Two years later and there is still pain. There are still conflicted feelings. Some really positive things have happened since. And there have been some not so positive things, too. The shock has mostly worn off and in its place is a healthy layering of scar tissue and unpredictable grief. I have learned a great many things about myself. At the top of the list is that I am not invincible. I am susceptible to destruction of heart, mind and spirit. And yet, I refused to dwell in that destruction or to be defined by it. His death changed me. Refined me. I think I just needed to write that today.
And so here we are two years later, on the 18th of February, a day after we said our first last goodbyes at his memorial. I thought I'd share the words I penned and delivered that day. I was terribly sick, barely able to speak with a hoarse throat and severe head cold, but I pushed through and accomplished what needed to be said.
Here is my eulogy in full:
For most St. Anthony villagers, they remember where they were April 26, 1984 when a tornado ripped through town, destroying homes and businesses. I was with my Dad. It’s probably my earliest memory. I was five. I remember my Dad picking me up and putting me on his shoulders as we walked around our house, surveying the damage. I remember feeling scared and safe all at the same time.
Now a parent of an almost five year old, I wonder what my five year old is thinking and feeling, after his Dad is reeling from what has been a tornado-like event over the last month of our lives, a storm that has created unimaginable pain and grief. Will he remember his grandpa? Will he understand why our grief is so thick?
So many unanswerable questions, but I am willing to bet that as my Dad surveyed the damage to our house and neighborhood, he was probably filled with many of the same feelings I have right now---sadness, dread, and questions. And yet, always the most curious person in the room, I bet my Dad couldn’t help but be just a tiny bit in awe and wonder at the magnitude of what he was seeing. Especially when he caught sight of “it” for the first time. Many of you know exactly what I’m referring to… but for the rest of you, you see, there was something else the storm had left behind, something that even in the midst of such chaos and debris, one had to be just a little amused by….the trash can in the tree. [Dave impersonating dad] “Really.” “Unbelievable.” Our little claim to St. Anthony fame---a true testament to my Dad’s legacy that we honor today---that even in the midst of our storms of sorrow and grief, there is always something to smile and laugh about.
Aspiring meteorologist and weather guru like his father before him, Dad loved tracking the weather radar—the advent of smart phones and with them personal radar apps, couldn’t have made him happier. I know it’s something every Minnesotan is relatively familiar with, but with my Dad, it was always the first thing he told you whenever you were traveling somewhere. No need for Paul Douglas, we had the full forecast scoop from Dad. That curious nature also made him wildly creative and inventive. From anti-squirrel devices on bird-feeders to the ‘baseball on a rope’, or wearing cleats to mow the hill, his ingenuity never ceased to amaze us. And he thought he was so clever sometimes, that he could sell you on anything—like the time I told him I wanted a fort in the backyard, something right out of the Sandlot, something in the trees, four-walls of wood, that sort of thing. Instead, Dad just threw a big blue tarp over the top of the swing-set and told us to have at it. I can still remember him trying to hide that coy smile as he explained all the benefits of the tarp-fort.
You could always count on my Dad to make your mistakes and failings seem trivial. He wouldn’t let you beat yourself up for too long, extending forgiveness and compassion and his self-effacing sense of humor. We especially loved the story of him at work when his boss was showing a new person around or something like that. My Dad could sense something was going wrong with his chair, but he stayed the course, trying his best to keep his cool as his boss spoke to him, then as she was about to leave, he leaned back and boom—his chair exploded and he fell right onto his back, chair parts going everywhere.
For Dad, life was too short to get all bent out of shape over little things like fender benders, or like when he drove into the garage with the car top carrier on, “don’t worry Donna, we can just hammer it out…” It was that laid back attitude that made him such a favorite in the household among me and my brothers. When Dad was on for meal prep, for breakfast he’d fire up the stove and make you an omelet, for lunch and supper it was off to Mickey D’s for Big Macs or maybe he’d just throw some tube steaks on the grill. He was the go-to for Drivers Ed---its was all white knuckles driving with Mom, but with Dad, sometimes you didn’t even know he was there, driving 80 mph down the freeway while he was “just checking for pinholes in his eyelids” from the passenger seat. I suppose he had lots of grace to give when you consider that the first time he got behind the wheel he drove into the ditch and blew out all four tires.
I wish he would’ve lived long enough to see his grandkids put his sons through as much hell –er, fun---as we put him and Mom through. He was full of such joy, kindness and knowledge—I really miss being together. From his vast knowledge of baseball, history and math, to the secrets of success behind a golf or baseball swing to his Farkel King dance or his input on the importance of WHIP versus any other pitching category in fantasy baseball—the little things and the big, there’s no eulogy that could possibly ever convey how wonderful my Dad was.
So now it’s time to start picking through the debris and begin rebuilding our lives without him. I am grateful for 39 years of knowing and loving him, that we had the time we did to be loved by him and inspired by his example… Mostly, I’m grateful for a Dad like him who put me atop his shoulders and walked with me through life, the good, the bad and the ugly, never missing an opportunity to find something to smile about.
Thank you for being here for our family. I know you loved him too. God Bless his memory.
Eulogy for Rod Long
b. March 20, 1949 d. February 8, 2018
Memorial February 17, 2018
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