The Eulogy

We are leaving in the morning for Michigan. My dad's funeral mass is Saturday. The church is in a small town at the "tip of the thumb" where my parents had a summer home, where my parents retired, and where my dad and his wife lived during the summers. I wrote a eulogy for the service. According to Dictionary.com a eulogy is a speech or writing in praise of a person or thing, especially a set oration in honor of a deceased person. I think I did just that in mine. I started writing it right after my dad died, and have been editing ever since. I think I am done. I have to be done. It's all printed now, tucked away in a folder labeled "service", and packed in a carry on piece of luggage. Wish me luck reading it. I am NOT looking up this time.

For my dad...

When I was growing up, I was afraid of my dad. He was a strict disciplinarian. He was loud, opinionated, kind of scary, and he was definitely the boss. And if you didn’t know it, he was always right, or so he thought. Yet, he was the one I always wanted approval from. I washed his car every weekend, and if I didn’t do a good job, he’d tell me …and then I’d redo whatever he said wasn‘t right. Nothing thrilled me more than having him tell me that I did a good job. When I got good grades, he rewarded me with praise, money, or sometimes, a special dinner out, just him and me. He never missed a concert, play, or sporting event that I was in. He taught me how to drive a stick shift, and gave himself all the credit for making me a good driver. He was the one I called for comfort when I was a stressed out college student. On more than one occasion, he would leave work to drive the 70 miles to my apartment, take me out for dinner and give me a pep talk. He was involved in cub scouts/boy scouts with my brothers. He played tennis and did long distance biking with guys that were 30 years younger than he was. He was a leader at our church and a good provider for the family. We were lucky enough to have a nice home, and when we were teenagers, my parents built a summer home, here in Caseville. I have wonderful memories of our times here, but my dad did scar me for life on the beach. Picture being a teenager and having your father strut his stuff while strolling along the shore and wearing a big straw hat…and a black speedo!

He and my mom retired to their home here. They walked, played golf, swam, and cross country skied. My parents were in the choir at church, had lots of friends, and traveled. My dad had a rough edge, but there was a soft side that I knew and loved. I will always remember the tender side of him when he and my mom cared for my sickly brother, our aging Aunt Mae, or when he held a baby. My dad took good care of my mom when she became ill, and after her death, he was lost. But it wasn’t too long before he remarried and began the second part of his life. He and Harriet lived in MI in the summer, and traveled to FL for the winters. They socialized with friends and enjoyed life together. My dad continued to play golf and do his wood carving, But my contact with him became less over the last 6 or 7 years. He stopped calling me, and when I would call him, he’d barely talk and our conversations were repetitive. And as the years went on, and I visited him more often, it became clear that something was up. And that something was Alzheimer’s.

When it was time for him to come to our home in Arizona, he came willingly. Never in my or Tom‘s imagination did we ever think that my big, burly, strong, loud, opinionated father would be living with us… and without protesting either. It was a dramatic change in our lives. And I can never thank my husband or kids enough for welcoming him into our home and adjusting their lives to accommodate him and his needs.

My dad was not a perfect man. None of us are perfect. But I think my dad lived the last years of his life perfectly. He maintained his dignity for as long as he could by refusing help, but then, accepted it graciously. His manners were impeccable. He warmly greeted visitors that came to our home and he expressed gratitude for everything we did for him. Each meal, tissue, pillow, medicine, or assistance with his self care - they were always followed with a sincere thank you. He kept his sense of humor and laughed with us…or sometimes at us, and he made us laugh with his wit and comments. He yelled at the ever talking commentators on tv sporting events , and he cheered for his team. He gave hugs, smiles, and told us he loved us - sometimes when it was said to him, and other times, spontaneously. He enjoyed visits by my daughter’s dogs, played and talked with them, and called them bums. We would go for walks, swing outside in the back yard, play table top games, do crossword puzzles together, and flip through books, magazines and newspapers. We were lucky enough to celebrate 2 Thanksgivings, 2 Christmas, and 2 of his birthdays with him. He taught me all about Alzheimer’s, and how to manage him - mostly by letting me know when we didn’t do it right. When we did do it correctly, he was a sweet, cooperative, and loving man. He maintained his faith in God by leading us in prayer before meals, receiving holy communion at home (although one time he said he wasn’t in the “mood” and refused to take it) and by praying through his pain. That “praying through his pain” was a good reminder to never underestimate the power of prayer…it was a relaxer, a pain medication, a spirit lifter, and a sleeping aid for him. It was a life saver for me.

My dad had unbelievable strength and dignity through the last few months of his life. I will be forever grateful that I was chosen to be his daughter - for he taught me the ultimate lesson of love and compassion. Although my arms can no longer wrap around his bald head and shine it up like I used to do, I do know that he is with me. It’s very quiet at our house now but I can still hear his booming laughter. And I know that the arms that welcomed my dad into everlasting life are wrapping around all of us to strengthen our faith and give us comfort.

rolling along...

A week from tonight, I will be running around like a chicken with my head cut off getting ready. We are leaving on the 27th to head back to Michigan for my dad's funeral mass and burial at the cemetery with my mom. Together again. :)

Planning all this from 2000 miles away has been a real challenge. I think I have everything ready, but whether or not it all goes the way I have planned...we'll just have to wait and see. And if it doesn't, it doesn't. The important thing will be done, that's the main thing.

But I have to admit, I think ashes are icky. I know my dad's ashes aren't "him", but his ashes are at my house. And we have to take them with us on the plane. Not in the suitcase, but carry them on with us. My hubby has volunteered to carry them. I use that term "volunteer" loosely, but he is going to carry them for me. Thanks, Tom.

The end of the school year has me real busy. My son is home from college now. Still working on my dad's stuff in my office (note the name change) and his estate. So much to do. I could be staying up all night doing stuff, but I know that's not good. I'm sleeping better now. Not great, but better. Melatonin is my friend.

I still expect to see my dad walking around the corner. When I hear the toilet in the hall flush, I think of him. There is still an empty place at the table when we sit down for meals. Sometimes, I take a whiff of the Old Spice body soap and smell him. I moved the furniture around in the living room and I can sit in "his" lazy boy chair now (which used to be mine). I missed my support group meeting last week because I shut my eyes for an hour nap and didn't wake up for three hours. Things are rolling along...up and down some hills...at least they aren't mountains anymore.

choosing the right words

Reading back through my blog (not always a very good thing to do), I see the words tired, overwhelmed, confused, unprepared, disorganized, and incompetent. I used these words to describe some of my feelings/thoughts during my care giving journey. They should be gone from my life, but they are not. I still feel them all. Not all the time, not every day, but when they hit - they hit hard. Sometimes, they are related to the journey with my dad, other times they are not. But I think it's all cumulative, and that is definitely overwhelming.

Reading back through my blog, I also find the words grateful, pleased, comforted, rested, happy, creative, peaceful, funny, sweet. I'm going to concentrate on these last ones for awhile.

A Dadism

On Mother's Day, my Dad used to sing a little catchy tune..."If it wasn't for your father would your mother be your mother? So remember Dad on Mother's Day!"

I am.