Eulogy for my father

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My dad died very suddenly on October 20. I was asked by my mom and siblings to give the eulogy. This was the hardest piece I’ve ever written. I hope I did you proud, Dad. I miss you and love you.

“Thank you, all, for being here and supporting our family with your love and prayers.

I loved watching Dad shine shoes.

He’d gather the necessary supplies and lay them out in order of how he would use them. First, he laid down a towel or newspaper. Then, place one shoe on his left hand and use his horsehair shoe brush to remove dirt and old layers of polish. I can hear the quick flick of the brush bristles scratching across the leather. And I can smell the polish.

He’d sprinkle a tiny amount of water into the lid of the Kiwi shoe polish tin. Then, he would wrap an old t-shirt tightly around his right index finger. Dip his finger in the water, then the polish, and rub the shoe in small, counter-clockwise circular motions, starting at the toe and working his way down one side to the heel and back up the other to the toe. After drying- sometimes overnight- he rubbed the shoe until he could see his reflection shining in the leather.

It was a methodical process that he loved. It had a beginning, a clear path, and a definitive end. Shining shoes was a metaphor for how he viewed the world and lived his life.

He was hard-working and generous. He cheered for us- sometimes too loudly- at soccer games, swim meets, and crew regattas- all activities that he made possible for us. He and mom provided the foundation on which we’ve built our lives. That foundation is strong and true, and deeply rooted in love and devotion.

He pushed us to high standards that sometimes felt impossible to reach. I know now that they were his way of saying ‘I love you and I want the best for you.’

He was organized and focused. At his house, Kiki found Christmas gifts that he had already purchased for us. And, if it were November, those presents would have been wrapped and labeled.

Dad was always early for events and appropriately dressed- jacket, tie, and those shiny shoes. He was there for all of it: baptisms, birthdays, holidays, graduations. I feel  untethered knowing he will miss so many of them in the future. 70 was too young.

He was a prolific reader who was in his element discussing current events or the state of his beloved sports teams. He did crossword puzzles in ink. He could drive somewhere once and remember every detail of the trip and then give you directions.

He loved and spoiled his nine grandchildren. He adored them. He contentedly held them as infants and rejoiced in showing them how to run the Lionel trains at Christmas. It was especially fun to watch him try to corral them for photos. And just this summer he treated them to a week at the shore, complete with tons of seafood, pizza, and rides on the Ocean City boardwalk- like he did for the four of us when were little.

I’ll remember and cheer him every time I have fresh berries, lemon desserts, chocolate Tastykakes, a soft pretzel or an amber beer, and I hope you will, too.

We miss you already, Dad. We love you. Semper Fi.”

Because of L

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This morning, within 30 minutes of each other, I received a text from a friend that a local young man named Luke died of childhood cancer and a call from another friend that my neighbor was having surgery.

I didn’t immediately think about my own Luke, and thank God that it wasn’t him. I wept for Luke’s parents and brothers. For their permanent emptiness and the courage it will take to grieve.

About my friend, I thought, “that’s awful, how can I help?” not, “why didn’t she tell me?” I share this not to brag about how wonderful I am, but rather, to offer two thoughts.

First. Healing is possible and thank you for your help in my own healing journey. Years ago, amid my own grief and its corollary of self-absorption, I would have made my friends’ tragedy- and it is that- about me. Or, I would have diminished her experience altogether. Saying something (to myself at least) cruel like, “well, at least they caught it early.”

Second. A gentle suggestion. If When you are in the same situation- because tragedy finds us all- respond with love and empathy. Offer to help. Some of us believe that among #HurricaneHarvey, #DACA, #HurricaneIrma, the wild fires in the PNW we are in tragedy right now.

Grief was supposed to make me kinder, softer around the edges. It has. Healing is possible. But It’s one hell of a road. And you must do the work. You have to stay on the mat, as my friend G says. Stay on the mat. Don’t hit the easy button. I’ve learned that deflection and comparison are my easy buttons. I’ve also learned that they’re thieves. They steal people of their own grief and they rob me of the chance to be kind, to be a friend, to be a Christian, a fellow human.

Healing doesn’t mean “over it” or forgetting. I will never be over L’s diagnosis or the collapse of my career, or the betrayal of friends…or whatever events mark my life as before/after.

Healing means using my grief as fuel, instead of as a weapon. Healing means letting things impact me without defining me. Healing means action.

They will know we are Christians by our love. And love is a verb. Love and prayers are awesome and they helped us. They continue to help me. But don’t stop there. Too many of us Christians pray and think that’s enough. Pray, of course. All the time, for everyone. Pray to be inspired to act.

I donated to St. Baldrick’s in honor of Luke. Some friends and I are rallying to create a schedule to help our friend with housecleaning and meals. I hope you will feel inspired to act as well.

 

Say Yes. Think After.

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(I posted this on LinkedIn on 4/5/2017.)

My son is a cancer survivor. Stay with me, this post is not about that. He was diagnosed with stage four cancer at age three. He beat the odds stacked against him and is now 11. I have been writing our memoir about that time for seven years. That’s not a typo. Years. There are all sorts of reasons and excuses for this, but if I’m truly honest with myself, the main reason is that… I stopped saying yes to myself.

I’ve been pretty unhappy in one area of my life. I allowed that stagnation to seep into every other aspect of who I am. I didn’t even know it was happening. I stopped listening to music in my car. I never took my full lunch hour, choosing instead to watch stupid TV while sitting at my desk. I gained weight. I gossiped with and about others (and I know they gossiped about me; if someone does it with you, they will do it about you). I was not creating.

A few weeks ago, in a moment of desperation (or clarity?), I signed up to participate in a “Pitchapalooza” event with The Book Doctors. I didn’t think I would get picked to pitch and honestly, I forgot I submitted my name. But, in that moment, I said yes. I would figure out the how later.

A few days before the event, I got an email outlining next steps. “Whoa boy, I guess I am doing this!” The pitch itself was one minute. Whhhhaaaat? One minute to summarize the most traumatic event of my life? I worked furiously. I wrote. I edited. I wrote and edited even more. I went inside and created. I wrote from the heart and it showed in my pitch. I didn’t think. I didn’t over-think. I walked on stage and told.

Here’s my Dear Boys pitch. (Please note that the video was captured by a dear friend of mine whom I recruited one hour before the event. He’s not a professional and my phone is a four year old Android, so be kind, thanks!)

The best things have come to me when I stopped thinking, or really, stopped doubting myself, and said yes. I said yes to the opportunity to stand in front of two incredibly helpful, thoughtful, and successful writers and tell our story. Then, I got three minutes of feedback from them. What a gift!

I learned two important lessons last week. 1: There is indeed an audience and a need for my book and I have the writing chops to make it happen. I will make it happen.

And more important, 2: Start saying yes. I need to think less and do more. Say yes to whatever creative outlet makes me feel alive. For me, those outlets are career coaching, writing, and obsessively redecorating the mantel in my family room. I’ve done a lot more of all three since the event last week. It was less than a week ago. I have made more progress on my memoir than I had in the last three months! Creativity fuels creativity. It is not a well that will dry out, it actually feeds itself.

Say yes first. Think after. Maybe. Say yes to yourself. I’d love to hear where your “yes” takes you!

P.S.- I also recently finished Shonda Rhimes’ Year of Yes, so I have no doubt that her advice was whispering to me when I signed up. I recommend her book to anyone feeling stuck and looking to make a leap.

#WisdomWednesday #amwriting #memoir #careercoaching #resumewriter