On the first anniversary of my dad’s death, I wanted to share the eulogy I gave. I never wrote it down. I came up with it while on the five-hour drive home the day after he died. It was something to focus on when everything was so overwhelming.

It has been cathartic to think back on that day, that week when the world turned upside down in an instant. I’m still so touched by the amount of love, support, and connection that surrounded us at that time. Sadly, it takes a wedding or a funeral to bring so many people together, but I cherish that time with all who were there.

Here we go…

July 7th Arlington Memorial Cemetery Chapel

2 pm

(As I stood at the podium I looked up and noticed a few burnt-out bulbs)

Well, I guess he really is gone. If Dad was alive, he would be up there fixing those burnt-out light bulbs in the chandelier.

I have to apologize in advance to Patterson’s Funeral Home in advance, as this eulogy is going to get a little bawdy. But you can’t talk about my dad without a little bawdiness.

There are three stories I want to share about dad that, for me, show is very essence.

Picture it, Valentine’s Day in NYC in the early 2000s. Mom and Dad had come to visit me for the weekend. I thought it would be fun to take them to a drag show at my favorite club, The Slide. We got there early because we are Sparks! I walked in ahead of them and saw four very handsome men on pedestals go-go dancing. They were completely naked. In a moment of terror, I stopped Mom and Dad and explained the situation. I was happy to leave and go somewhere else that was less scandalous. Before I could finish my sentence Dad had pushed me out of the way to see these naked Adonises himself. He looked up at the gyrating men and simply said, ‘Good Lord, I haven’t seen one that big since Vietnam!’ We all howled with laughter and stayed for the show.

That is my father. His freedom of speech. His wit.

It was moments like this that were so naughty and so him.

Another fond memory I have of my Dad is on a trip we took together. It could have been on a business trip he took me on near the Okefenokee Swamp. For some reason, every room we stayed in on that trip around South Georgia and North Florida was room 107. It became my lucky number. Or it could have been one of the many trips we took over MLK weekend to swim with the manatees, with some folks who are in this room. I don’t remember why, but we were walking out in the middle of a forest alone. Just me and him. All of a sudden he held me tight and just cried. Sobbing uncontrollably and holding me tight. I wasn’t afraid, I just remember knowing that that was him releasing something and sharing his deep love for me in such a beautiful way. I think of that moment often when I work with men on retreats and they break open for the first time. It’s so beautiful and powerful and doesn’t happen nearly enough.

That freedom he had to connect with me and to expose his vulnerability that was so hard for him to show. It meant a great deal.

The last story I will share today happened when our family took a trip to The Cayman Islands about 15 years ago. Happy, Mark, Dad, and I went on a dive excursion one day. Diving was one of the activities that Dad and I bonded over. As he often did on land when we were exploring on vacation, he disappeared. At one point I swam past a coral reef and there he was, hovering in the ocean eye to eye with a giant sea turtle. They were both so still, just connecting and observing each other for what seemed like ages. While Dad couldn’t always connect with humans on a deeper level, he always had a way with all of God’s creatures from manatees to owls, turtles, and dogs.

I was so in awe of Dad’s freedom to connect to nature.

So as you can hear, the golden thread that connects these stories is ‘freedom’. Dad hated rules, except Robert’s Rules of course. He loved marching to his own drum, living life to the fullest and so much of that freedom was thanks to my mother. They had such a beautiful time together. Because of you, he was able to be an incredible Commodore, a wonderful father, and a sharp businessman. You were often the brains behind his business and he knew it and he honored it. Y’all jet skiing to the yacht club from your new house on the lake. Hosting those magnificent parties on your boat and your home. He was so thankful for you and that freedom to simply be himself.

But for many years he was not free. Falling off a porch. A triple bypass. Hurting his back, his leg, hurting his feet, ending up in a wheelchair. He hated that wheelchair.

Dad, I am so thankful you are free. Free from years of pain, depression, and anger. Science proves that we are made of energy so I imagine your energy bursting forth through the universe - free. I hear you in the rustle of the leaves, I see you in the great ocean waves, and I feel your presence through the birds in my garden.

I love you, Dad.