Wish You Were Here

The Heavens claimed him, my Dad.  The days that follow continue to feel surreal and hazy.  My father was a larger than life force.  He was as kind and loving as he was firm and rooted in his firm beliefs that if you apply yourself and work hard, you can have anything you want.  I think that I am still in a little bit of shock.  It feels like he’s away wintering in Florida and he’s coming back.  Although, when my birthday came, a week after his passing, and there was no phone call, I felt the reality a little.  It doesn’t matter that I gathered with my family to kiss him one last time or congregate at the Lions Hall with legions of people who came out to show their support and mourn the loss with us, it still seems unreal.

It was heartening, to see so many people come to help us celebrate his life.  There were so many in fact that he caused quite traffic jam.  The Lions Hall is on Hornes Road and currently in our community there is construction on the main artery so the bulk of local traffic, including transit, travel along Hornes Road.  A friend of mine who works for the city sent me a text message to tell me that complaints were rolling in about the cars parked all along the street and people were really getting frustrated by the jam.  I laughed because there is was again, causing a ruckus.  His last prank and it was glorious.

I delivered his eulogy to a swelling crowd:

For my Dad:

The word ‘eulogy’ originates from the Greeks and it means ‘to praise’, ‘to speak good words’. I have an endless amount reserved especially for this guy.  I was afraid that I may not be able to write and deliver an adequate nod to him because in the hours and days since he’s passed, I felt like I had lost all of my words.  But when I sat down by myself and starting thinking about him, reminiscing and looking at all of the photos, the flood gates opened.  Still, it is hard to find the words to express how much I will miss one of the first people who ever loved me.

Everyone had their own relationship with Dad and knew him in different and unique ways but on each of us he left a deep, lasting impression.  A perfect example of that is a childhood friend of mine was in touch when she heard the news of his passing.  To her, he was an amazing man, and how lucky was I lucky to have him as my father because hers wasn’t much of one.  She told me that my Dad made her growing years so much fun. I know that would make him really happy to hear.

He was a loving husband, a good father, and grandfather, a brother, a role model, a gutsy salesman, a world class entertainer and jokester, and certainly, everyone’s comic relief.  I’m almost positive, as I’ve heard it a thousand times this week, there isn’t a soul in this room he hasn’t barked at at one point or another. You could always count on him for his ridiculous sense of humor and his infectious smile just when you needed it most. 

As a family, it is true that we have experienced our fair share of setbacks, misunderstandings, and real sorrows but for each of them there are a thousand moments of joy and comfort and closeness with Dad at the heart of it.  And I think that his physical absence will be the truest sorrow we’ll ever know, he was a larger than life presence, a big wonderful personality, he was loud and funny and always on the go.

To me, Dad was the promise of a long talk on a short drive.  He was always there listening and good at helping me see things right side up and I relish that there were even times I was able to do that for him too. The quiet assurance of his voice rocking back and forth against my heart while driving around in whatever car he may be in that day or week made me feel safe and valued.  I thought my Dad lit the sky, now he actually does. 

Dad had an appreciation for the good things in life.  He was well traveled and knew a little bit about a lot of things. You could always find him with a strong drink and a good story, pulling a prank, grilling a steak, hitting a golf ball, watching sports or his favorite shows, looking after others.  Some of the greatest gifts he gave to us kids was the ability to appreciate life, to endear ourselves to others with the captivating Myers charm, with a joke, a kind word, an ear, a hand – a sense of humanity, just as he did.  I look at my brothers and sisters and their kids and it is in all of them.  Dad will never truly gone from us because he is in the things we do and say, our gestures and our features.  And we’ll carry him forward with the utmost pride.  It used to always annoy me, you know, when someone would say, ‘Oh, you must be Lawrence’s daughter.  You must be a Myers.’ I wondered if I’d ever have my own identity but I realize now, it’s one of the best parts of it.

Losing Dad was not unexpected but that doesn’t make it any easier.  He had a quiet dignity about dying.  As he faced his final days feeling as miserable as he did, he occasionally lost his good humour but did not dwell in one single moment of self-pity.  During our private conversations when he was in the hospital, talks I will cherish forever, he talked a lot about how rich and full his life was, how much he enjoyed each day and how fulfilling it is to live without regrets and hoped that us kids could all do the same.  I promised him we would, we had excellent leadership despite the fact that he is the guy who as a kid taught the nuns how to roll cigarettes in the stairwell of St Andrews and then was politely asked not to return to school.

It is heartwarming to see so many people here to celebrate Dad’s life because it was such a good life.  He would hate all this fuss and attention on the surface but deep down he’d love it.  I know you all cared for him and enjoyed the life he brought to your parties.  I can tell you with great certainty that he loved you just as much. 

And Carol, from all of us, I want to say thank you for caring for Dad with your love and your compassion and your promise.  I watched you turn yourself inside out for him and I know with every fiber of his being he felt safe and brave because of all you gave and did for him.

A childhood story of Dad’s was relayed to us not long ago about when his mother was going to the hospital to have Aunt Clara, he was just a wee Lawrence then.  She told him that if he was really good while she was away, when she came home she would get him a brand new bike.  Of course, she never did get to come home.  Now that he’s with her, we really hope he got his bike.

**

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I could see my one dear friend in my line of sight, otherwise it was just a wall of people with fuzzy faces.  My cousin Cathy stood beside me and I’m grateful she stayed close otherwise I may not have made it all the way through.  I did it for him.  And as awkward as it was holding a microphone in one hand and trying to steady my sheets of paper on the podium, I just kept thinking he could hear me, see me, and I wanted to do him justice.  I’m told I did beautifully but in truth I can barely remember it.

It’s my 41^st year, my first year without my Dad.  I don’t know what it’ll bring but I am confident he’ll be close to guide me when I need it.  It is one of the many reasons I agreed to spend my birthday afternoon getting a tattoo that represents something important to me, something I believe in.  Dad would dig the concept of ‘Amoria’ – living with intention to love and serve others, Amoria, the Empire of Love, with no physical location but something that is in all of us.  My good friend and extraordinary artist Matt Epp spearheaded the movement and I hitched my wagon to it in a heartbeat.  It’s simple really, love can really rule the world if we allow it to.  I am proud to be Amorian and will happily explain the ink to anyone who asks.  It is for me, it’s for Matt, my Dad and the world I live in.  It is my intention to carry on, to move forward in love, to share that with my people and the world and to carry on my Dad’s memory. 

The world is going to be so different without him in it, but my goodness, Heaven is lucky.

In propinquity,

Nic