Eulogy to Santa

I can not lose in life now. The two most influential men for my children and me, who loved us more than life itself, are waiting for me in Heaven.

Another November arrived and I tallied 6 years missing Corey, and six months missing my dad. Every day when the hard memories descend, and the missing is raw I challenge myself to feel it all, meet it head on, and recognize it for what it is, but don’t you dare make it into something it’s not. With that as my guide, and the season being what it is, it occurred to me that I’ve lost my Santa. So, in an effort to not make more of this than it is, I’m simply posting the eulogy I delivered with voice shaking on May 11th to a sanctuary much less crowded than the number of lives my Santa had touched in his nearly 79 years.

5/11/18

Ernest Hemingway is credited with saying, “Write clear and hard about what hurts.” 

7/12/16

He taught me how to throw a baseball, but wouldn’t let his little girl play little league. The language was too rough.

I taught him how quickly a child can make you lose your temper, but holding your tongue and shooting fire from your eyes was much more effective in getting that child to see the error of her ways.

He taught me how to use a table saw and I’ve since demonstrated to him that I was listening. 

I taught him to suck it up and tough it out when his daughter brought home dates that weren’t to his standards. This too shall pass. You’ve given her a good foundation.

He taught me to stand tall and get comfortable on my knees in prayer. I’ve used that lesson a lot in recent years.

The scales are tipped. He’s taught me more. Today I am thankful for the 77 years he’s been teaching by example. Happy birthday Dad. 

2/5/17

With loose ringlets down the middle of her back she stood shirtless with a towel wrapped around her waist. Her strong, capable, John Henry-sized father bent down and lathered up his three year old daughter’s face, handed her a razor with no blade and they proceeded to shave together while he sang drunken Irish pub songs to her.

While he is in good spirits despite not always being clear on what happened to land him in the hospital, this is the good I’m choosing to remember tonight.

2/9/17

Since posting about my dad I have been inundated with well wishes, prayers and kind words. What has surprised me has been the boys I knew in high school (both friends and those I dated) who’ve been affected by the news of my dad and have reached out to me. This is the same Bill Ritchie who could shoot fire from his eyes to keep you in line. He’s the 5’9″ bulldog that in three quick steps was off the front porch and cleared the neighbor’s fence to catch the boys fleeing our yard after tee peeing us. He’s the same one who made your voice quiver, and your palms sweaty when picking me up to go on a date. I didn’t realize how revered he was. That’s a testament of his character. Tonight my high school boyfriend is sharing service stories with my dad. The fact that CJ is there is a testament of CJ’s character. My heart is full as the respect so many have for my dad is revealed to me.

5/31/17

Tell me again, Dad, about smuggling liquor back into the United States for your buddies in the belly of a cargo plane & I’ll tell you about navigating customs in Cuba with Rum and cigars.

Tell me again, Dad, about your work on the U2 fighter planes and I’ll tell you about skydiving out of a rattletrap plane held together with duck tape.

Tell me again, Dad, about midnight softball games in Anchorage, Alaska during 24 hours of sun and I’ll tell you about a little girl playing catch with her father after he got home from a long, hot day working in the plant at International Harvester.

Tell me again, Dad, about a young man who built a barn for his father with the hope of making him proud, and I’ll tell you about that young man’s daughter who hiked for hours with her husband’s ashes on her back with the hope of setting him free in the current of a falls.

Tell me again, Dad. I’ll hang on your every word.

6/04/17

6/20/17

“I love you. No matter how you whoop on me.” – my dad to my mom the day they were reunited after more than six weeks apart with separate illnesses.

9/23/17

Current state of mind:

1/25/18

If I had spent all of yesterday with him he wouldn’t miss me any less today nor I him. 

I last saw my dad in early November. He didn’t wake up today. He is unresponsive. I don’t know what today has in store for me, and I’m not sure what he remembers of that day (if at all), but it was a good day in my history.

5/09/18

There is something about a girl losing her protector of the universe that makes her feel incredibly vulnerable despite the fact that he has spent the last two years in a hospital bed.

I count myself fortunate to have walked this earth for more than 48 years under his protection.

I can not lose in life now. The two most influential men in the lives of my children and me, who love us more than life itself, are waiting for me in heaven.

My heart hurts, but it is well with my soul.