This is the eulogy I composed for dad, who departed a week ago. I'm adding in stuff I actually said, and some other stuff I thought of later that I should have said.
[Generic greetings]... I wrote this down to keep my thoughts focused and disciplined, like my dad was.
Usually, the eulogist would speak of their loss and the audience would commiserate with him. Instead, I will take this opportunity to offer my condolences to you, who have lost a husband, a father, in-law, a grandfather, a nephew, an uncle, a brother, a cousin, a childhood or work friend, a colleague and mentor. If you are here today, you must have meant something to my dad.
So many roles, and dad defined himself by the roles he played with each of us. He was a protector, a provider, a peacemaker, a policeman, a disciplinarian. Sorry I couldn't keep the alliterative streak going, but I want to focus on the 'disciplinarian' part. I remember his unique brand of discipline when I was in my teens. I was peer pressured into buying some apparel I wasn't comfortable with, so I wore it and asked dad what he thought of it. Fashion advice from my dad -- what was I thinking? He simply said, "if you dare wear it in public, I won't stop you." Reverse psychology works every time. I did wear it in public – once for my friends' sake. And after that, everything else I have worn since has been my own choice. Except for today [indicates loud, ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt, black background with pineapple motif], but it's a special occasion, so it doesn't count.
He taught me maths, and lost his hair over it. When I got older, he taught me to drive stick. Lessons I'll never forget. Driving stick for the skill, and maths for the trauma.
Dad took all his roles super-seriously, even if they gave him lifelong anxiety. And the kind of kids we were, we didn't help. Regardless, I dare say that with him as our dad, we turned out pretty ok. My siblings and I all wound up in the education ministry. My sister and I got into education, my brother got into ministry. We have our own households, and are living relatively free from deprivation and desperation, so great fantastic job, dad!
One word that describes dad is "considerate". His final act on earth was one of consideration. His very last interaction with me was to say, "go!" as he waved me off at the A&E driveway. He didn't want my vehicle to block the entrance and cause an inconvenience to other emergency cases coming in. [Should have said: "My vehicle was blocking the entrance, and he didn't want to inconvenience the other emergency patients who were climbing over my car to get inside"].
Come to think of it, by passing at this time of year, he ensured that no one needed to bother HR with their leave applications to attend his wake.
That's the kind of joke dad would have told better. You would have been in stitches. It's all in the delivery. Let's use this remaining time to remind each other of his crazy antics [I retold dad's story about how he reflexively reached up and without looking caught a bird in mid-flight out of the air], grand adventures, and wacky conversations we've had with him. [Forgot to say: "Dad would want us to put the FUN into his funeral". Also forgot to tell the story about his conflict management process: Once he was playing mahjong with his sisters and needed to sneeze badly. He couldn't turn his head right or left, and he couldn't face straight ahead because someone would have got a faceful. So he turned his head upwards, looked towards heaven and showered everyone with his blessings].
Once again, my condolences to all of you for your loss. And thank you for indulging me in reminiscing our memories of my dad together.
