The following post was based on our dad’s eulogy, and collaboratively written by Marcel, Lynette, and I. Video of the Eulogy can be found on YouTube.

Mark Twain said:

Let us endeavor so to live
so that when we come to die
even the undertaker will be sorry.

Some of our first life lessons we learned from our Dad, such as, “If you fool around in church, you are going to be kneeling in the corner when you get home”.

Now we’d like to share some of the final lessons Dad taught us these past few weeks.

Never miss a good party – Andrea recently reminded us this was something Buckshot taught her a long time ago. Dad was the life of every party, and many people found themselves easily talking to him and listening to his stories.

Never miss an opportunity to speak to a stranger and learn about their life; who knows what connections you might find. In the hospital, when Dad needed to rely on the staff for help with every task, shift changes every 12 hours could have been rough on someone who didn’t LOVE to talk to strangers. But for Dad, he viewed each shift change as an opportunity to meet yet another new friend. On his last night in the intermediate care unit at the 7pm shift change, the RN, Rachel from Marquette, came on duty and exclaimed, “I’m so happy you’re still here! Well, not under the circumstances, but you know what I mean!”

Don’t be afraid to brag about your family. Even if you don’t have the details exactly right. Dad told everyone that Lynette was in charge of all the plants and animals on Isle Royale. Mom tried to correct him that she was an ecologist and he said “Well no one knows what that means”. While I was working remotely in the room, Dad was telling everyone I was the “office manager in a law firm”. After a few days I corrected him what my actual job was and he later told Marcel “Guess what Nelly got a big promotion at work today!” Shortly thereafter he resumed telling everyone I was an office manager in a law firm.

Laugh at Yourself. As Dad’s oxygen needs increased and he found himself in some very unpleasant situations, we worried he would get discouraged and feel like giving up. It didn’t take long after one of these situations for Dad to find humor in the story and then take joy in retelling it to others. There were times when Dad said, “take a video of that and send it to Margaret!” Dad had to endure Respiratory Therapy treatments 4 times a day in which they attached a vest to him, plugged into a machine, that literally pounded against his chest for 15 minutes at a time. He affectionally referred to the therapists as “Captain Boom Booms”, and they told us, most people really hate this”, but Dad said “it was like riding in a Model T”.  As the respiratory therapist was about to insert the tubes of the ventilator into his throat he said “is THAT thing going in my mouth? It looks like I’m going to outer space! Can you take a picture of this for Rosie, she’d get a kick out of that”

Call your friends. In the hospital, Dad had his ancient phone book from home, and a notebook that he kept a to-do list of friends to call. The day before he went on the ventilator, he called Jim Crawford (the funeral director) to get someone’s phone number and jokingly told him, “Hopefully I don’t have any business for you soon”. Less than an hour before the vent, when Dad could no longer speak on the phone, he frantically motioned to our mom to call the next person on his list “Call Dan” “The Amish Guy!”

Tour Lambeau. At the hospital in Green Bay,  Dad became obsessed with the idea that Marcel must tour Lambeau Field. He resisted, wanting to spend as much time with Dad as possible. When Cel was flying back to Green Bay, as Dad struggled for air and just prior to being sedated and placed on the ventilator he emphatically said “Cel! Lambeau!” Two days later with Dad on the ventilator and unconscious, Mom, Marcel, and his nephew Stephen made the Lambeau pilgrimage in Dad’s honor. Lambeau is amazing.  Celly repeats this life lesson: TOUR LAMBEAU

Family is #1. On New Year’s Eve, after being taken from his beloved U.P., transported to St. Vincent ICU in Green Bay by ambulance, and not allowed to eat solid foods, hooked up to multiple machines, Dad repeatedly proclaimed this was the “BEST NEW YEARS EVER”, as all of us were together, and family was the most important thing to him. 

Family is actually #2. Rosie was #1. Rosie was the love of his life. Mom and Dad recently celebrated their 50th Anniversary and we will leave you with a poem about their love.