Five years ago yesterday we laid my stepfather to rest.

It seems like a hundred years ago but feels more like yesterday.

In honor of this sacred occasion I am sharing the eulogy that I gave all of those years and very few minutes ago….

Glen Thomas…..I always called him by both names because he always seemed to be in trouble of one kind or another. One of the most interesting and profound experiences of the last two weeks has been gathering with friends and family and sharing “Glen Thomas” stories.” Let’s face it….everyone’s got one…or two. One that has come up several times, and one I have heard repeated over the years, involves Glen at an airport being mistaken by a woman for George Wendt; better known as “Norm” from the TV show, Cheers. He denies, she insists; verbal sparring ensues in the terminal until he finally relents and gives her an autograph; not only for George Wendt, but also for the actor he shared a name with; Glen Ford. 

That is the story that has been circling around in my mind. Of all the stories; and I know most of ’em, that is the one I keep returning to. That is the story that keeps drawing me in. So I am in the shower the other morning, alternating between lather, rinse, cry like a loon, repeat when I realize I have been singing/shrieking/sobbing out loud and with feeling, the theme song to the show Cheers. “Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And their always glad you came. You wanna be where you can see troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name.” 

Pastor Bill had spoken with us earlier in the week regarding this service, and the theme of “home” had come up several times. In that moment, with my heart breaking, Pantene in my eyes, and the theme song to Cheers echoing off of the tile, the pieces finally fell into place. The Cheers song is about more than people coming together at the end of a hard day to commiserate over a cold one. On a deeper level it speaks to community, and that primal part in all of us searching for a place where we belong. The need everyone shares to be able to put aside pretense, lay down the facade and simply be who we genuinely are stripped bare of the trappings we feel the need to protect ourselves with. In other words, a longing for “home.” 

Having moved around quite a bit as a kid, I never really felt at “home” in any one particular place. I realized, pretty early on, that “home” was not always a place where your height is measured on door frames. It is not necessarily a physical place with doors and windows that look out onto a view that never changes. Home, for me, is the feeling you get when you walk through a door and can let your guard down and be your authentic self without the fear of rejection or ridicule. When Glen entered my life, at age 12, I let out an exhale, I hadn’t realized I had been holding in,  kicked off my shoes and was home. 

For me, home quickly became wherever I could be myself without explanation or apology. Home became the front porch swing, the backyard bench, the kitchen table, the workshop, the den. Home became a man who saw my roots were shallow, hesitant, unsure and gave me the luxury of trust, and time and patience. Home was a man sure of himself and his beliefs, a man settled and confident in who he was who allowed me to test the limits and find myself. 

Glen taught me how to appreciate biscuits and gravy, how to drive a stick shift, a lesson his Audi almost didn’t survive, and that no matter how ugly and hateful and awful I was, no matter how hard I sometimes pushed him away, despite what I had been conditioned to accept, he wasn’t going anywhere. His word meant something; he was in it for the long haul and he believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I love my husband Steve more than words can say. I was able to find a good man because a good man made me believe that I was worth it. 

Unlike the song lyric “Where everybody knows your name….” my name was always “guy.” Hey “guy” how ’bout a bottle of water?” “Hey guy come sit down.” I explained to him several times that I was not a “guy” but that never seemed to matter and as a woman, I came to appreciate being one of the “guys.” 

As a “guy” I was sometimes overlooked. I was privy to little nits. One particular point of contention was Glen’s inability to lock a door. For a man who hung the moon, it seemed odd that he couldn’t figure out how to turn a knob. “Glen, did you lock your shop?” “Glen did you lock the car?” “Glen….the front door is wide open….” it became a running joke in our family. I often stuck up for him declaring that “He was who he was and he was never going to change.” I figured old habits are hard to break. Only recently did I deduce that we were never dealing with habit, all along we were dealing with nature. It was not in Glen’s nature to lock a door. It was not hardwired into his DNA to shut people out; to put a barrier between himself and others. Locks keep people out; it was in Glen’s nature to invite people in. Glen was an open book and he gladly shared himself and what he had with others; no locks; no key, no password needed. Whether he had nothing, or more than he needed, if he had it, so did you; no questions asked, no explanation needed no apology accepted.  

Glen realized that things were just things, and the important stuff: life, love, laughter, only gained meaning when shared and enjoyed with others. Glen realized that in the end you can’t take it with you, that it ALL gets left behind. Including the memories you shared and the lessons learned and passed on.

 “Were you loving? Were you thoughtful? Were you gracious? Did you allow others the benefit of the doubt? Did you stand just far enough out of the spotlight in order to allow others their moment to shine? Did you allow others the dignity of looking away when they stumbled? Did you learn that it is more courageous to let go than to hold on tight? That things you love can never come into their own inside a closed fist and that a flat palm is the perfect runway for delicate, small thing to take flight? Did you deflect attention from yourself and bask in the glory of others?”  Every life is a lesson and the test is; What can be learned from yours? 

Glen would always ask me, every single time that I left the house; “Your not leaving already are you?” If I had been there five minutes or five days; if we had been chatting away happily or sitting in silence on opposite sides of the house, it didn’t matter; the leaving was always too soon. I asked him in the hospital, on one of the rare occasions it was just me and him; “You’re not leaving already are you?” Because I realized, too late, that all those times I was in a hurry to leave; to go home and make dinner, and start laundry and get on with “my life” that “real life” was here in those small, quiet moments. Moments the young are eager to shake off while the wise are eager to delay and prolong for just a small, fleeting moment longer. 

For Glen, what was his was yours. The only thing he claimed was his people; a trait he and I share. He would often introduce people in a way that connected them to him. “My wife” “My daughter” “My son” “My friend.”

 I am proud to claim him; “My Dad. Glen.” 

There will be an empty chair at my table this Easter; and every holiday and special occasion to come. I will do my best to fill that chair with happy memories and stories and remembrances; and there are no shortage of those.  

To borrow a phrase from my aunt and uncle that has been bandied about for the last few days, ”In the end, the only thing that truly matters is how well did you live?”

The answer, in Glen’s case, looking around at all of the people he loved and touched is…..

“He lived well.”