I had intended to speak at the service last night and I couldnt bring myself to do it. I dont know whether I am upset that I didnt get up the courage to make that walk to the podium or whether I am glad I didnt crack in front of the over 250 people that came to honor my dad. But the fact remains that I intended to, and that I had written something because I tend to ramble. So, I decided that i would post it here instead. I feel like it is selfish and detrimental to my healing process to leave these words unsaid and unseen, so for those of you who want to read them, here they are. I don’t want to thank anyone for being here. I say that not to be cruel, or to imply that I am not grateful, but because no one wants to be here. I know the vast majority of you do not want to be here. I’d wager a lot of you would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, rather than being here in this room, doing what we came here today to do. So while I am incredibly grateful, I am also infinitely sorry for each and every one of your losses. I guess, with that being said, I’ll say what I came up here to. My dad was all about tools. To him, everything was a tool and he treated it as such. His passion was guns, of all shapes and sizes. He saw them as tools. Tools that could provide for your family in times of hunger, tools that could defend your loved ones, your home and belongings in times of need; tools that could be simple and functional, or elegant and beautiful. He saw his body as a tool. A vessel that housed strength and ability that not only could be used to help yourself and others, but should be used in that way. He gave the sweat of his brow freely, helping anyone in any circumstance. Happiness was a tool, a sort of emotional lubricant, to be applied liberally to any situation at any time. He was full of it, and applied it to every situation he encountered. He used it incredibly often, giving it freely to anyone who encountered him, which is why a lot of you are here today, because of the happiness that came from my dad. Intelligence was another tool, a mind at rest could not grow, and using your knowledge to help others was a pillar in my dad’s belief system. There was no such thing as an insurmountable problem, only tasks larger than the last. There were no problems for my dad, only obstacles and ways to learn and grow. Wisdom was the favorite tool of my dad’s. He used it sparingly, and when it was not in use he kept it tucked away on a shelf in his mind, kept it clean, polished, and in good repair like any good mechanic should. When it was needed, it was ready, within arm’s reach, and often left me astounded at how profound and wise my dad was. My dad, in his passing, did a few things he promised he would never do. He left work unfinished. There was wood to be cut, and cars to be fixed, and good deeds to be done that now will either never be completed, or at the least won’t be done with the love and care my dad would have used. He promised he’d never leave his children, but my sister, my brother, and I, all feel the pain of losing not just our father, but our dad. But I guess this time, this last time, we will just have to give him a pass. For those among you who believe you will see him again someday, you can let him know how you really feel then. In the meantime, we all have to miss him, and we will all miss him the same. I have people here tonight to honor my dad who are Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, Atheist, and Catholic and we all miss my dad the same. I don’t know how to conclude this. There isn’t anything I can say that isn’t already in your minds and in your hearts. I’ve seen a few of you nod your heads, or tear up at certain things that I’ve said. We all miss my dad. We all will remember him as he was in the favorite times we had with him. He was a great man, and helped make some great memories. Keep those in your heart, hoard them like precious stones and remind yourself every single day to tell the people you love that you love them. I know my dad did.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 15:30:12 +0000
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