Eulogy for My Dad

I think I was in 2nd grade when I came home from school with a story one day, that I had written about some type of adventure in a cave. I remember my dad reading it and saying, “wow, you could be a writer some day!”

I remember how this made me feel.

He went on business trips a lot when I was little, and I distinctly remember being 3 or 4 and waking up one day, and he had already gone for his trip.  I didn’t get to say goodbye. (In fairness he probably left super early for a flight and didn’t even know I wanted to say goodbye.)

But not getting to say goodbye, I remember how this made me feel.

And I remember on his last day, here on earth, getting that phone call...  I didn’t get to say goodbye. I guess I always thought I’d have that chance.

I will always remember how this made me feel.

So today, I want to say lots of words, as a form of goodbye.  Not all the words, because there are far too many to say and… “ain’t nobody got time fo dat.”

But enough to honor who he was and how he made me feel.

To quote his coworker Rich Herbert: Phil was a great combination of witty, snarky, great problem solver, competent, and loyal. Plus he'd bring in Hilligoss donuts randomly!

Two weeks before my dad passed, he may have had words with my mom’s doctor, because he thought they were wrong… and then sent chocolates a week later, when the doctor ended up being right.

Dad did have a biiiit of a knack for putting his foot in his mouth.

But I learned from that. 

As my brother Bob recently said to our mom, every generation tries to do better than their parents.  And I do believe that my dad did better than his parents, just as I have learned from him and my mom, and my children hopefully are learning from me. 

Of the many things he taught me, one of the biggest lessons was about showing up. 

He showed up for his brother Monroe and took care of him when he had cancer, right up until the end of Monroe’s life. He defended Monroe’s end of life choices to others, and in turn their mother learned from this and stood up for Monroe, too.  

He then showed up for his mom Lulu May and got guardianship of her when she needed someone to stand up for HER in the sunset of her life.

He showed up for me sometimes when I was a single mom, helping with the kids, with buying a washer/dryer, and showing up to my new home inspection asking the inspector “Do you have a daughter? Would you let YOUR daughter buy this house?”

He showed up for my brother when he had a health scare early in the morning one day. We met up in the waiting room at the hospital and my dad said, “I rushed right over. I didn’t even brush my teeth.”

I will always remember my dad showing up that day, and I will remember how this made me feel.

He showed up for my other brother at band practice once many moons ago. I’m probably remembering the incident incorrectly but I… think I  remember… there was some cursing involved by dad toward the teacher, in my brother’s defense.

He showed up for my kids, picking them up from activities and taking them home to spoil them with treats and too much screen time.

He was the one I called when I learned there were alternative treatments for autism. I asked him to come to a dietitian’s talk and tell me if the science behind the claims was legit. (Spoiler alert, it was.)

He and Mom came to Rylie’s Kindergarten graduation and Hayden’s play, as well as grandparents day, a dance recital, and many other events. They were always so excited to share how much fun it was to see the kids shine. 

I once recall picking the kids up from Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The report went something like,

“All they wanted to eat was potato chips for dinner, so that’s what they got. And Miss Tinnabin made us play school, but I wasn’t being a good listener and had to be sent to the principal’s office.” He had a real, true smile on his face, talking about his grandkids and how much he enjoyed spending time with them.

In the last year he’s been showing up for my mom and helped her get signed up for some programs to help her live a more independent life.

He saved the life of a relative once.  Maybe two people. Those two stories got conflated in my young brain and I’m not sure I know the real truth of it.

He probably saved many lives during the Vietnam war, riding in the back of a plane and telling other US planes where not to go to stay safe.  

And legend says that he saved my life no less than 12 times, as he told it… THOUGH it wasss sort of his fault. Apparently he kept feeding me hot dogs for many meals as a toddler, he or mom would cut the hot dog up in to tiny pieces and then when I would stuff ALL the little pieces in my mouth and choke, he’d turn me upside down so I could breathe again. Why he kept feeding me the hotdogs, I guess I’ll never know.

It’s important for me to mention that earlier in my life, dad wasn’t always the most patient. He didn’t always show up for me or the people who needed him. He didn’t always get it right.

I will admit that none of us do.  

But I learned from that.

Part of what I’m learning is that… we’re ALL learning.  We’re all just figuring this out as we go, and if we allow ourselves to change, and receive that others can sometimes change too, Then sometimes that has to be enough.

In recent years I noticed that even an old dog can learn some new tricks. “Pobody’s nerfect”, as dad would say.

And I do know that my dad was trying.

Aside from the titles of “Dad”, husband and Grandpa, so many other labels can be applied to Phil Carney. I think probably some of his favorites were:

Intellectual. Computer geek. UFO enthusiast. Dungeon Master. Jazz pianist. Friend.

He was a veteran who loved his country but hated war.

He was proud of his Irish heritage and college degree. He loved science and philosophy and watching the news.

He detested when power took advantage of others, and tried to root for (and vote for) the little guy. 

Dad had to have the latest technology gadget and the very best fish tank equipment, and you usually couldn’t leave a visit with him without hearing all about one of them or both. 

He was a lifelong learner who also loved teaching. Even after his passing, I’m still learning from my dad. I think it would make him happy to know that.

Grandma Lulu May once told us: if you make yourself content, you can put up with a lot of things.”

This is now one of my favorite quotes, and I do think Dad was LEARNING to put up with the crummy things… and find more contentment in the good things in life.  

Although to hear him tell it, you ALL  know he would have said “you know that light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train?” 

In the past two weeks since dad died, I’ve talked to many people who knew him. Not just family, friends and coworkers.  But also his banker, hair stylist, and house cleaners. The biggest theme in their condolences is that they believed him to be friendly, funny and kind.

One of my favorite memories of him is when he and my grandpa would eat at the breakfast table at my grandparents’ house. My dad and grandpa would be over there like two kids in school. They’d tell jokes and start giggling. Grandma would tell them that their topic of conversation was inappropriate for the breakfast table, but this would just set them off further into uncontrollable giggles. The type you get in church when you’re sitting next to your best friend and something funny happens, and you know you’re supposed to be serious and quiet, but that just makes it worse and you just can’t.

Dad could do serious and quiet, but he much preferred the laughter.

I think that’s what I’d like to remember about him.

Those nights at my grandparents’ kitchen table, eating butterscotch brownies while dad and grandpa laughed at something that us kids probably didn’t understand, but we did understand curse words. And their laughter was infectious.

I will always remember how those good times made me feel.

In the words of others who knew him:

He was always so friendly to me,

He was helping your mom a lot.

We will always remember him as a good neighbor.

He could bring a smile onto everyone's face just by walking into the room.  

He was so witty and a talented singer.  

He helped me understand algebra our freshman year.

Phil's warmth and humor always made our D&D adventures even better. 

He was a wonderful gentleman who will be missed.

And by his former coworker Ranga a few months ago,  “He is my best friend.”

We will remember those times when he showed up, and how he made us feel.

And so now, to share from dad’s own words, taken from the eulogy he wrote for his friend Rick Detar:

“As I became older, my views on the spiritual softened. I’m still skeptical about much of it but I do believe that somehow our consciousness survives death. I think you and I will meet again in eternity, where we will sit with our backs to a tree, still discussing anything and everything.”

I hope that he did get what he wanted—his back to a tree, finally drinking a beer again, talking with friends about science… and listening to some jazz.

There is so much more nuance and there are many more words and feelings I could share, but today I will end with the words I wrote on his obituary page:

I love you, Dad. Say hi to Grandpa and all the rest for me. Help us watch over Mom. And be good up there and try not to cause too much trouble with your dad and your brother.

Safe travels, to you, until we meet again.