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Before I begin I would like to thank all of you here on behalf of my mother, my brother and myself, for your efforts large and small to be here today, to help us mark my fathers passing.
I am honoured to be here.
I am honoured to be here to speak to you all.
I am honoured to be here to speak to you about my father.
Each of you here had your own relationship with my Dad, each of you has your own set of memories and your own word picture that describes this man. I don’t presume to know the man that you knew. But I hope that, in this eulogy that I offer, you will recognise some part of the man that we all knew, the man that is no longer amongst us, the man who will never be gone until all of us here have passed.
My father was raised in the in-between generation, born in the years immediately before the end of World War Two, what they call the “silent generation”. A generation with one foot firmly planted in the 1940′s with the other placed unsteadily in the 1960′s. He was blessed, or some would say cursed, with an independent wife, one with the expectation of working and not content to be kept at home. His children were raised in the sixties and seventies, challenging times for parents with the traps of drug use and pre-marital sex, neither of which I believe Dad had been prepared for in the lesson plan his father had given him.
At times my Dad would be presented with the need to cope with a behaviour from my brother or I that he didn’t have an pre-made answer for, one that he would just have to cope with on the spot.
When my Dad was in this situation he always fell back on the core values that he had learned and tried to impress on us boys the importance of doing the right thing. My Dad didn’t read books about child-rearing, he relied on common sense values. My Dad didn’t know who Dr Spock was and would have thought he was an ass if he did.
One school vacation I recall my father pulling me out of bed early one morning after I had been at a party at my brother’s flat at Okareka. He asked me if I had been drinking and driving.
It would take me an eternity to list off all the special ways William has made a difference in my life. Whenever I was upset, whenever I needed someone, William’s sense of humor cheered me right up. No one can feel sad when William is around. I’ll always remember William as a person who was constantly finding humor in life no matter what the occasion. He was so full of life. It’s hard to imagine how I’m going to go a day without speaking to him because he’d call me every single day. I know he was a very busy man, but he would never forget to take the time to call me to see how I was. It’s the little things like that I’ll never forget about him.
I'd like to thank you all for the outpouring of support and condolences on the loss of my beautiful son Adam. My entire family appreciates it. This is my eulogy to Adam:
father to grow more aware that their parenting style wasn’t affective, and made him realize that
There is an old Yiddish proverb, when the heart is full, the eyes overflow. And so it is the case when we try to sum up and honor my mother’s life.
At 10, I never knew whether my father would be sober, reasonable, even pleasant - or drunk, argumentative and abusive. On one February day with four inches of snow on the ground and a freezing rain falling, I was walking home from my cousin's house in the early evening and saw my father lying on the soggy, snow-covered sidewalk. I didn't know what my father would do if I roused him, and I was afraid to find out. Perhaps, subconsciously, I hoped my father wouldn't waken at all. I continued on, did nothing, said nothing. This I will remember with guilt for the rest of my life.
It is hard for me to believe she’s gone, my primary influence, sustainer, supporter and wisest counselor has left me physically. Mother was such an active participant in this world right to her very last breath. I am so grateful to have been with her on her last day. At his point she was struggling to form words and get them out, but her mind was alert, caring and compassionate. She was still worried about me, a mother to the end.
On behalf of my entire family, I want to thank all of you for your compassion and for being present here today. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Mauri-Lynne, and I'm Lionel's daughter. Dad was devoted to every one of you. We all hope that you'll share your memories of him with us, if not today then in the weeks and months to come.
Before I go on to celebrate my mother and what she stood for I must share with you the reality of what life was like for my mother and the family since she was first diagnosed with cancer in October. Of course, nobody suffered more than my mother, but Dad you’re definitely second. We all shared my mother’s pain. It was like we were all on trial.
One of my earliest memories of Grandpa begins with us driving to the Monmouth Park Racetrack. We sure did love to go to the track and root for Julie Krone or one of our other favorite jockeys. He loved challenges, and he especially loved the challenge of picking the ponies. He would read the race programs in the Asbury Park Press and usually pre-pick most of the day's favorite horses before ever leaving the house. Still, on arrival, we always bought the program and maybe a race sheet or two before entering the track grandstand. After picking up a couple of seats right around the finish line or maybe a little past it, back to figuring he'd go. As he went, grandpa would always point out the horses that had won recently or looked like they were due. "I have a feeling about this one" he'd say.
When my father died, I was too young to participate in a meaningful way, so at some level this is my eulogy for him, too.
I stand before you today to pay my last respects, and to say my final goodbyes, to my father Harry.
Today, the most difficult day in my family’s life, we gather to say farewell to our son, brother, fiancé and friend. To those of you here and elsewhere who know Dylan you already are aware of the type of person he was and these words you will hear are already in your memory. To those who were not as fortunate, these words will give you a sense of the type of man he was and as an ideal for which we should strive. My son has been often described as a gentle soul. He was pure of heart and had great sensitivity for the world around him. He had a way with people that made them feel comfortable around him and infected others to gravitate toward him. Dylan exuded kindness and pulled generosity and altruism out from everyone he touched. He was everyone's best friend.
For some reason, out of all my siblings I felt responsible for taking care of my dad. I constantly felt pressure to try and stop the fighting between my father and other family member as much as I could. To do this I would always hover around my father trying to make sure he was not experiencing difficulty executing a task. If I saw any sign of him struggling I would get involved, pretending as if I want to help with the chore but in reality, I merely did not want him to get mad. A prime example of this is whenever he cooked dinner, he would always struggle to bend over to reach the pots or pans, I would always be in the next room half-heartedly working on homework while the other part of me was panicking. I remember my heart would always start to race and I would not be able to focus anymore on my homework because of the fear of him becoming aggravated. At the first sign of trouble I would hop up from my living room seat, hoping I could stop him from fighting with anyone in my family. I would run into the kitchen pretending to be an overly excited child asking if he wanted help cooking, know the assistance was not a want but a need. My dad always accepted and I quickly took over the responsibility of cooking even though I hated it. He would always try to praise me after saying what a good, helpful daughter I was. Instead of the excitement that most children expressed after receiving praise I would get angry thinking I should not have to help him with these simple
“Growing up, our relationship wasn't the best,” I told him. “It wasn't super bad or anything, but we didn't spend as much time together as we do now. How did that change?” He then focused on the ceiling, trying to this of his answer when he says, “I think I've read this before I said this, but… A parent’s relationship with the child goes through many stages. First, you are the protector and provider, which then the child sees you as such and treats you as such. Then, as the child starts to create their own personality, the father, in my case, becomes the enforcer. Don't run in the street, don't do dangerous things, for example. The child sees it as fun., but the parents see the negative part of the child running too free without rules and regulations. In that stage in life, the child and the parent almost become enemies. Hating them for not letting them do things, and having their heart be pulled out from the memories of them being a bab. But the third stage is the child seeing the emotional hardship the parents has gone through to protect the child, and sees the difficulty, which then comes the appreciation from the child, and they see the other side of parenthood. So the just of it is, it's love, love, love, and then the word “don't” comes in. I tried to stay away from the words “no” and “don't,” but instead telling you the consequences of what could happen. Not “don't eat the candy,”
parents to think before they acted but because of the emotions at that moment then they could