My Eulogy for My Father

Thank you all so much for coming today to celebrate my father's life.

The day before my father passed away, he said, “We've had a long journey you and me.” I said, “its been fun though, hasn't it?” “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “I really did have fun.”

And I believe he did. My dad found joy in life. Even when it was hard. Even when it was sad. He found great joy. And when there was not much joy to go around, then he made a joke of it and laughed anyway.

John Vance was a funny guy. Some would say funny, “haha” while other's would say funny, “hrmm,” but he was funny and I think his ability to laugh has been a great lesson.

This has been a particularly difficult time for me, as I know it has been for all of you. He was the most special person and I love him so dearly. I will miss him every day of my life, and so will my children, and I know you all will miss him too.

But grief is not the legacy my father leaves for us. He built his life with joy in his heart and it is this joy that he gave to each of us, and it is this joy that we must remember.

My dad found humor in everything. I remember coming to this old cemetery as a child with him. He would tease me and say, “This place is so great, people are just dying to move in.”

He loved people, and was especially good with children. He taught elementary for years and years at Glenview Elementary. I can still recall adults coming up to us in restaurants to say hello to their old favorite teacher, “Mr. Vance.” All of our friends loved him too.

When we were kids, he found nothing more hilarious than to scare us. My cousins still talk about my dad driving us around telling the story of Bloody Mary. Then when we were thoroughly frightened the car would mysteriously stall and what do you know, that's Bloody Mary's house right over there, run up and ask for help. We'd start screaming and he'd roar with laughter.

My father used to sing me silly songs, and throw me in the air. He told me how much he loved me in a thousand different ways. On my birthday he retold the story of my birth, and never failed to make me feel like the most loved daughter that ever lived. He loved fully and completely; and I loved him just as much.

He was always funny. No matter what was happening in your life, he could find a way to make you laugh. Or in the very least, to realize that problems are temporary and that in the bigger scheme of things, everything was going to be okay. When I had had a particularly tough time, my father would say, “Leigh Ann, if this is the worst thing that ever happens to you then you should be happy.”

I grieve the loss of my father today, but I will rejoice in the love he gave to me forever.

I urge all of you to remember my father for the joy he brought into your own life and share that joy with others. That is his true legacy.

I would like to end now, with an excerpt from one of my father's favorite poems that he used to quote to me:

It is Ode to Imitations of Immortality by William Wordsworth

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;

The funeral

I buried my father yesterday. It was a beautiful service. I think he would have approved.

It was cold and rainy Saturday. I was disappointed that the weather wasn't nicer, and at the same time it seemed more appropriate. Its always disconcerting when you feel miserable on a lovely day.

We had the service under the old Newberry church. Its just a pavilion really. Its old and rustic; what you would imagine a church revival to take place in. I believe it dates back to the 1800s.

There are two rows of wooden pews. We set up a table with pictures of my father.

The service began with our friend Coitt playing the bagpipes. He played The Bells of Dunblaine--my favorite bagpipe song. My cousin Lu connected us with one of the Methodist ministers from her church. Jason, the minister, was fabulous. I couldn't have asked for a better sermon.




After the sermon, I gave a eulogy honoring my father, his best friend went next, and then my cousin Ronnie. Then the minister spoke again.

At the end, Coitt led everyone to the gravesite playing Going Home. The hearse took my father to the site and once there, the military honor guard carried him to the place over his grave.

They folded the American flag, then fired three rounds. One honor guard handed me the flag on "behalf of the president and a grateful nation." He then placed the bullet shells from the rounds in my hand. Then Coitt played Amazing Grace and the minister concluded the funeral.

Funeral planning

I bought a cemetery plot for my father today next to the family in Newberry cemetery. This is a picture of the cemetery I found online. It has actually been nice weather--sunny and cool.

He is right under a tree and close to his grandmother "Mamie" and by his mother's brother and sister who died of TB. It is beautiful and so we also bought one next to it for us. I wanted to bury him somewhere that I would go to again. Somewhere peaceful and serene.

My friend Alexis said planning a funeral was a lot like planning a wedding. To me, it seems like we're planning a shotgun wedding and the bride is missing. Everything is done so quickly and we're just guessing what Dad would want.

Unlike a wedding, the planning is not the stressful part. Its nice to have something to focus on. Should I have "this flower or that flower" is so preferable to the realization that my dad is gone. It is the moments when I'm still and quiet that hurt the most.

I've been dreaming about my dad. The first night we were all getting ready to go to a party. I kept asking if that meant my dad wasn't dead and people would say things like, "silly girl, no, you just need to pick out a dress."

Then the next night he was leaving and handing me money from his pocket. He started to give me a few bills, then just gave me the whole wad of cash saying that he didn't need it. I said, "I don't want any money, just stay here," and he said in his west Texas twang, "oh, well, I best be going." I was crying and saying that I wanted to go too, but he said I couldn't go with him.

The worst part of the dreams is that I wake up feeling like its all just been a bad dream, and that my dad is fine; then I realize that its reality that is the bad part and I hurt all over again.

As awful as this has all been, there is a silver lining in that I have grown close to my cousin Lu and her family. They are so amazing and so loving. They have opened their homes and their hearts to us and really held my hand through this process. Lu went to the funeral home with us, she set up meetings with the cemetery personnel, went to Millsap to the cemetery and even found a minister. I love them so dearly, they are amazing, wonderful, people.

Also amazing, wonderful, people are my sister, mother, and husband. Thank you.

Dad

My father passed away today. He had been in the hospital, but was doing much, much better. In fact, this morning the nurse told him he may go home today. Sometime early afternoon his blood pressure began to drop and they just couldn't save him.

I miss him so much. I had all these plans for him. I moved him out of his house, kicked out his freeloading roommates, and found a wonderful place for him to live. He was suppose to move here and live in this great place and then we would visit all the time. The girls and I were suppose to hang out with him on nights Andre was working late. I was planning a big birthday party for him too. After all these years, I was finally going to be able to spend lots of time with him. I had plans and this was not a part of the plan.

My father would have said, "God has a big laugh when we make plans." And I suppose that's true, but its not funny. I miss him so much. I feel as if someone has torn a piece out of me and that I'll never be whole again. I just can't imagine not being able to call him. I feel like I just need to talk to him one more time. I so love him.

My Dad

Last Wednesday, my father drove himself to the hospital. Becoming disoriented, he drove around for three hours before he found it even though his home is only 5 minutes away. I am told he was coughing up blood and barely breathing.

He contracted a bacterial pneumonia that was buried deep into his lungs. Of course, no one knew this at first. The doctors guessed pneumonia and put him on a bi-pap. He appeared to improve for a day, then took a turn for the worse. They ordered cat-scans, more tests, and breathing treatments that shook the bed trying to pound out the infection. He also tested positive for a staph infection in his blood and lungs.

The lack of oxygen made him disoriented and he tried to pull his tubes out and leave the room so they tied him to the bed. My father is a tall man. His feet touch the metal foot board even with his knees bent. He is miserable and in spite of everything he wasn't getting better.

So the doctors performed a surgery on his lungs and inserted a plastic tube that drains out bloody liquid.

There is a guessing quality in the medical field that always makes me feel uneasy. "We think...",they tell me, or "probably it's this..." or "it could be that..." I'm not saying that I think the doctors have done anything wrong, not at all. Its just that it always feels like they're throwing darts while blindfolded just hoping that one will land on the bulls-eye. All of their uncertainty makes the helplessness of it hit home.

In addition to surgery, they also put him on a ventilator. I have never actually seen someone on a ventilator before. In movies sure, but not in real life.

It seems like some device Edgar Allen Poe or Alfred Hitchcock would have dreamed up. He can't speak or even close his mouth. He can't move or turn over, and his hands and feet are tied. He tries to talk, but he can't even mouth words so the first day he kept moving his eyes and his eyebrows trying to tell me something. I kept naming objects, people, things, anything and he'd get frustrated the way you do when you're playing charades and no one guesses what your trying to say. I tried to give him something to write with, but he just scribbled circles and got more upset.

I walked out of the room and bawled.

When I pulled it together and went back I saw his hands were really dry and I remembered that I had a travel size bottle of lotion. I rubbed lotion on his hands and arms and those feelings of helplessness lessened a little. He closed his eyes pleasantly. I got the nurse to untie him and stretch his arms, rolling his shoulders and massaging his arms. He was really happy about that. I told him everything was going to be okay and not to worry. That his bills were being paid, his car was fine, we were fine, everything was taken care of and that he was getting better. It would be over soon.

The next day he was better and I was too. I looked for the little ways I could make him more comfortable. I put moisturizer on his lips that were dry and bloody from having to stay open so long. I put a cold wet cloth on his forehead. I taped pictures of his grandchildren where he could see them. By then he could write too.

He seems to be doing better everyday and even watched the UT football game tonight. The other good thing that has come out of this is that I have reconnected with some of my cousins, extended family and friends. I'll write more about them later, but they are awesome.