[Crowbob]

This question about grief is timely for me.

Eulogy to my friend:

10/19/11

Joe was my friend. And it is all his fault. However, Joe being Joe and him being my friend I must say to you all he would be appalled at our sadness, at our profound grief. I did so want my last memory of Joe to be as he had always been: confident, caring, strong and righteous. I could share stories of his humor, of his dedication to the service of others, of his love for his son R*** and the honor and devotion as he cared for his dying mother. I could describe his laughter and his frustrations. I could describe his courage and his humility, his wry sarcasm and his weakness for pork rinds and beer. I could relate to you all so much more. But in these last few days I learned more about Joe than the 20 or so odd years that he was my friend. I learned he was an Eagle Scout and that he first fractured his nose catching people jumping from a burning building. I learned from his brothers J***, and D*** and M*** that Joe was many things but above all Joe was loved. He was loved in a most serious and silent way. He was loved for his professionalism, his insatiable curiosity and voracious quest for knowledge. He was loved for his reverence for nature and for his delicate discipline. He was loved for his frugality and pragmatism. He was loved for his love of Homer (Simpson, not the poet). I did not want to know Joe but he persisted and so he became my friend. My friend whose memory I so wanted to be him piloting a boat down Crooked River as deftly as he maneuvered his car down the mean Chicago streets. But alas, my last memory of Joe will be a horror of decay, helplessness and fear. It was not because he was my friend that I chose to hold his hand tight and lead him to peace with his last breath. It was not because he was my friend that I so desperately loved that I could not let go of his withered hand even in death. It was not because he was my friend. It was because I was his.