Let’s pick up where we left off five weeks ago, when the column had excerpts from my January 27, 2024, eulogy for my mother and was published for her 94th birthday. Today’s column has excerpts from my May 2, 2000, eulogy for my father and is published for his 96th birthday. It’s fascinating how what one would say in eulogies in general changes with 24 more years of experience in life:

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This was not the plan.

A week ago Friday was Dad’s birthday. On Friday, we had dinner. On Saturday we had his party. On Sunday, he was a greeter in church for Easter and went home and mowed the lawn. On Monday, he went to work. On Tuesday, he played golf with Mom and used the golf clubs that (we) had given him for his birthday. On Wednesday, he went to the office, and he and Mom went out to dinner. On Thursday, he got up, went to the office on his day off, cut the grass, went inside, did whatever, and eventually sat down at the desk, began to write checks, and died.

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The man who had cured so many people simply wasn’t going to survive this one.

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Mom and Dad are the youngest people aged 70 years or more that I know. I thought Dad was going to live to be very old. He was going to go to the office until he was at least 90.

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It feels like tomorrow we’re going to forget all about this and just pick up where we were last Wednesday, and where we were supposed to be last Thursday. All of this just can’t be. But it is.

The outpouring of sympathy from all of you here today, and so many others, has been tremendous. Our family thanks you for that. You all can see past this better than we. Certainly better than I.

Since I can’t look ahead very well, then let’s take a minute to look back.

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Dad, you were born into a family–and you married into a family–that have the greatest assets a family can have: Love, perseverance, and faith. Just look at how many of them came from across the country to be here today.

With that love, perseverance, and faith, you and Mom have earned all you’ve achieved. And you’ve made friends that nobody can count. For starters, look around today.

Because of you, Dad, thousands of people walk straighter, see more clearly, or have no headache. Because of you, many people even have arms and legs they wouldn’t otherwise have. Because of you, many people are alive. Your patients continually sing your praises to me. That’s part of the terrible irony of today. You could save most everybody else, but this time you couldn’t save yourself. Nobody could have.

Within your own family, your love is total. You are devoted to Mom, totally. You’ve known her for 50 years, since the time you and she rode the same bus in Davenport, and you asked a classmate who the girl with the red earrings was. Mom leaned over you Thursday afternoon in the office and said, “What am I going to do without you?”

You adore your daughter … , totally.

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And you are proud of your son, totally.

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So we’ll pull it all off, Dad. One way or another. For you. We’ll hold the family together, and we’ll be as devoted to your friends and causes as you are. We’ll carry on your legacy by trying to be like you.

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Thanks, Dad. I love you. We all love you.

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Fred Elf passed from earthly life to eternal life on April 27, 2000. The full eulogy, delivered in Jamestown, is at https://works.bepress.com/elf.

(c) 2024 BY RANDY ELF