Don't Eat the Wild Turtle
Thursday September 21, 2006 at 12:45pm
On A Eulogy
I gave one of the eulogies at my Dad's funeral on Tuesday. It is a very humbling experience. The challenge of writing something appropriate, in sum, to honor another person's life, can be a rocky journey.
On the other hand, I found that sharing those feelings and thoughts to the voluntary family of those who loved the soul dwarfs the challenge of writing it. It is like the difference between mountains. Speaking is like a hike in the Rockies - struggling for air, drymouth, lightheadedness - versus "writing the walk" in the Appalachians - sweaty but meandering and searching.
Both writing a eulogy and speaking it are scurries with nature - human nature. Writing is a constant mixing and testing of language and memories in an effort to find the palette best to paint your personal vision of the spirit. The process doesn't stop - as I said, it meanders. You search. I changed some of the text an hour before I spoke. I was, and am, content and serene about what I wrote, although I'm sure that I would have more changes today if I was yet to speak. I do believe that Dad, wherever he is, enjoyed it.
I practiced the eulogy alone in our hotel room and discovered a problem. I couldn't get through it without crying. I kept trying, and eventually was able to get through it with just a few small choke points. I accepted that was about as well as I could do it, and considered myself ready as I was going to be.
There were a few suggestions of strategies to get throught the eulogy. I didn't want to just stare at my notes, or focus on just one person. I wanted to experience this - I wanted to see the faces of all that came for that hour to recognize my Dad's life. I did decide, if I were to stumble, that I'd focus on my son's face, who at six is almost always smiling, for recovery. I didn't want to see tears, so I didn't want to take a chance on my wife or my daughter or any other member of my family.
The service was, in my opinion, perfect in tone and approach. It was upbeat, with smiles and laughs. When it was my turn to speak, I tried to calmly tell the audience about my Dad. That's where it gets most humbling. We tell ourselves we can control our emotions, if only for a little bit, if we must. For me it apparently all depends on the emotions and the tasks at hand. I was fine - a few funny stories about Dad, some favorite tidbits, until I neared the end. Two paragraphs left, I could feel the tears welling up, and a want to stop, and a fear that if I did I would not be able to continue. I spoke slowly. I took uncertain pauses. I looked at my son. I looked at one of my Dad's best friends. I sniffled. The brain is powerful but the soul knows its weaknesses, and the mind will eventually fall into agreement. I had to cry, but quietly, maybe five seconds, maybe ten. Another sentence, a bit raspy, an uncertain pause, a few more tears, another sentence, my mind insisting I not race through the last few lines, my heart agreeing but requiring some tears in exchange.
I finished and stepped down, hugged Dad's wife, nodded in understanding with my brothers, held my wife's hand, stroked my kids' hair. I was glad to be first. Everyone else that spoke was great, with funny stories, and tears, about Dad, and that's the way it should be. I was able to listen and appreciate what was said rather than worry about getting through my own words.
In the end, it was important to me to say what I did, but more important to witness what others had to share. I can't recommend giving or not giving a eulogy, but I do recommend going first if you're to give one. Do what you can to make it easier on yourself to share with others, and to allow others to share with you.