more about life. Such as the simple things that we take for granted. Things like how to be a human being, and certainly for myself and Gar how to be a man — in terms of what to do and what not to do. He shared life lessons with us all, directly and indirectly, in his actions, values, principles, and imperfections. Above all my dad taught us integrity, unity, honesty and respect.

He also always taught us never to give up, never quit, no matter what — he encouraged tenacity. Personally, I know he instilled it in me and I am the person I am today because of my dad, I simply never quit. Because of him I actually don’t even know how to, the concept is alien to me. No matter what challenges presented in my life my Dad had equipped me with intrinsic guidance, an inner voice, to seek out an alternative route — a solution — rather than throw in the towel. Because the latter was simply not an option — He would not entertain quitting, he would not allow us to dwell on it. In fact, he would actually ignore it, exploring only ways around it — all the while supporting us along the way.

At Work

But at times my dad had short-fuse — yes, he could flip, mostly triggered by simple things … like the trivial, meaningless encounters in life. So on that note, let me share with you a story:

Back in the late ’80s, when I was but 12 or 13, my dad decided one summer that I was going to work with him. ‘Fair enough’ I thought. So the following Monday morning, we left bright and early with Eithne's sandwiches in arm, and off to work we went.

At the time my Dad had his own business.

The first week unfolded without incident — all good you could say. Week 2 however was less harmonious. After 7–8 days working together, around Wednesday / Thursday that week, the frequency of unnecessary ‘Operatic’ eruptions i.e. shouting, tipped to an uncomfortable level and …

I’d had enough!

Without hesitation I downed tools, stared at my dad, pausing momentarily, and with confidence said “Good luck — I’m off”. With that I spun around and headed for the gate, exhibiting my Dads headstrong attitude in the process. Although I never looked back, I recall my dad calling out — “Paul”. But that was it — the deal was off. There was no apology, begging, pleading or discussion thereafter … from either of us … oh, no, we were Myers-men, we stuck to our guns — right or wrong and regardless how Ludacris our argument, it simply made sense to us!

Anyway, I arrived home within the hour. Ethine (my Mum) was aghast — what happened she abhorred? “Him” I responded — contrasting my Dad to some type of neanderthal caveman, ironically the very actions and behaviors I was displaying in that moment. Nevertheless … in true ‘Irish-Mother’ style Eithne lunged for the phone. After a few milliseconds furiously punching digits my Dad answered … but I have leave that story there because the expletives that followed would not be suitable for this occasion.

The Calm

In contrast however, when big challenges arose in life my dad could be the calmest man in the room — I mean ice-cool.

In true De Niro fashion, he had this uncanny ability to project an inner calm. My dad could listen, almost devoid of emotion, when required. It’s not that he didn’t feel our despair, because he did, but rather insightfully separated people from the problem.

My dad focused on the problem.

He never apportioned blame, criticism or judgement onto others at times like this. In such situations he saw things objectively, in a creative fashion and in doing so could share insightful-wisdom that would knock me for 6.

He simplified complexities.

More often than not he was right. When I look back now I recall numerous occasions when my Dad ignited a paradigm shift in me. He calmed the storm, caused it to pass so that I could see a situation with clarity.

Shared Stories

My brother Gary told me of a funny experience that he shared with our Dad. My Dad would frequently attend Richmond Park to watch St Pats with Gary.

— On this particular occasion they went to see St. Pats Vs. Derry.

Gary told me that they sat with the Derry supporters and as a result they couldn’t cheer on Pats in-case they too became targets to the away supporters who were in full voice hurling abuse at the Pats players.

I asked Gar why? Why did he bring you to the Derry side, the away side?

I assumed cost, thinking that maybe entrance fees for visiting fans was less, but no, Gar told me that all seats were the same price. Needless to say I was confused because my Dad always did things with purpose. There had to be a reason.

Then we cracked it.

As most of you maybe aware, away fans tend to be shuffled from a stadium on match days, before the home supporters are allowed leave. In effect my Dad had devised a strategy, if he sat with the away supporters he could be out of the stadium and at the bar in Jack Donoghues on Emmet road long before the crowd arrived.

Swimming

In recent days, many people reminded me of a certain skill-set that my Dad equipped them with, over the years.

That skillset was swimming.

For me, my dad taught me how to swim by the age of 3, as he did with many of my cousins and friends. Little did we know then was that he planted a seed whereby some years later I would embark on an amazing journey, with many ups & downs, culminating in an opportunity to study and train in the US. Although the destination was an incredible experience for me personally, the journey was where some of my best memories were created with my parents, Karen and Gary.

I recall many a morning when my Dad arose at 5am from a deep slumber to drive me to the pool…my Mam and Dad were ever-present at every meet I competed at.

As a parent myself today, to my beautiful daughter Taylor, I now understand how much pleasure my dad got in witnessing his children reach their goals — he really was a great father!

The Suit

Over the last few days and weeks I enjoyed reminiscing of stories about my Dad. Some of the most interesting occurred before I was even born, conveyed to us so eloquently by my Dads brother Jimmy and his sisters Delores and Marie.

So I’d like to share one such story with you.

It took place during the 1950’s or 60’s, at a time when my Dad and Jimmy shared a room together at their home in Inchicore:

One weekend Jimmy decided to reward himself after a hard week at work — so into town (Dublin city) he went. Upon his return he beamed about a new suit that he just acquired before proudly hanging it in the wardrobe, awaiting the right occasion to reveal it in all its splendour to the world.

Later that evening … Jimmy’s friend called to the house and without hesitation demanded to see the suit — the news had obviously spread throughout Inchicore. So, bursting with pride, Jimmy led his pal upstairs.

The moment of glory was all but a wardrobe door away.

To their surprise the suit had simply vanished … without a trace. Although deflated and bewildered, Jimmy had his suspicions. Later that night, or rather during the early hours the following morning, a certain person stumbled into the house, it was Jimmy’s room-mate, my Dad — Paul. The culprit unashamedly arrived in the same attire in which he left, his brothers suit.

As legend has it the exchange that occurred that night at Bulfin awoke the ghosts of Kilmainham Jail some distance away.

Farewell

There are so many things that I’d like to say about my Dad and I know that my Mam, Karen and Gary could do likewise.

Things like how much he loved his grandchildren, he idolised them, Cian, Taylor and Evan.

Like how much he loved his dogs, Mandy, Kim and his latest buddy Pebbles, who is simply lost and wanders aimlessly throughout the house awaiting his return.

Time permitting, there are so many things I could say — but maybe another time.

To be honest I struggled to find the words to conclude this Eulogy for a man who meant so much to us all and do him justice in the process, but the words eluded me.

Then I noticed something that my brother had written on a Father’s day card.

My Dad always said “simplicity is the name of the ball game” so with that in mind I decided to keep it simple and borrow my brother's words because he captured it so well … and it goes like this:

“Although My Eyes Can’t See You … In My Heart You’ll Alway Be”

Final Thoughts

1. Gratitude — Share your appreciation for all those who helped you, your family, and of course the person you lost
2. Family & Friends — Mention the people who are sharing your loss
3. Tell a Story — Storytelling resonates with others, so share your memories about your loved one
4. Others’ Stories — Listen to family and friends to capture their memories and share it on the day
5. Humour — It’s okay to introduce some humor
6. Farewell — Saying Goodbye is hard, but it’s personal, so choose what works for you and those around you