Question: "What you said earlier made me think it must have been even more confusing for you as an actor to just wake up one day and realize you have all these people you don't know that just love you so much and look up to you and travel to other continents to see you. So how was it at first, did you hate it, was it weird?"
Yesterday was the third anniversary of my dad’s death–always a difficult time for me. Coping with it has never been easy or complete.
I’ve decided to post the eulogy I gave for him at his funeral.
I’m hoping it will prove cathartic.
I’d like to begin by reading a poem that I’ve always loved by Dylan Thomas:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas’s words might touch us, but they are not enough. How do you talk about my Dad in a few words? How can any words, no matter how well crafted, possibly capture a life so rich, so bright, so full of love and light?
I’m convinced they can’t, but words are all I can give you. My Dad gave you the rest. He gave you love. He gave you rich, wonderful memories of his spirit and his laughter.
Daddy had a zest for life that was unmatched. He loved easily and unconditionally. People were drawn to him—to his easiness, his humor, his intelligence, and his kindness. He had a way with people, a natural way, that earned him the love of not only his family, but countless lifelong friends.
Right now, as we sit and honor my Dad, it is natural to imagine a world without his light and despair. We feel his loss—we feel it clearly and painfully. We all know this world will never be quite as bright without him.
But we should refuse to despair. We should, instead, do as he would have us do. My Dad was built for joy, not despair, and he would not want us to feel the pain of his loss, but instead, to celebrate the joy of his life. To celebrate the love he left behind—for that love, every one of us he touched, will live on in us, and in everyone we touch. Daddy raged against the dying of the light through a life well lived. He made this world a better place with his presence. He made us all better with his presence, and while we will always, always miss that in our lives, we will also never be without it in our hearts and minds and memories.
So I choose to celebrate—to celebrate a beautiful life lived in love. I love you Daddy. You will be in my heart, in all of our hearts, always.
