As many of you know, my father passed away the morning of October 16. His passing came as a shock to everyone but I truly believe Dad was ready to meet his Creator. He wanted to spend his last few hours with Mom, George and I so, through the power of God, he maintained what little strength he had until George and I arrived in Virginia. We stayed up all night holding Dad's hands, sharing our favorite memories, and talking about the lessons we have learned from him. We watched the sunrise over the water, something my father liked to do every morning from our back porch, and then he went on to a better place. I am at peace knowing he is free from pain and I am proud of the person I am today because of his influence.
I began this blog a short while ago partially because of my passion for writing, but its primary purpose, being a creative and emotional outlet for me. George and I felt we should write something for Dad's service and sharing my eulogy is not only helping me heal, but also allowing friends who were unable to attend his funeral a way to experience a small portion of the celebration of Dad's life.
I also would like to dedicate this entry to the countless friends who have helped me through this difficult time. I have been touched by the outpouring of love and support I have received in the past week. I have experienced the power of friendship throughout this process and can not thank my friends and family enough for their selfless actions and words of encouragement. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Hey Dad,
It's Honey Bunny. Right now you are probably in a big hot tub in the sky with a beer in one hand and a guitar in the other. I told you the other day that you didn't have to worry about me because I have such a great support group that I know will help me through this difficult time. Then I got to thinking. Remember when you tried to teach me how to check the oil level in my car? After wiping the dip stick off with a napkin, I stared at the napkin and said, "Dad, I don't get it. How can you tell my car needs more oil by looking at this napkin?" You shook your head with a concerned yet amused look on your face. After college, I got a flat tire in Raleigh and called you, of course. You advised me to wait for AAA to take the tire off, have them fill it with air, and listen for a leak. I did as you instructed but Jim Bob the mechanic and I could not find where the air was escaping. I took my hair down, and told the mechanic to start spinning the wheel. I knelt down and when my hair started blowing, I knew we had found the leak! I proudly relayed my unconventional discovery to you, and through the phone I could sense you shaking your head and trying to suppress a smile. So…maybe you do have to worry about me after all. But only if I have a car problem.
Someone told me the other day that you were the type of man that everyone hoped they would be seated next to at a dinner party. I couldn't agree more. Your stories were legendary, your laugh was contagious and you were nothing short of an absolute pleasure to be around. I hope someday my kids have a father as wonderful as George and I had, and that they inherit your talents, your sense of humor, but most importantly, your good looks. I'll keep our traditions alive by making sure to bring them "special water" every night before bed, giving them Eskimo kisses, and howling at the moon whenever it is full. They will grow up with all the love and support that you showed me and George.
I remember when I was about six years old, we were in a store, and ran into an old friend of yours. The friend looked at me then looked at you and exclaimed, "Wow Paul, I see so much of you in your daughter." I then proceeded to cry hysterically. When you asked why I was so upset I said, "Because your friend said they see me in you but, you're…you're bald!" Who would have thought that some day hearing those words would be the greatest compliment I could receive.
I miss you so very much and wish more than anything that I had more time to spend with you but I know Jimi Hendrix was tired of waiting for competition up in Heaven. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the father, the husband, and the best friend that you were. I love you.
I began this blog a short while ago partially because of my passion for writing, but its primary purpose, being a creative and emotional outlet for me. George and I felt we should write something for Dad's service and sharing my eulogy is not only helping me heal, but also allowing friends who were unable to attend his funeral a way to experience a small portion of the celebration of Dad's life.
I also would like to dedicate this entry to the countless friends who have helped me through this difficult time. I have been touched by the outpouring of love and support I have received in the past week. I have experienced the power of friendship throughout this process and can not thank my friends and family enough for their selfless actions and words of encouragement. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Hey Dad,
It's Honey Bunny. Right now you are probably in a big hot tub in the sky with a beer in one hand and a guitar in the other. I told you the other day that you didn't have to worry about me because I have such a great support group that I know will help me through this difficult time. Then I got to thinking. Remember when you tried to teach me how to check the oil level in my car? After wiping the dip stick off with a napkin, I stared at the napkin and said, "Dad, I don't get it. How can you tell my car needs more oil by looking at this napkin?" You shook your head with a concerned yet amused look on your face. After college, I got a flat tire in Raleigh and called you, of course. You advised me to wait for AAA to take the tire off, have them fill it with air, and listen for a leak. I did as you instructed but Jim Bob the mechanic and I could not find where the air was escaping. I took my hair down, and told the mechanic to start spinning the wheel. I knelt down and when my hair started blowing, I knew we had found the leak! I proudly relayed my unconventional discovery to you, and through the phone I could sense you shaking your head and trying to suppress a smile. So…maybe you do have to worry about me after all. But only if I have a car problem.
Someone told me the other day that you were the type of man that everyone hoped they would be seated next to at a dinner party. I couldn't agree more. Your stories were legendary, your laugh was contagious and you were nothing short of an absolute pleasure to be around. I hope someday my kids have a father as wonderful as George and I had, and that they inherit your talents, your sense of humor, but most importantly, your good looks. I'll keep our traditions alive by making sure to bring them "special water" every night before bed, giving them Eskimo kisses, and howling at the moon whenever it is full. They will grow up with all the love and support that you showed me and George.
I remember when I was about six years old, we were in a store, and ran into an old friend of yours. The friend looked at me then looked at you and exclaimed, "Wow Paul, I see so much of you in your daughter." I then proceeded to cry hysterically. When you asked why I was so upset I said, "Because your friend said they see me in you but, you're…you're bald!" Who would have thought that some day hearing those words would be the greatest compliment I could receive.
I miss you so very much and wish more than anything that I had more time to spend with you but I know Jimi Hendrix was tired of waiting for competition up in Heaven. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the father, the husband, and the best friend that you were. I love you.
That's a beautifully written eulogy! It made me both laugh & cry, as well as leaving me with the feeling of being 'introduced' to your dad :) Hope you're doing well
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