Three months ago, I lost my father. This three-month mark is hitting hard for some reason. I don’t overthink it and ask why. I sit with the loss. I cry when I need to release my emotions. I journal about all the memories that flood my mind. I also journal about conflicted feelings of wasted time by not asking him more about his life. I talk with my father in the quiet moments of the day, telling him how much I miss him. I know he is in heaven watching over us and has us covered in his love, but I miss him a lot. I’m sharing the eulogy I wrote for my father to remind myself that his life was complete, even if I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 

They say that a man occupies his daughter’s life up until the day she is married. While there is some truth to that statement, luckily for my sisters and me and along with our families, our dad didn’t nearly occupy a space in our lives; his presence and all that he taught us in life is forever woven into who we are and thus handed down into who our children are becoming. 

When someone you love so dearly passes, your memories are scattered as if you dropped a jar of sand, and the granules spread far and wide. Some memories are more easily grasped, while some require more precision to hold on to. Some are only seen when the light makes them sparkle. And then some memories are sprinkled into your hands by others sharing in the pain of loss. 

Everyone here has memories of my dad, and I am thankful for those who shared them with me. If I made a list of all the memories, we’d be here for quite some time, so I’ll share this…my dad was a good man. He never judged any one of his kids’ mistakes. He was firm, lovable, competitive, and protective. His love was unconditional, and I am forever grateful to have been in his life. 

I’m not sure what he would want me to share with you, and while I can share a lifetime of the sweetest memories I have of him, I’ll start with the “infamous” bowling bet we made. I was around eight years old, and he told me that if I bowled a high score and won my tournament, he’d buy me a new ball. Well, that day, not only did I win, but I also bowled a 178. It was a maroon sparkle ball with Denise engraved in gold, and it was all my own – I finally had something that wasn’t a hand-me-down!

Another memory was that of my wedding day and dance. He was proud that I was marrying Chris, but he also reassured me that he would be there should I have any doubts about going through with the wedding. He also reminded Chris at the altar that he knew “where he lived.” Later that evening, the lyrics to a Billy Joel song led our steps. Who could ever imagine words being a perfect fit for two ordinary people, “Don’t go changing to try and please me, You never let me down before, I would not leave you in times of trouble, I said, “I love you,” that’s forever, I love you just the way you are.” And it’s those lyrics that have a more significant meaning than ever before.

Then came the memories of my son with my dad. One such visit was when my dad lifted Ryan to touch a plane in the Air and Space Museum. Luckily it didn’t get us kicked out, but Ryan, I want you to know that your grandfather will always lift you up when you need it most. 

We knew his passing would come, but we could never have imagined how deep this loss feels. The weekend before his passing, the five of us were on Skype. I’ve found some small comfort in telling myself that maybe having us all together, even if it was online, made him realize that his life was complete. On the day we said our final goodbye, my mom and her girls gathered together again, just like we did over 40 years ago on the day they married. Even though it’s been 43 years, being together like that once again made me feel like that small, vulnerable little girl who was forever changed and forever proud to be a Kinney girl. 

I hope you are playing piano and chess.

You will never be forgotten.

Thank you for loving us.