Ode to The Man

Dad called last week and asked me to read his eulogy.

"You plan on dyin' sometime soon?" I asked.

"No."

"Because I really don't need this, old man. First Aunt Marie and now you?"

"Havin' surgery on the 7th. Just tryin' to be prepared."

"You want me to read your eulogy, huh? Is it written already?"

"No. Who writes their own eulogy?"

"I did."

"Well. I'm not you."

"So I'm to *write* and read your eulogy."

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'm in."

So here goes. Bits and pieces I've written before - damn good stuff - blended together to read at the man's funeral. Hopefully not anytime soon.

I can't afford the plane fare.

"This was a remarkable man.

Yes, he liked to make fun of the fact that the first meal I ever cooked for him involved sunflower seeds, still in their shells. Until quite recently, I believe he was still spitting them out.

But a remarkable man nonetheless.

Technically, he’s my stepfather. Ron met Mom a few months after my nineteenth birthday. I remember thinking - Who was this guy?

A gift.

Ron loved our family unconditionally, talking us back from near disasters and encouraging us to try again. He’d listen to anti-military tirades, then patiently explain his tour of duty in Vietnam, leaving me with a new found respect for our country’s soldiers – and for him.

Ron cheered loudest the day I graduated from college and beamed brightest while walking me down the aisle on my wedding day.

Ron was the best grandpa in the whole world. Loving these kids with all his heart, building a dock out back to teach them the ways of the world while feeding ducks and fish.

Ron brought with him a daughter he loved and cherished. And while he became our dad, she became our sister.

Ron challenged so many beliefs and left me forever changed – year after year after year.

Ron came into our family, but we are the ones who joined him. He didn’t mind my brother’s distance, one sister’s trepidation, another sister's thankfully short absence or my own endless supply of doubt.

Ron knew he’d win us over eventually. He had more friends than enemies, more happiness than sorrow, and more love and forgiveness in him than almost anyone else I know.

So you see, I couldn’t resist him. Deep down, every daughter needs a dad. No matter how self-sufficient we appear, the more love we have, the better we do.

Ron proved that real fathers can be counted on for the long haul – year after year after year.

Technically, he’s my stepfather, but that’s not how I think of him. In every way that matters, he is most certainly my dad. And I will miss him for the rest of my life."

I know. Major downer.

Eulogies are often filled with sentiment the dead dude would have liked to hear while alive. And my dad is still alive. So I thought he should know how much he's loved before going under the knife tomorrow.

That's all.