Eulogy for My Father
Many years ago, my father made me swear to him that when he died, I would tell it like it is. He said, "Son, if I've been an asshole, you promise me you'll tell everyone I was an asshole. Don't let them act like I was a saint if I was a dick." Not knowing what would happen in the next 12 years, I promised. And I keep my word.
As many of you know, my mother and father divorced in 2000. It was messy, thankfully I was old enough where custody was not an issue. My father lied to us, used me, and consequently the last time I spoke to him was on December 28, 2001 when he called our house, drunk, to harass my mother, and fought with me when I refused to let him. I won't go into the particulars.
Tuesday morning, my mother woke me up, saying she needed to talk to me. My aunt Dana, who has always been kind to me, had called. My father died Monday night. He had been sick for many weeks, and while he was in the hospital he suffered a massive heart attack and went into a coma. He began breathing on his own, so they took him off the respirator. He woke up, took two deep breaths, and then he was gone.
Last year, I wrote a letter to my father as an attempt to finally begin dealing with the hurt and anger he'd caused me and my mother. The letter was never mailed, but I present it here in its entirety because I feel it is a suitable goodbye to my father. It reads:
"June 15, 2009
Dear Neal,
I'm not going to whine and complain, saying you ruined my life. In fact, I highly doubt this letter will ever be mailed. I'm not writing this to reason or beg with you, nor am I writing in false hope of you seeing the error of your ways. Actually, I'm not writing this for you at all. I write this for me.
I'm not even angry at you anymore. I thought I was, but if that were true I'd be shaking with rage as I pen this. I think that, after all these years, I'm just frustrated with you for being such a silly, stupid ass. It might be funny if it weren't so sad.
Don't be fooled, I won't be calling you and trying to have a relationship. We tried that. You weren't man enough to handle it. I'm finished with your silly games.
Actually, you weren't man enough to handle a lot of things. You couldn't be a husband because you were too busy trying to impress the people who didn't matter. You couldn't be a father because you were too busy being a tyrant.
All we wanted from you was for you to make a genuine effort, but you couldn't handle that. You threw us to the wolves when we needed you. What kind of man does that?
I'll never know if it's true or not, but I think the reason you did all this was because deep down, you are afraid. You're afraid of owning up to your mistakes. You're afraid to stand up for your family. You're afraid to try.
Someone who refuses to stand against his fear is called a coward, and you certainly act like one.
I'm not going to be bitter about you anymore because it hurts me and not you. I pray for the day to come when I can forgive you, but I'll never be able to forget what you have done.
You have taught me many things, however. You stand as an example of what I do not want to be. As I grow as a man, I have you as the perfect anti-role model. In a way, I'm grateful for that. Thank you.
The truth is I don't need you. If I can't have a father who is brave, selfless, responsible, kind, and a true man, then I don't really want a father after all.
I have my Heavenly Father to take care of me, now. He's always there for me, He always listens, and He always shows me the way if I ask him. My Father will make my life wonderful. He will wipe away every tear and build me up into the man I long to be. He will even heal me from all the pain you have caused.
I'm sorry, Neal, but I will not have you in my life. Not unless you truly change. I have to take care of my family, and that means keeping you away from them. It isn't personal, it's my duty.
You will miss my wedding and you will miss your grandchildren. You will miss a lot. That's the sad truth of it all.
I will forgive you. God told me so, and He doesn't want me to hurt anymore. Neither do I.
William C. Mitchell"
So there you have it. Never let it be said that I don't keep my word.
My father was cremated at 1400 EDT in Asheville, NC with his new wife, stepdaughter, step-grandson, and his mother Shirley in attendance. I write this in Florence, AL.
If you want to read his obituary, here's the link: http://obituaries.citizen-times.com/obituaries/obit.php?id=73775
You will, of course, notice no mention of my name, or that he has a son at all. I have been omitted. Replaced with a stepchild. That is the work of my grandmother, Shirley. A last petty attempt to wound me. It worked. But she will not make me bitter, I will get over this and forgive her.
If it weren't for my aunt Dana, I would not know my own father was dead. For that, I am truly grateful. Sadly, she had to find out from her uncle, as she and Shirley haven't been on speaking terms in years.
I wrote one last thing:
"My thoughts and prayers are with the family during this time of grief. Neal was loved, and will be missed.
My Sincerest Condolences,
William Craft Mitchell, Son"
I inscribed this in the online guestbook for my father's funeral, just so Shirley would know that her little vindictive scheme didn't succeed. I am forgotten, but far from gone.
Before you ask, no, I am not okay. I hurt. I hurt badly. But I will be fine. And with all the loving, wonderful people who've given me their prayers and support, I will always be fine in the end. My heart goes out to all of you. I love you all, and I try very hard to pray for every one of you.
There is one thing you can do for me and my mother, who is hurting too. If you are one of those people who have good, loving fathers, please call them and tell them how much you love them.
As many of you know, my mother and father divorced in 2000. It was messy, thankfully I was old enough where custody was not an issue. My father lied to us, used me, and consequently the last time I spoke to him was on December 28, 2001 when he called our house, drunk, to harass my mother, and fought with me when I refused to let him. I won't go into the particulars.
Tuesday morning, my mother woke me up, saying she needed to talk to me. My aunt Dana, who has always been kind to me, had called. My father died Monday night. He had been sick for many weeks, and while he was in the hospital he suffered a massive heart attack and went into a coma. He began breathing on his own, so they took him off the respirator. He woke up, took two deep breaths, and then he was gone.
Last year, I wrote a letter to my father as an attempt to finally begin dealing with the hurt and anger he'd caused me and my mother. The letter was never mailed, but I present it here in its entirety because I feel it is a suitable goodbye to my father. It reads:
"June 15, 2009
Dear Neal,
I'm not going to whine and complain, saying you ruined my life. In fact, I highly doubt this letter will ever be mailed. I'm not writing this to reason or beg with you, nor am I writing in false hope of you seeing the error of your ways. Actually, I'm not writing this for you at all. I write this for me.
I'm not even angry at you anymore. I thought I was, but if that were true I'd be shaking with rage as I pen this. I think that, after all these years, I'm just frustrated with you for being such a silly, stupid ass. It might be funny if it weren't so sad.
Don't be fooled, I won't be calling you and trying to have a relationship. We tried that. You weren't man enough to handle it. I'm finished with your silly games.
Actually, you weren't man enough to handle a lot of things. You couldn't be a husband because you were too busy trying to impress the people who didn't matter. You couldn't be a father because you were too busy being a tyrant.
All we wanted from you was for you to make a genuine effort, but you couldn't handle that. You threw us to the wolves when we needed you. What kind of man does that?
I'll never know if it's true or not, but I think the reason you did all this was because deep down, you are afraid. You're afraid of owning up to your mistakes. You're afraid to stand up for your family. You're afraid to try.
Someone who refuses to stand against his fear is called a coward, and you certainly act like one.
I'm not going to be bitter about you anymore because it hurts me and not you. I pray for the day to come when I can forgive you, but I'll never be able to forget what you have done.
You have taught me many things, however. You stand as an example of what I do not want to be. As I grow as a man, I have you as the perfect anti-role model. In a way, I'm grateful for that. Thank you.
The truth is I don't need you. If I can't have a father who is brave, selfless, responsible, kind, and a true man, then I don't really want a father after all.
I have my Heavenly Father to take care of me, now. He's always there for me, He always listens, and He always shows me the way if I ask him. My Father will make my life wonderful. He will wipe away every tear and build me up into the man I long to be. He will even heal me from all the pain you have caused.
I'm sorry, Neal, but I will not have you in my life. Not unless you truly change. I have to take care of my family, and that means keeping you away from them. It isn't personal, it's my duty.
You will miss my wedding and you will miss your grandchildren. You will miss a lot. That's the sad truth of it all.
I will forgive you. God told me so, and He doesn't want me to hurt anymore. Neither do I.
William C. Mitchell"
So there you have it. Never let it be said that I don't keep my word.
My father was cremated at 1400 EDT in Asheville, NC with his new wife, stepdaughter, step-grandson, and his mother Shirley in attendance. I write this in Florence, AL.
If you want to read his obituary, here's the link: http://obituaries.citizen-times.com/obituaries/obit.php?id=73775
You will, of course, notice no mention of my name, or that he has a son at all. I have been omitted. Replaced with a stepchild. That is the work of my grandmother, Shirley. A last petty attempt to wound me. It worked. But she will not make me bitter, I will get over this and forgive her.
If it weren't for my aunt Dana, I would not know my own father was dead. For that, I am truly grateful. Sadly, she had to find out from her uncle, as she and Shirley haven't been on speaking terms in years.
I wrote one last thing:
"My thoughts and prayers are with the family during this time of grief. Neal was loved, and will be missed.
My Sincerest Condolences,
William Craft Mitchell, Son"
I inscribed this in the online guestbook for my father's funeral, just so Shirley would know that her little vindictive scheme didn't succeed. I am forgotten, but far from gone.
Before you ask, no, I am not okay. I hurt. I hurt badly. But I will be fine. And with all the loving, wonderful people who've given me their prayers and support, I will always be fine in the end. My heart goes out to all of you. I love you all, and I try very hard to pray for every one of you.
There is one thing you can do for me and my mother, who is hurting too. If you are one of those people who have good, loving fathers, please call them and tell them how much you love them.