Memorial Eulogy

On Monday, July 27, 2015, we had a Memorial Service for Dad with his South Carolina Sun City friends and neighbors. The service was at Mom & Dad's home on Winchester Street. After much contemplation, we determined it "felt" best to gather in the lovely space they have created together. Dad took such pride and gave such immense thought to every corner of living space. It was a very full house, brimming with people who loved, revered and respected Richard O'Neal for who he was. 

Mom's brother, my Uncle RJ, and his wonderful wife, Kathy, made the road trip from Orlando to join us. They were such a comfort and blessing; Mom and I are truly thankful to have had this chance to spend time together. 

It was with great honor that I prepared and delivered the eulogy for my Daddy. It seems appropriate to share here on this blog with those who have been following our inhales, exhales and final surrender. 

In the preface of his book, Dad writes... 

“For many years I have thought and maintained that LIFE IS SIMPLE; not necessarily EASY, but I believe it can be simplified by thinking clearly about the problem you find yourself in, thinking about various ways to solve it and then taking action on the chosen solution.” 

Sometimes, I think maybe I was put into his life for the sole purpose of challenging that. :-)

Don’t get me wrong – I love that mantra – “life is simple” – I even coach others in ways to chunk down and simplify life into bite size morsels; I “get” the wisdom and essence of simple life-ing and – I give enormous credit and gratitude to the man who raised me for teaching me that with patience and perseverance (plus a little more patience), problems can be solved. Oh Yes, I’ve seen Daddy work his magic with this wisdom again and again and again, manifesting miracles both large and small.

Still – if we were to bring him here as a hologram right now and ask him where his daughter rates on the Dick O’Neal Simplicity Scale, with 1 being “Vel-ly Simple-Vel-ly Easy” and 10 being “Confusing Complex Creative Conundrum” – where do you think he would put me? 

Sometimes I have felt like I am one of the few things in Dad’s life that, no matter what formula, strategy, approach or “chosen solution” he attempted to put into action, he just could never quite figure me out.

According to Dictionary.com (a fave place of my dear Uncle RJ!) - the definition of “simple” used as an adjective is “not involved or complicated; easy to understand or do.”

And, as you know – Dad was an engineer – analytical, methodical, systematic, logical, practical – he used his capacity to bring order to chaos and simplicity to complexity to his work, to his hobbies, to his relationships – yes, for Dad - “simple” made all kinds of sense.

I, on the other hand, am a poet – a wisher, dreamer, artist, seeker - my spirit revels in the unknown, dances with mystery – finds infinite beauty in complexity – delights in ambiguity – I rarely “make sense.”

Regardless of where any of us fall on the Dick O’Neal Simplicity Scale, I doubt I am alone when I say that, while we all know that death is, of course the one and only way any of us will end this life – accepting it? – regardless of your spiritual beliefs – even with faith - that’s not so simple.  

Surrendering to the universal truth of the finality of death? It is painful, complicated, fraught with angst and fear.

Allowing grief to visit us in its many forms and frowny faces? Typically, that’s something most of us try desperately to avoid.

Yes, it is very hard to believe we are all gathered here – in this place – in this home – on this Monday - to remember the life of my Daddy, Richard – Dick – O’Neal – now that it is over.

My Memories

Dad specifically requested that we follow his passing with a Memorial Service. 

Dictionary.com defines “Memorial” as the act or fact of retaining and recalling impressions, facts of a loved one; remembrance; recollection.

I, of course, have a lifetime of memories with him – my Daddy, my hero – the one who held me, soothed me, raised me, got so confused about me, scolded me, molded me, guided, advised, punished and championed me – always with patience, always with love, always so true to himself. He is so much a part of everything I am, everything I know, every cell, fiber and breath of my very being – how do I even comprehend walking this world without him? I’m sure I don’t know.

As I remember him through the years, it’s as if a movie reel begins and I flashback to special moments we shared...

* Standing on a stool at the kitchen counter, him leaning over from above, showing me how to peel the shells off of shrimp;
* His hand firmly holding the back of my banana-seat the first time I rode my groovy pink two-wheeler;
* His gentle fingers on my back when I said “I can’t get to sleep” at night + his voice guiding me in relaxation meditation (“start with your toes, let them melt into the sheets…”);
* The sound of his hammer and saw outside working to build my yellow A-frame playhouse – the one I could climb up on the roof to touch the sky or go inside to play games with my friends;
* The hot summer evenings he took me to the Y and coached me to swim from one side of the pool to the other;
* His firm “don’t mess with me” voice insisting I must take typing class even if it wasn’t “cool.”
* His frustrated “why-can’t-you-get-this?” voice when I just stared stupidly at him over a table-full of algebra or geometry homework
* Seeing his tears the day his beloved Mom – my gentle, beautiful Grandma -unexpectedly passed
*  His pride-glow both times I graduated from college
* All the lunches, dinners, movies, roadtrips, and family times where his absence will be painfully present…

Dad and I share a love of seafood, birds, driving, cars, magic shows, travel, roller coasters, puns, quips and seriously corny jokes. I know these are among many of the things that will trigger my memories and keep him close now that he is gone.

 Throughout my life, I’ve known Dad to be solid, true, real – a man of principle and resolve. “High expectations” might be a slight understatement. He’s a guy you just never want to let down.

Memorial

And so…. In an effort to respect his direct request – to have a “memorial” here today - I invite each of you, right here, right now - to summons your own memories – be it years worth, days worth, even a passing moment – there’s no right or wrong thing to recall– just whatever memory pops up – a memory of Dick O’Neal, here in this life.

Close your eyes and simply envision him in your mind, embrace your memory in your heart – hold and cherish it for a moment and give thanks.  It is truly unique – yours and yours alone.

(Memories shared by neighbors touching on Dad's goofy jokes that often made folks groan, his neighborly ways of connecting and inviting people into his world and many other touching moments that brought his spirit right into the room with us....)

And, in this way, Dad – wherever you are, you are here with us - in the lessons you taught, the love you gave, the messages you were here to impart to each one of us as individuals – and to all of us as the community who love and care for you.

Work Hard, Love Harder

Over the 20 years since Dad’s diagnosis, I have seen him apply his “simple” strategy to deal with each and every challenge this rare disease has hurled his way. But, any way you cut it, Churg-Strauss was not simple. The past 3 years have been like a roller coaster, never knowing which direction he might be headed next. It was one convoluted, challenging, crazy complicated way to suffer after another, especially here at the end.

The past two months have truly been hellacious, moving between 4 hospital settings, constantly struggling to manage oxygen, blood sugar, white counts, red counts, calcium, potassium, getting no sleep, feeling constantly bewildered, confused, not merely “out of control” but completely at the mercy of a system we didn’t trust.

Dad was a trooper, a warrior – he fought a good fight; I was inspired and amazed by his tenacity, his courage and endurance.

His physical suffering and all of the horrific scenes over the past months have truly been traumatic – not only for Dad, but for Mom, too. She has been so present, so brave, so meticulous in honoring Dad’s wishes and assisting him throughout every agonizing day (she will dismiss, minimize, doubt and say this isn’t true – but, believe me, I have been here; I know).

Over the past weeks, she has been fierce; in the trenches doing battle on behalf of the love of her life – rallying for the man who charted the course for the remarkable life they have created together.

Near the very end – this past Wednesday, we each took time to thank Dad and tell him how much he has meant in our lives. My daughter – his granddaughter, Mallory – was here with us and we were all so moved when she held his hand and through her tears told him just how much she will miss him on her wedding day this May, and that she wanted to thank him and Grandma for showing her how a couple who truly loves one another can stay together and build a beautiful life. What a meaningful legacy.

My daughters, Mallory and Amanda, are both very talented and love their Papa deeply. This past Wednesday, as Dad became unresponsive and we could see him slipping away, several people reminded us that hearing is the final sense that remains – he could hear us.

And so – across the miles, two sisters joined forces to write a song for Papa. Here, in the kitchen and on the back porch (while all the lawn mower guys ogled her) – Mallory sat with a notebook, writing lyrics. She sent them to her sister, Amanda, in Arizona, who went home during her lunch break to get her guitar and put a melody to the words. Within hours, they finished and recorded their “Song for Papa” and we played it for him in his chair.

Here are the lyrics… the video with pictures is in previous blog post, A Song for Papa 

Work Hard, Love Harder: A Song for Papa

I know a man who makes magic, he sculpts it with his hands

 Dollhouses for queens, backyard forts for kings

He creates magical lands

He created a family and it was magical too

With his beautiful wife, they carved out a life –

(and a lot of ducks, too!)

Enchanted and in charge, the white-haired captain made a charter

And his lesson will live on…

Work hard, love harder

He gave me a stage to sing on, gave me his love and a mom

Taught me right from wrong

He gave me somewhere to belong

The magic man showed me the world

Canada, Virginia, Yellowstone

And no matter where he roamed, nowhere was special as his home.

Enchanted and in charge, the white-haired captain made a charter

And his lesson will live on…

Work hard, love harder

A Plea

Dad and Mom have been partners, chartering their course together in this world for nearly 52 years, raising me, influencing these talented children, doing life together. And now, in the wake of traumatic seas of illness, uncertainty, no other captain or clearly marked map, Mom must find her way without him at the helm. 

It soothes this daughter’s mind that Mom has landed here, in this loving home – yes, the house is beautiful – but I also mean this Sun City, SC home – this community where neighbors share and care, open their doors, feed, pour, connect, knit, grieve, rejoice, play, learn and LIVE together. As Mom moves forward, I know she has all of you here championing her, believing in her and helping her rally on. From the bottom of my heart, for all you have done and all you will undoubtedly continue to do, I Thank you. Bless you.

Faith & Vision

Mom, I know you are wrestling with faith and what that means. I found this poem by Emily Dickenson that I want to share with you and that I hope may calm and soothe you… (and the rest of us, too)

“Faith”
You will not see me, so you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again, both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest and when you need me,
just whisper my name in your heart...I will be there. ~Emily Dickenson

 Dad, I think you’d agree, the letting go, the moving on, the surrender, the ache and the mystery of the unknown just is NOT simple… but I guess the title of your book was, “Life is Simple” not “Death is Simple” – maybe you’re already working on that one, as we speak –

I do trust and pray that, even as our hearts are breaking because we love and miss you so, it is comforting to know that now you are truly resting - experiencing the unimaginable beauty of eternal peace.

I imagine your total transformation and know you are being held in grace and love.  Just yesterday morning, I had a truly magnificent few moments of lucid dream. In it,  I had a vision of you being welcomed into heaven – trumpets sounded,* light shone bright and iridescent, celebrating the victories of this lifetime, both known and yet to be revealed.

 But let me reveal to you a wonderful secret. We will all be transformed! It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live forever. And we who are living will also be transformed. For our dying bodies must be transformed into bodies that will never die; our mortal bodies must be transformed into immortal bodies. Then, when our dying bodies have been transformed into bodies that will never die, this Scripture will be fulfilled: “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?”         1 Corinthians 15:51-55 (NLT)

*For those who don't know, once upon a time, Dad played the trumpet and took great pride in the years as a teen when he was part of a band.

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There will be another Memorial Service taking place in Cincinnati at Clovernook Country Club on Sunday, August 30, 2015, 2-4pm. Those who wish to gather with family and friends to remember Richard R. O'Neal in community at that time are welcome to join us. 

The date was chosen as a way to cherish and celebrate what would have been Dad & Mom's 52nd wedding anniversary (Married: August 31, 1963). 

It will be our intention to host an event that reflects the deep love and partnership that was such a huge significant part of Dad's life. If anyone has words, photos, videos or stories you would like to share personally (or have shared in some way), please let me know. You can email me (Robin) at laughndream@gmail.com.