Perhaps Easter with its underlying themes of life, death, rebirth, and immortality is an appropriate time to post a remembrance of my father. As with my mother who died just a year and 4 days before Dad, I am sharing the eulogy I gave at his funeral. While consumed by practical matters after Dad’s death and even with the support of my wonderful siblings, I have still felt emotionally stalled unable to take interest in things such as reading, photography, or writing anything. Mom’s last years were marked by the unfortunate progression into dementia and Alzheimer’s. Dad, on the other hand, was very much himself to the last, and this is part of what has made it more difficult. And, so I miss his company, generous nature, and just manner of being much more profoundly. I thought he’d have more time to be himself after losing Mom.
I have used a sort of metaphor lately, an image I can’t seem to dismiss from my thinking, that I feel “root pruned.” I remember when our two large Sea Grape Trees were root pruned for transplant to another location. They cut the larger supporting roots which extend out beyond the arms of the branches to encourage the growth of more of the smaller feeder roots at the root ball itself. For an older tree the shock of this procedure can kill it, but properly done the tree will survive in its new location beautifully. As an army brat, we moved a lot and so I never put down roots at a particular place. The ground my roots were imbedded in was the people in my life, my family. That was my constant and my support. Although, death is as natural as birth and a good death should be treasured and special, still for the living there is a big void. Just about every older relative that was part of my memories of childhood and integral sense of self are gone now…grandparents, favourite aunts and uncles, a favourite cousin, and now my mother and father. It feels like the last, biggest and strongest supporting roots have been severed. Sure, the tree will survive and other supporting roots will become even stronger, and new feeder roots will give life new vitality. Still, I don’t like the sense of disconnect from such well loved parts of myself, but I don’t want to forget either and regret no tear spent in the process. I am lucky to feel this way. I love my roots.
As we seek renewal through Christ today, may we not be severed either from his love and support, by forgetting all He suffered on our behalf.
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eulogy for Dad
John Darby Howard - West Point Cadet
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Almost exactly a year ago, I stood here delivering my mother’s eulogy, and found it one last chance to say thank you to someone you love. In that spirit, my eulogy to my father is a thank you letter.
Dear Dad;
It is so difficult for me to accept that your time with us in this earthly realm has ended. If I hadn’t been there at your bedside when you drew your last breath, I might yet think you were just working in your office or sitting in the next room. Yet, we had you here for 93 well lived years and how can I complain about that!
And what a 93 years they were. You served in three wars and saw the Berlin Wall come down. You’ve seen the advent of TV, the personal computer, man touching foot on the surface of the moon, and the Space Shuttle rumble into orbit from your back yard in Merritt Island.
They say that life’s only constant is change and I am sure the future holds many more technological achievements. But, Space Age to Digital Age the one thing that never changed was your personal dedication to God, Country and Family. Considering we moved every couple of years growing up, it was this sense of constancy and stability that gave us a secure childhood despite having had many addresses.
The hallmarks of my upbringing included your unflagging optimism and joy in life and that great gift you have in seeing the good in people. Being raised by a person who believes in the inherent goodness of man to balance out the negatives out there in the world gave all of us kids a positive platform from which to build our lives. That this would come from a soldier who has seen the face of war, is to me especially unusual. Perhaps we can blame it on Abou Ben Adhem’s angel who let us know that love of God blesses the one who loves his fellow man.
Of your 93 years, I am grateful for the years your parents spent helping mold you into the person you were and for the influence of forbears such as your grandfather, James Marion Howard, who exhibited a great work ethic and a problem solving attitude to life, including surviving the Civil War. And, for the influence of your own father Willis T. Howard, Methodist Minister and Military Chaplain who put God first and allowed that individuals must find a personal relationship with their Creator first and foremost above denominational concerns.
I am most grateful for the years you, along with Mom’s love and support, spent molding me into the person I am and thank you sincerely for a wonderful, supportive childhood. A childhood filled with both important as well as silly memories. Like remembering you laboring to help me understand Geometry with my tears of frustration dripping all over my theorems, or that short-lived enterprise of trying to get us kids take a spoonful of vinegar daily for health, or instilling a love of poetry…well with a few coins for the memorizing…always brings a smile…. did I really memorize Poe’s The Raven for a quarter?? Those poems so wisely chosen were probably part of the molding too…from Henry Leigh Hunts’ Abou Ben Adhem to William Ernest Henley’s Invictus to Edward Sill’s A Fool’s Prayer and so many others which spoke to the better instincts of man. And, on the more serious side remembering losing little Susan Leigh so soon and the lessons of Viet Nam learned while we lived in the Philippines. Even the difficult things were handled with grace and we kids were instilled with an appreciation for how precious life truly is.
Tripping down memory lane is certainly a fun ride of family camaraderie during so many wonderful road trips traveling from one army base to another. So many things, but whether the Grand Tetons, The Painted Desert, Yosemite, Yellowstone, or some lesser known side trip… it was always an adventure. Hawaii was one of my favourites from being there to witness statehood, to seeing Mauna Loa after it erupted and feeling the heat still present in the rock beneath our feet and steam visible from fissures as we walked on the hardened lava. Far too many adventures and anecdotes to recite here, but all part of my sense of life and inevitable curiosity of what comes next.
Even in retirement, you never slowed your pace and continued to serve your fellow man in so many ways. A position with the State Job service helped people gain employment. You took a Program Director position with Brevard Correctional to give others a chance to turn things around through education. And, most notably and most dear to your heart you led a campaign to bring veterans together in remembrance of all they gave for our freedoms and to aid their families in making the Merritt Island Veteran’s Center and Museum a reality. Duty – Honor – Country was never just a Motto for you; it was your sense of self. You not only followed the guidance of father and family, but also that of our founding fathers who looked to God as the source of Life and Freedom.
Even in your last days you thought of others first with thank you s for everyone and every helpful service provided. Your grateful spirit was undimmed even as you struggled for breath from failing lungs. When Darby and Ginger flew in to see you in the hospital with Lynda and me, you thanked US for ‘backing you up’, you who had our backs from day one.
I am so deeply blessed you were my father and thank you for your guidance in my life,
In conclusion, I’d like to share the poem Abou Ben Adhem by James Henry Leigh Hunt alluded to in the letter. If we are at all defined by the things we love, then it is easy to see why he loved this poem.
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou?”—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”
“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest.
Heaps of Love Dad, Heaps of Love
Dad in front of the Merritt Island Veteran's Center
and Museum he helped found and worked tirelessly
to make happen.
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These soldier boots on display at the Merritt Island
Veteran's Center are a haunting reminder of those who
served and the sacrifices they made.
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For those who may wish to support the Merritt Island Veteran’s Memorial Center and Museum and its mission to help veterans you will find a donate button on their website.
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Happy Easter Everyone,
Judy
Posted in Family
