The Best Funeral Ever

“Who here sees themselves getting married someday?” Mine was the only hand that did not go up.  Gregg, the counselor on staff at my church, was speaking about relationships to a group of about thirty adult singles.  I was not trying to stir the pot or trying to play the cool, aloof guy, I was just being honest (ok, and maybe trying to stir the pot a little).  The fact is at that time, I honestly couldn’t see myself getting marrried and having a family.

How did that guy end up a smitten father to two little girls?  Two things brought me to fatherhood — seeing a therapist and attending my dad’s funeral.

I ended up going and seeing Gregg personally, and his first assignment in our first session was for me to write my eulogy.  I know, it sounds morbid, but the purpose is clear.  How do you want to be remembered?  If someone wrote a story about your life, what would they say?

I had nothing.  All I was leaving behind were a few medals for running marathons and a string of bar tabs that would Make Elon Musk take out a loan against his 401k to pay his bills.  Worst eulogy ever.  And what unfortunate orator would offer to give that speech?  Morgan Freeman narrating my life story could not make it sound interesting.  If they had made a movie about my life at that point, it would have been more boring than watching back-to-back episodes of CSI: Des Moines.

There is not enough room between these pages to recite all the lessons I learned from seeing a therapist.  Plus, those lessons are better served by being written in another book by a better writer. 

One thing Michelle and I agreed on before we got married was having children.  Some people seem to be born with the parenting gene and have an innate desire to have children.  My Mom was born with that gene.  I was not.  Michelle was born with it, and I wanted that for her, and I was starting to feel like was ready to have a family. 

By the time Michelle and I got married, I was no longer on the fence about having children.  I was still leaning on the fence, but my feet were on the “having children” side of the fence.  And then one event picked me up and threw me so far away from the fence that I would never see it again – my dad’s funeral.  

During the week between his death and his funeral, my brother, sister, and I spent the week at my parents’ house planning the funeral.  We went through the usual steps of looking through scrapbooks for pictures and telling stories that we would use during the service. It seemed like old times, and it sounds weird to say we had a lot of good times that week. Spending the week with them made me realize that I had been and was still a part of something special. 

Mom asked all three of us kids to speak at the funeral, so we all stood up and told stories about our father.  After the funeral, one of my friends came up to me and said, “This is going to sound weird, but that was the best funeral ever.”  Several people came up to me and echoed the same sentiment.  It wasn’t the best funeral ever just because the preacher sang “My Ding-A-Ling” as my dad requested. Yes, that is the song that my dad asked to be played at his funeral. The funeral was great because of the stories we told all about my dad.  My father didn’t cure cancer or help save the environment, and as a roof inspector did not do much with his career that will be written about in history books.  All it took to have the best funeral ever was to be the best dad ever.  And that is when it finally sunk in.  My dad gave me something special, and I wanted to give that to someone else. I wanted my funeral to be like that. It was time for me to start writing my eulogy.    

Now go out there and start writing your own eulogy. Maybe yours can be the best funeral ever. Dad wouldn’t mind if you took the title from him. He would want that for you. That’s what kind of guy he was.