Eulogy

You don't know how much you inspire me. I've never told you.

I'm more like the woman you love; her best and worst were built in to me from the beginning and I know you love that about me. Your pride is so clear and bright. I start to crumble when I think about the weight of what you feel for me.

Sometimes I wonder if you know the effect you have on people. Do you know how big you feel to everyone? Do you know how safe you make the world feel?

Has anyone ever given that to you?

I'm a pale imitation -- even with your example, my calm isn't as still, my comfort less warm. The world I give to someone is shaky when yours is so firm. I can't do a fraction of what you can and I struggle with what comes naturally to you. Would you still love me if you knew what ran through my head? It's so hard for me to live up to who you are. You help so many and I'm so selfish.

You don't know the feelings that swelled in my chest when someone recognized me as your son. The spark in their eyes when they talked about you. Your life is so beautifully simple -- you make things better. You fix, you comfort, you improve. You build. A life for your family. Homes for those that need them. Organizations that do good.

And on the day when you stop, when you can't make anything better anymore -- I'll break.

I've known for a long time that your death will be the most devastating moment of my life. Who am I supposed to talk to when you're gone? I barely know what I'm doing. I'm just your boy with water sprinkled on his feet, laughing in the safety of real love. How will Mom sleep? How will I be able to look at Dave and not cry? Sheryl's face will break me a second time. I'll have to speak to them all. I'll tear up the paper that's so plainly unfit to hold what's left of you. I don't know how to make them feel the way you did.

The best I can do is start with a small moment that stuck with me:

In high school I always stayed up late. And every night, I'd go downstairs and make a bag of popcorn - not quietly, but it never bothered anyone. A few nights before I graduated you spent a night out of town on a work trip, which was rare for you. And that night, when I went down to make popcorn, my mom came crashing downstairs and demanded to know why I was making so much noise. It was the same thing I'd always done, but that night - for the first time - she couldn't sleep.

Anyone who spent time with you knows that your absence feels like a warm blanket tugged away, leaving everything colder and less safe. What you built with all of us will last -- your love is too strong to fade. But goddamn is it going to hurt when memories are the only thing left.

I love you, Dad. You made me better than I had any right to be.