One year ago today, Dad passed away in Kansas. Exactly 6 months later, we gathered in Bridgewater to bury him. Dozens of folks attended, by train, plane and automobile.  We spent the weekend talking, telling stories, singing, laughing and crying. 

Here is the eulogy I delivered:

My first memory of my father is also the first memory of my life. It was April 24, 1962. Dad had recently been hired as an assistant professor by the University of Minnesota with a real salary and after years of graduate school deprivation, my parents had bought a real house. 

My brother Charles and I were being cared for by my grandmother at the house, and she called us to run to the window of the sun room and look down at the family Rambler arriving in the driveway. I remember watching my Dad get out of the car, go around and open the door for my mom, who got out carrying newborn brother Drew. 

My last memory of my father is Dec 27th of 2020. In the fall he was hospitalized for 45 days with a combination of issues. He had finally gotten home to Katie earlier in December and Sondra and I drove out the day after Christmas. Sally and Sara had also come down from Nebraska. 

The time in the hospital had taken a great toll, and his health and energy had seriously deteriorated. Our habit on these trips was to get out of the house and drive around to see the world and get ice cream, and frankly, I was determined to do it this time. 

It took a huge effort from all of us to get him in the car, and then he and I spent almost 2 hours driving around, and yes, getting ice cream. He had had a stroke, and speaking was really difficult, but he worked really hard to tell me that being out and around was creating joy. “I’m really happy - you understand?” 

When we returned to the house, the effort to get him back to bed was even bigger. He stayed there until January 5th, when he went back to the hospital. He passed 13 days later.

I can’t think of a better way to bookend my memories of his life than with such family moments. In between those moments there was a big life. When his story came to its conclusion, I could only think of a friend who once said to me “On your deathbed, the only thing that matters is who you’ve loved and who has loved you.”

My dad’s time on this earth was a life well lived by a man well loved.

When you hung with Dad, he was always counting everything. For instance, “How many people are on this bus?”  In between my first and final memories of my father were 21,432 days. And Dad cheerfully and optimistically lived every one of those days. 

There were:

• 2 careers

• 3 more weddings

• A 4th child

• 4 stepchildren

• 4 published books

• 5 grandchildren

• 6 continents (and he made it within 200 yards of the coast of Antarctica)

• 10 cars

• 24 houses 

• 300,000 plus postcards

• 2 million miles on United

and, sadly, one funeral for a son.

There was the rise at the University of Minnesota becoming a world expert in Interest Measurement. And then turning the Center for Creative Leadership in North Carolina into a world-leading organization. And then doing  it all over in Colorado Springs. 

And then there was the uncountable:

• Friends made

• Lives changed

• Stories told

• Generous acts

My dad had his warts, blindspots and misses. But they were never malicious. He did not have a mean or angry bone in his body. 

What he had was a desire to create value. When my brother Drew found his Buddhist practice, I remember him telling me that part of the framework of judging right and wrong was if something created value. 

I’ve kept that with me and I watched my dad do that: working at creating value for everyone around him for every one of those 21,432 days. Value for people, value for societies, value for organizations, value for the world. 

On his stone that we’ll see in a bit, it says “Give him thorns, he’ll find the roses.” And I would add, create some value for the world while doing it.