Dad's Eulogy

As I still struggle to put words to my thoughts and feelings I wanted to share with you the eulogy Patti wrote for Dad.

Patti, thank you for letting me share your eulogy here. But, more importantly, thank you for standing in front of a church filled with people and beautifully sharing just how much Dad meant to each of us.

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During Dad's brief illness there have been so many lovely tributes written about him on his CaringBridge site, on Facebook, and he received many cards and letters from people wanting to thank him for his positive influence. So many kind words were spoken to and about him.

My family thanks you for all of them and we want you to know that each and every one of you was exactly right. He was that kind, that funny and loving, he was that special.

He was a simple man in the most beautiful sense of the word. He found total satisfaction in his life. He never wanted for anything. He worked hard, but not so he could have the biggest house, or the fanciest car - heck it practically took an Act of Congress to get him to buy a new suit! He worked hard for us, his family. Ultimately, that dedication and hard work would lead to the disease of Mesothelioma. Dad truly took the diagnosis as a badge of honor.

In the construction industry known for gruff, rough around the edges characters, Dad stood out. He was quick with a joke or a helping hand. He never treated anyone as if they were beneath him and in his work life, like his personal life, he was respected and loved.

‪Given the choice to spend a day anyway he wanted, Dad would have picked a warm sunny day, steamed crabs, a cold beer, a winning Orioles game on the radio, his wife and children at the picnic table and his grandkids playing in the back yard. ‬‬

My father was a bit of a Renaissance man. He participated fully in the raising of his children long before it was the norm. He was always in charge of Bath Time and on cold winter mornings he would throw our clothes in the dryer so that when we got dressed for school we would be warm. At the end of the day we kids would wait for him at the top of the neighborhood and he would pick us up in the back of his truck, drive us home, and he would play with us in the back yard after coming home from a long day’s work.

We were raised in a house with few rules. But three that were engrained in us by our father - first (and most importantly) never, ever…no matter what…disrespect his wife. Those beautiful sparkling Irish eyes could turn steel cold in a flash if we were being rude to Mom.

I wish I could find the right words to express the way my dad felt about my mother. It was so far beyond "for richer or poor”, so much deeper than “in sickness and in health". In fact, I'm pretty sure the only wedding vow my father didn't honor was "until death do us part".

Yes, Mom and Dad's relationship changed on Sept 5, 2002, but it surely hadn't ended. Dad started each day of the past 9 years by having coffee with my mom. He would go to the 7-11, grab a newspaper and a cup of coffee, and head to the cemetery. If the weather was bad, Dad would say, "Poor old Mommy, she only got a drive-by today."

Dad brought her fresh flowers at least once a week, always being sure to put a few of those flowers on the grave site of a baby girl Dad had never met.

When Dad travelled, or on the few rare occasions he was sick, we kids would always scramble at the last minute, "Did someone put fresh flowers at the cemetery?"

Clare had the best idea, so I stopped at Safeway this morning and brought flowers so that on Dad’s final trip to the cemetery, he’d have flowers for Mom.

Dad always modeled the behavior he wanted from his children. I think more than trying to practice what he preached - it was just who Dad was. He was always respectful of his mother - our grandmother. We grew up watching him taking her shopping, to the bank, having dinner with her at least once a week and speaking to her every night. And let’s be honest, we kids enjoyed the fact that if Dad even thought about stepping out of line, my grandmother was the only person who could put him right back into place with a simple "Donald, stop being such a jackass".

Second rule, there was never a good excuse to miss dinner time. We were welcome to have friends join us at the table, but Dad expected us to be there. And if any of you ever shared a meal with us, you know it wasn't a "Beaver Cleaver" type of dinner time. We weren't neatly dressed. The children didn't eat in silence while the husband and wife discussed his day over a martini. Nope, not our house - it was loud and sometimes chaotic, always funny and filled with stories of the day. Dad wanted to know how each of us was doing in school, he wanted to know how we had spent our afternoon, and he wanted to hear the latest jokes and be kept up to date on all the gossip.

The third rule was more a way of life than a rule - Family First. And Dad’s idea of family just wasn't his wife and four kids. It was better defined as anyone whom he loved or who loved either him, his wife, his four kids or his grandchildren. He worried about, prayed for, and included in his "family" so many people. That doesn't mean he always remembered your name - don't be offended. He didn’t always remember mine. We used to call it, “The Litany of the Saints.” Dad would look at one of his children and run down the list of names until he got it right. So for me, he would start with: Mom, Mary Beth, Don, T.J., Doodles (yes, the family dog) and finally come around to my name.

To his grandchildren, I know to you it was second nature to look up and see your grandfather at your track meet, your ball game, your cheerleading competition, your play, or your dance recital. If it mattered to you, it mattered to Dad Dad.

Each of you has been provided with a beautiful example of God’s love on Earth. A gentle giant, a man who truly let his actions speak louder than his words. And his selfless actions to the very end of his earthly existence, I hope, will forever provide you a role model worth emulating.

Grandsons - you've seen the perfect example of how to be a husband and a father. Granddaughters - he set the bar high, but settle for nothing less.

Even when it came to his best friend, Dad kept in the family. My dad's best friend is Uncle Jack. We kids want to thank you, Uncle Jack, for being such a good friend to Dad. You were his greatest comfort when Mom died. He was very much lost without her and you helped him navigate his way back to the land of the living. And whether it was traveling to Ireland, having lunch at the Smokehouse, attending funerals (sometimes even accidently the funeral of people you didn't even know) or grabbing a pint at one of the local Irish establishments Dad loved spending time with you.‬
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‪I know by now must of you have heard the story of when Dad was first diagnosed with cancer, the doctor walked in placed his hands on top of Dad’s and said, "Mr. Waters, you have cancer". ‬‬

Dad responded with "Very good".

"No, Mr. Waters you DO have cancer"

"Very Good."

T.J. had to interrupt to interpret - "very good" in dad speak means – “Ok. It is what it is; we can't change it so let’s deal with it the best way possible and move forward".

Dad I failed a test, I wrecked the car, I'm getting divorced..."very good". Never an ounce of judgment. I'm not saying Dad was proud of every decision his kids made, but he was ALWAYS proud of his children. He was the very best at separating the deed from the doer. ‬
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‪After the doctors left the room that day Dad said to me, "I have lived twice as long as my brother, Joe. He never got to see his kids graduate from high school. I got to see all of my children graduate high school, get married, have children of their own. Hell, I got to see several grandkids graduate high school, some college and God willing, I will see one get married. I am a lucky man and anyway, I miss your mom."
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And I know he truly believed that. He was blessed. And just 14 days ago, Dad was honored to be at the wedding of his oldest grandchild. Besides the icing on the cake that Dad loved Clare so much, was the fact that all of his family was in the same place at the same time. Every child, in-law, grandchild (and lots of extended family) - all there together celebrating love. ‬

‪What I wish for each of you is that at some time in your life, you can have a few moments with someone you love like we had with Dad that very last day.
The doctors didn't expect that Dad would have a level of consciousness that would allow him to communicate with us. Clearly, they didn't know who was boss.

First, one eye peeked open, and when he looked around the room and saw all of his children, he knew it was safe to open both eyes.

The doctor, who was a wonderful man, spoke clearly to Dad and told him his prognosis. Whether it was Dad’s ears that couldn't hear the doctor, or if it was his heart, isn't completely clear to me. But my sister, Mary Beth, spoke to Dad. She spoke to him from her heart and in the most amazingly compassionate way conveyed to Dad that this was his last day. She let him know that we were all there; we were all going to be ok and that when he was ready, we would turn off life support and he could go home to Jesus and Mom.

However, Dad had a few messages left to convey. While still on a ventilator we played the most unusual game of charades. Dad was able to share with us some very important and meaningful things:‬ ‬
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• Next June we need to buy 100 hot dogs, 80 regular and 20 Polish. We needed 70 hamburgers about this big. So, if any of you thought that the McDonnell Family picnic would end here, I assure that you are wrong. So please mark your calendars for the 3rd Saturday in June.
• ‪He dictated that we should have bagpipes - thank you for being here.‬
• ‪He wanted an American flag on his casket, and his AOH sash on his chest (not the honorary grand marshal one, he didn't want to brag)
• ‪He wanted a party today...a big party with lots of Irish Cream - but we didn't need to go to the liquor store to buy the Irish whiskey, because he had 3 bottles under the bar.
• ‪He wanted his Grandchildren who were in college to stay in class and not miss school because of him.
• ‪He wasn't sure about an open or closed casket, it depended on how he looked.‬
• ‪He had a very unattractive option for his burial that involved a hambone, an unseemly location for that hambone, and a pack of hungry dogs.

While still intubated each of us in the room got a chance to speak with Dad, to look him in the eye and tell him just how wonderful he was. Another blessing in this family is that we don't wait until "it’s too late", we don't have "I wish he would have known". Dad knew every day how much we adored him, but there was something beautiful about getting to share those few hours with him.

When he was ready, he was extubated and for a short time, able to speak, he wanted us all in the same room. It took a minute or two to gather everyone around his bedside and when we were all there, silent, waiting for his words of wisdom he said...‬

“Somebody get me a Smithwicks!‬”

‪We all laughed and then he composed himself and drew a breath and said, "Thank you".

Really Dad???

We are the ones who need to thank you. We are blessed to have been in your family. We are grateful for every lesson you taught us and we will miss you every day of our lives.

My sister said it best, and we've each said it a thousand times since then, Tuesday was the best worst day of our lives. As he did throughout our lives, Dad made this transition as easy as he could for us. He spent his last few hours making sure that we were okay, thanking us, making us laugh, and as always being a living example of faith. I've never seen such grace. I am eternally grateful to God for the honor of being his daughter.‬

Thank you for being here today, and don't forget - after the interment – there’s gonna be a party - a big, big, big party with lots of Irish Cream and Dad expects you all to be there.‬
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