My Father’s Words: The Parting Glass
He ‘spoke’ at his own funeral. He would have loved that.
I spoke with my mom recently. “I found a poem your dad wrote behind the desk computer.” I knew immediately what it was because I had put it there a few years ago. She started to recite it.
After she finished reading it aloud, I said, “Yes, Paul (my husband) read it aloud at his funeral during his eulogy.” She didn’t remember, and I can’t blame her. The death of a spouse of 60 years has got to tear you apart.
Paul’s eulogy was Mom’s request.
She had asked Paul to present a eulogy, and as her daughter and son-in-law, we were expected to plan the service. Having a man involved in the planning was a comforting notion to her. She’s of that age.
So I gave mine, then Paul spoke. The first thing he did was to read aloud the poem I had found soon after my father died.
Then Paul got out his guitar and we led the congregation in a rendition of “The Parting Glass,” the lyrics printed on the last page of the program. Maybe the song was a rash decision because a lot of people looked uncomfortable.
Honestly, I wasn’t paying too much attention to others that day to see if it was a good idea or not. It was for Dad. It was for Mom. It was for me.
People sang — maybe half of them. My dad always liked to leave things on a happy note and he loved Irish music, so it was a fitting tribute. He would have loved it. He would have loved that Paul read his poem, even though in life he may not have ever done so. It was personal, heartfelt, and sweet.
We had a strange, sometimes strained, relationship.
I have regrets. When I was young, I idolized him. When I hit puberty, I fought with him. When I was in my 20's, I shunned him. When I was in my 30’s, I was in an abusive relationship and isolated from him. In my 40’s, we rebuilt.
When I was 50, he died. Too soon.
Still, no matter what, my dad was my biggest fan. And I was his. I mean, after all, I went into the same profession as him. I respected him. I loved him.
Dad’s relationship with his brothers was an odd, sometimes uncomfortable one, too.
Fights over inheritance money tore him and his brothers apart. It was an ugly falling out. I’m glad that on his deathbed, he and his surviving brother were able to make a sort of amends.
Family has always been important to Dad, and the rift hurt him dearly. They had a phone call while Dad was in hospice. It helped him pass. It gave him the peace that he needed, and I am grateful that my uncle called him. He died about 6 months after Dad. Just like that, all of the brothers were gone.
There are so many facets of a family dynamic that I am only beginning to see. It is sad the way my dad was sometimes treated by everyone, including me. He wanted so badly to be liked, to be respected, to be seen as fair-minded and kind. His caustic wit alienated people sometimes, and he seemed to never understand why.
My Dad was socially awkward. So am I. Yet if you understood what he was saying, and the spirit in which he was saying it, then you would take it as it was intended. It’s the same for me.
He was the first to make fun of himself, but only because he felt that it stung less than if he let others make fun of him first. I don’t think it made it sting any less, and he ended up not even being his own ally. Sometimes our defenses cost more than they gain.
He was self-conscious of his weight, his face, his hair, his intelligence, his body. He never thought he measured up to...what? I don’t even think he knew. His imposter’s syndrome was real. Yeah. I get that.
In the end, he was weary. He struggled so mightily against age and its grip. Mom is convinced that Dad knew of his terminal diagnosis and chose to tell no one, not even her. I’m not so sure. But maybe. Maybe.
People remember Dad as a happy-go-lucky jokester. But they didn’t know that underneath was a man who…wanted. And he wanted so, so much. He loved so, so fiercely. He felt so, so deeply.
I think his poem really surprised people who thought they knew him. It’s sweet, contemplative, and shows a man who is readying himself for the next step, whatever that may be.
Release
Let me gently down ’til my elements
Blend again with all those things which
Are of worth.
Elements of the natural life, of beauty
Friends, Child and Parent which form my
Lovely earth.
Ease me down, my time’s unfolded now.
Given with a free and generous hand, with joy
It was received.
The times of understanding, elation and grief,
(That single page with two clear sides)
I perceived.
Life was a matrix, clever, where in my hours
I played my own unique and joyous roles.
And only now move toward discovery
Of eternal soul.
Such journeys have always been my greatest joy.
Release me to those wandering trails I first tread as
A boy:
To seek, to learn (our greatest pleasure)
To find a new path or tread again the old as
Now will be.
Let me gently down — move on — be happy and
Be free.
— R. M. Cole
Oh, Dad. I hope that those trails you trod now are full of wonder and discovery. I hope that you continue to learn new things, and I hope you know that your worth is more than elements. You are my Dad, and I love you. Be happy and be free.
Sarah Lou is an educator, copy editor, dog lover, writer, and potter. Having some fun and writing some stuff. Thanks for reading!
