Now, standing at the entrance to the little chapel and greeting guests as they arrived, I was more than a little nervous to get up in front of all these people and speak about my father. I’d spent the last week thinking about and missing him. He was the first thing I thought of when I woke up in the morning and the last thing I thought of at night. His passing weighed heavily on me but there was also a sense of gratitude in it all that at times made me feel a little guilty.
I was grateful that he wasn’t suffering anymore and that he wasn’t confused.
I was grateful that my brother and I had sat with him and enjoyed a final proper meal together. I was even more grateful that my father had his mind that day. I was grateful mostly to Katie, who had made all of that happen just by being herself.
More than anything, I was glad my father was able to meet her, and she him.
As more and more guests arrived in blue, my father’s favorite color, my nerves grew more intense. I shook hands and thanked people for their condolences. I hugged family members I hadn’t seen in years. I joked with those who looked like their grief was about to swallow them whole and hoped that if I could smile, they certainly could too.
All the while, Katie reminded me that she was there with a soft hand on my back or shoulder. Every now and then, she’d take my hand and give it a squeeze, and I’d squeeze right back, soundlessly letting her know that I was okay.
Mike struggled with his emotions the entire time. I knew he felt guilty for not being there for our father as much as he knew he should have, but I reminded him that we were there in the end, when his mind was clear and his heart was happy and full.
What more could two sons ask for than that?
By the time the chapel was full and the service was set to start, my hands were shaking. Katie, Mike, and I took our seats in the front row, and a minister selected by my father conducted the service. It was quiet, serene, and peaceful—a proper farewell.
When the minister was done, he invited anyone up to speak. Nobody went.
Then he turned to me to read the eulogy.
Katie put her hand on my knee. “You can do this. Just look at me and read it to me like you did in the cabin a dozen times over if you get lost, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“You’ve got this,” she whispered.
I stood up and took my speech from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I moved up the set of stairs at the front of the chapel and took my place behind the podium and the microphone.
I stared out into a sea of familiar faces. They all stared back up at me. The weight of their eyes had my throat tightening with anxiety.
I’d never been much for public speaking. And there was a hell of a lot more pressure on me in this moment than there ever was in school when I had to stand in front of a classroom and talk about whatever dim-witted subject my teenage self thought would be interesting. Things like professional skateboarders or life on Mars.
I cleared my throat and fixed my attention on my speech. It was only three quarters of a page, double spaced, printed out on a printer from Katie’s work.
Just start talking.
“I want to start by thanking you all for being here today. My father would have been thrilled to see all of your faces. Of course, he would have reminded you all how old you’ve gotten.”
A ripple of soft laughter went through the chapel at that, and my nerves quieted.
Katie nodded for me to keep going.
“You know, it’s a little strange to be standing up here in front of you all today. I spent a lot of time over the last few years preparing for the moments that would follow my father’s passing. I knew there would be preparations, calls to make, accounts to close, family members to reach out to. And I knew I would be here with all of you and it would be on my shoulders to say something wise about my old man. I knew it was on me to give you something you could hold on to. Maybe to remind you of