Dad's Eulogy...the one that was never heard.

   My dad passed in his sleep last November 9th.  He was not sick, he just didn't wake up.  We had a mass at which my brother Douglas gave a eulogy.  At his graveside ceremony my brother Patrick gave a eulogy.  I had wanted to speak and give my thoughts about dad, but it didn't happen.  My parents and I had a "falling out" in September of 2013.  I needed to stand up for myself and that caused some hard feelings which ended with no communication for the next fourteen months.  My dad died and we hadn't talked for fourteen months!  Now I'll tell you like I tell everyone, "I'm sorry we didn't talk, but I'm not sorry I stood up for myself."
    Anyway, it wasn't an ideal situation.  I heard the news from my brother Patrick and spent the rest of the morning sobbing  over this huge loss.  I went and saw him at the mortuary where I kissed his cold forehead and said my good bye to his shell.  It was over.  We would have no more chance at a reconciliation, we wouldn't talk ever again.  I would never be able to ask him a question again.  I wouldn't ever get a hug from him again (the little boy in me really wanted a hug at this point.)
   I went to work the next day and in between patients I was trying to make arrangements for his funeral mass, contacting old patients of his, putting out the word to anyone who had known him and I was writing a eulogy.  What follows are my thoughts that I would have shared;

      What I remember about him was that he had a great sense of humor.  He loved to laugh and that would make me laugh.  He cursed like a sailor and carried a rosary.  Growing up in a family of three boys it was very similar to a fraternity and my dad was the president of the club.  He could burp the entire alphabet with enough diet coke in him.  I one time asked him and my Cousin Ricky if they would strip down to nothing and hold a dinner plate sized Christmas needle point project in front of their manhood. Well, before I even finished asking he was naked.  Cousin Ricky felt the peer pressure and with great trepidation stripped down and said, "Gary, please don't touch me." The picture was a Holiday hit!  
   At age fourteen I came to his dental office and started to work part time.  This would continue until I became a dentist at age twenty six.  I was so nervous about passing my dental boards that I asked him if he would open the result letter when it came to the house.  Four weeks after taking the test there was a knock on our condo door.  Without waiting for us to answer he walked in with the biggest smile I have ever seen him have.  He was holding the letter next to his face.  I will never forget the relief I felt and I will never forget that moment.  We worked side by side for the next seven years as dentists.  I know the pride he felt taking me to his professional clubs and introducing  me as a new dentist.  It is always nice to have someone proud of you, and he showed it.   He was an excellent dentist and a good example to follow.
    He was the grandpa to my children.  I could not have asked for a better grandfather than him.  He loved them with all of his heart and showed it with his actions. The kids loved "Papa's waffles."  They loved him and never wanted to leave when I came to pick them up from a visit.  He made them laugh.  A lot! They learned to curse from him (and me.) Somehow the term "Grandpa Potty Mouth" was bantered about during their childhood.  He taught all of them to play the trumpet at some point in their lives.  He had hoped that one of them would feel the same joy he felt playing his instrument.  If you would ask the kids to describe my dad they would use one word, "Crazy." They would follow up by saying, "In a good way."
   Finally, I don't think a day went by in my lifetime that I didn't hear him play his trumpet.  He loved my mother, but the trumpet was his mistress.  He joined band after band and would drag me and Douglas with him.  As I can remember I played the harmony on the trombone as he played the melody on the trumpet in the following bands;  Church Brass Choir, Brothers Dixie, The Orange Symphonic Band, Latin Express, The Christmas Quintet, The Orange Swing Band, Howard Reynolds Orchestra, The Barney Farr Orchestra, etc., etc, well you get the point.  Music was what he really loved more than anything.  There was no gig too far. He would play late for "Midnight Mass" or early for "Reveille" If we got paid he would make us give back the money.  He told me that we got paid by feeling good playing music.  I would have rather gotten paid! When I was very stressed going through the early months of my divorce proceedings I would tell him how low I felt.  You can guess what he said, "Blow your horn, you'll feel much better!" I know he loved us, but he really loved that fucking trumpet!  
    
 I love you dad