Eulogy given on June 30, 2023
Thank you so much for joining us here today. Words cannot express how thankful we are for the outpouring of love and support we have received from all of you.
My father would be honored and deeply humbled by your presence. Given his unassuming nature, he might even feel awkward that you took time out of your busy schedule on his account.
There is a well-known book titled “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.” My version of that book would be titled “All I Really Need To Know I Learned From My Dad.” The only thing more profound today than my grief is my gratitude.
His fatherly lessons were many, but don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t one to preach, never one to boast. Indeed, he was mostly a man of few words. Instead, he modeled his lessons in how he chose to live his life and embrace his many roles as a son, brother, husband, father, uncle, friend, police officer, and more recent and arguably his favorite as “papa” to his grandson Shane.
He had many exceptional qualities, but perhaps his most extraordinary was his deep and unconditional love for his family. He taught me what it means and what it feels like to be loved without a single condition. How does one begin to thank someone for a gift so precious?
He was a loyal friend and a hard worker. He valued humor, forgiveness, and humility. He gave his heart and soul to a job he loved. He believed that’s the way to live your best life, and he did it better than anyone I’ve ever known.
A lifelong public servant, a sworn protector, and a proud Boston police officer with a relentless work ethic. He rose through the ranks to Deputy Superintendent, but at his core, he was what they call in the business a “street cop” with a hard-earned “been there, seen that” type of know. He had a way of always being right, but you’d never hear him say, “I told you so.”
I considered listing his many career achievements, but he wouldn’t have liked that because it wasn’t his style.
In fact, much to his chagrin, when he retired from the department in 2006, the Boston Globe marked the occasion with a column aptly titled “Forever the Best.” Written by Brian McGrory, the column poetically captured my father’s essence, and with his passing, the piece that immortalized my dad’s time on the job is now a precious family heirloom. If I might share an excerpt or two:
Dedicating your life to service requires sacrifice, not only from the public servant but also from those who love them. For 49 years, my parents have shown that a successful marriage demands sacrifice, teamwork, and laughter. A long-lasting marriage is built by two people who believe in and live by the solemn promise they made. Nearly 50 years ago, my parents took a vow of good times and bad, in sickness and in health; they honored that every day and through the darkest hours. An unconditional and forgiving love is their bond that even death cannot break because true love stories never end. They last until the stars go out and the tide no longer turns.
And speaking of tides, I can’t possibly pay proper tribute to my father without mentioning his boating phase.
If you just laughed, it’s likely because you were never invited to play mate to his captain. For those who did receive the invite and dared to accept, I apologize if I just triggered an episode of PTSD.
He loved the freedom of boating on Lake Winnipesaukee’s open waters, the breeze blowing his beautiful head of curly hair. The captain had complete command of his ship, so long as the direction was straight and any approaching vessel or buoy was at least several nautical miles away. Anything other was when things started getting dicey.
We shared a boat slip with our neighbors. In essence, we docked our Honda beside their Ferrari. The stakes were high. One day, as the captain prepared for docking, his trusty crew (me) prepared to secure the line. And that’s when our leisurely day of boating turned into more of a demolition derby. Turns out, the Ferrari was no match for our sturdier and more practical Honda. Indeed, it folded like an accordion. We feverishly attempted to wash off the massive dent with lake water, but it was a fool’s errand. He turned to me and said, “We need to go and tell the owner what happened.”
We spotted the owners of the newly dented Ferrari on the beach, and I dutifully followed behind my father as we trudged across the sand. He greeted the boat owner with a handshake and said, “I’m so sorry, but my daughter is learning how to dock the boat, and she crashed into yours. I will gladly cover any damages.” What I anticipated was a lesson in personal responsibility turned out to be a lesson in taking one for the team – different but no less valuable.
Our families’ boating phase also included early morning fishing trips. My dad used to say, “The only way to catch fish is to sneak up on them while they’re sleeping,” apparently applying the same tactical advantage to capturing a trout that he did to a murderous felon. So, before dawn, we would set off on one of our many father & son fishing expeditions, which always included a cooler packed to the brim with pringles, chips ahoy, and bologna and cheese sandwiches.
We’d find the perfect spot and drop anchor. We would chat in hushed tones about everything and nothing, watching the sunrise and downing a breakfast of pringles and chips ahoy, waiting for the fish to arise from their slumber. With the morning sun above the trees and every morsel of our rations gone, he’d turn to me and say, “This is boring; let’s go home.” So, with full bellies and no fish, we headed for shore. I don’t recall ever catching a single fish, but boy am I glad I never missed an attempt.
And then there was that time when he taught me about perspective and the art of having some. I was in the throes of some trivial teenage drama. I recall sitting on the living room floor, proclaiming the end of the world. He sat on the floor beside me and said, “I know this feels like a big deal, but like all things, this too shall pass.” He said it’s important to understand the difference between what matters and what doesn’t. And then, in a rare admission of vulnerability, he confided in me and said, “You know someday you will lose your parents — and that is the saddest thing that has ever happened to me.” And there he goes, being right once again.
But that is why we now must dig deep to be selfless, find comfort, and maybe even rejoice that he has been reunited at heaven’s gate, and I pray that he is finally wrapped tight in his mother’s loving embrace. He was too young when he lost her, only 22 years old. I know he has quietly missed her every day since, and 50 years is a very long time to miss someone.
Today, we come together to lay his body to rest but not his spirit, his love, or his lessons.
Lastly, I know he would want me to say, “Thank you.” My mom and I want to express our deepest gratitude for your kindness and support throughout his lengthy illness. All your calls and lunch dates meant the absolute world to him. As his health went down, you rallied to keep his spirits up. And for that, we are forever grateful.
To the Driscolls, the Gobbis, the DiRussos, and the Holbrooks, and all our loved ones who have shared countless happy holidays and joyful celebrations – thank you. To all our beloved neighbors and friends, thank you from the absolute bottom of our hearts.
And to my darling, Shane, thank you for being a loving grandson and bringing Papa such pride and joy.
My hope is that we leave here today and face tomorrow with a sense of comforting peace, knowing we have a new guardian angel on our side. I have every confidence he will excel in his new role. Not only because he will take on his new job with his trademark heart and soul, but because he’s already had a lifetime of practice.
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