Prayers needed for the real FarmerJ (UPDATE)

Thanks for all the well wishes guys.

Now something I'm super angry about. We went to the church today to pick out music, readings, etc., and when we got to the eulogy, the Deacon told us they don't do eulogies anymore in the Church.

Um, 'scuse me? You're telling me that not only did I not get to say goodbye to my father, but I worked all night last night on this, I'm a girl for crying out loud that's always trying to do things to make her daddy proud and you're taking this away from me? I don't think so.

The deacon explained that they did away with it because people were going on and on with eulogies. Yeah buddy, someone died. It's okey. He said I could do it at the funeral home or at the cemetary. No. Or I could do something called a "Christian Rememberance." Basically, I had to rewrite my (dad's) eulogy and weave in his Catholic values.

For those of you who have done it, it's hard enough to write a eulogy and get it perfect. It's like writing a great gamer and trying to get a great quote in that just doesn't fit.

My aunt is telling me I shouldn't be upset, but I didn't get to say goodbye to dad. The ringer was turned down on the phone in his hospital room, so I didn't get to talk to him for two days. They said he was getting better and he was going home by the end of the week, then poof Dr. J showed up at my job and said he was gone. This is really not what I need right now.

 

FJ: A week from now, it'll have been 20 years since the day my father passed away. A stroke, at age 65. He was lively and healthy and joyful until the day his stroke hit him like a bullet from behind. A father and a son could not have been closer than we were, and his loss was devastating.
What I can tell you, though, is that the funeral week was wonderful because it was such a joy to see how many people he'd touched.
And the next couple weeks were hell because I still had so much anger.
And about 3 months later I looked up and said to my wife: Do you think my father would feel bad that I've been able to get on with it? I mean, I felt OK. It didn't seem to make any sense to remain miserable. From then until now, when I've thought I've my father, and it's been often, it's always been with a smile on my face. I love to tell my wife stories about little things that happened with him. Maybe I've told them before. She listens to them, anyway. More than any pictures, it's the memories that keep him alive. I was successful when he passed away, but not like I eventually became. I'd have loved him to see what I became, what my wife became. But there's nothing to do about that. I just have to be happy knowing that the day he died, he was proud of what I was and knew I loved him.
It's obvious you loved your dad.
That'll never stop.
I hope there's something in all that rambling that can help you through a difficult time, now and in the months to follow.

(Oh, and here's what I would do with the eulogy. Tell 'em you're going to do what they want, then give the speech you planned. People who knew and loved my father told me they really appreciated the eulogy I delivered. The people who cared about your father deserve to hear how much he meant to you.).

 

I can't believe that. That is just incomprehensibly crazy.

I would do whatever you have to do, up to and including hysterical fits of crying, to convince them to allow you to deliver that eulogy at church. I didn't really get a chance to say goodbye to my Mom--I did, but she was hooked up to tubes and comatose--but standing in front of hundreds of people and delivering a eulogy is the most important and meaningful thing I've ever done, and it laps the runner-up several times.

I couldn't help my Mom get better, and I couldn't be there on a day-to-day basis to assist my Dad and sister while Mom was sick, but as the writer of the family, I could speak on my family's behalf and make sure she was memorialized in an appropriate fashion.

It was also, by far, the most uplifting 90 seconds or so of my life. I thought I'd get up there and start blubbering, but I was calm and collected and as I got to the last graph, I swear I felt her presence encouraging me.

This is a chance for you to say goodbye to your Dad, and for your Dad to be proud of you, and to hopefully feel that same sense of peace I felt. Fight like hell for the opportunity to deliver that eulogy.

 

I also encountered this when my great aunt died back in 2004. My dads and I drove up to Pennsylvania with my grandmother and another great aunt to stay with Dad #1's cousin. When we went to the funeral, I was stunned to find out there would be no eulogy.

When my aunt died in 1999, I gave a eulogy. I have to agree with BYH. It was the most important speech I've ever given in my life, and I've given several. For me, it wasn't about getting up in front of an audience and having the attention on me. It was about doing what I didn't do the day she died. I finally got a chance to say goodbye.

If I were confronted with a "we don't allow eulogies" I have a feeling I'd probably say "kiss my ass. We're doing a eulogy whether you like it or not."

 

FJ, we ran in to the same problem when my dad died three years ago.

Our parish gave us a really hard time about having two eulogies (one from my mom's side of the family, one from my dad's. I wasn't up for it, and am not nearly eloquent enough to write what the two people who spoke did).

Anyways, when they said that having two people speak was frowned upon, we basically said (very nicely), tough shit --we're doing it. So as BYH and forever town said, absolutely, positively, don't let them say no. Three years later, I still vividly remember the wonderful words of both of my relatives.

I know how horrible a time this is. Prayers, and my best to your family.

 

Do what Twoback suggested. Tell them you'll do their little "Christian Rememberances" speech, then when you get up there, say what you want.

What are they going to do, pull you down from the podium?

Once again, condolences to you and your family.

 

I'm constantly reminded of how lucky I am to go to a relatively progressive Catholic church. Our priest was fine with as many people giving eulogies when my mom died in May as we we wanted, as long as we weren't talking 25 people or so.

But, when my brother died, his funeral was at an out-of-town church. That priest didn't allow eulogies because the point is to "look forward, not look back." I don't agree, but anyway. They did allow the speeches at the funeral home the night before, and that's where I said my final words about my brother. And that was just as meaningful to me as doing my mom's eulogy wound up being. So, FJ, if you truly won't have a chance to do it at the church, I say, grab whatever chance you do have and make the most of it. I think you'll be glad you did.

 

That's exactly what I'm trying to say. Dad wouldn't want me to put up a fight, but I felt this is something I need to do. I really don't think I could forgive myself if I couldn't do it.

Thanks for the support.

 

Absolutely. Don't let them push you around.

I gave a eulogy at my dad's funeral and I'm so glad I did. His funeral was very personal and my mom and I were happy about that. A couple months later, I went to friend's mother's funeral. It was a Catholic service and could not have been more impersonal. They said the mom's name once during the entire service. No eulogy. Nothing personal. It made me mad.

 

FarmerJ - Insist on the eulogy. The funeral belongs to your family - NOT THE CHURCH. Do it.

A few years ago, a co-worker died, and no eulogy was allowed. It was complete and utter bullshit. This guy was an amazing character - one of the most unique people I've ever met. We all were pissed off when we left the church. The funeral was bland. The co-worker was anything but. At least we eulogized him in the paper.

 

Haven't been appearing on this board so much any more, so I just found the sad news. And now to see what you're going through with the church, too.

Just stay strong, FJ, and know a lot of folks are sending strength and prayers your way. Your dad sounds like he was an amazing man. And he obviously raised a great daughter. You'll always be a tribute to him in the way you continue to live.