This Father's Day, I'd like to simply send love out into the world and honor my own father with the speech shared during his recent celebration of life...sending warm wishes out to all of the wonderful fathers we adore today or keep close to our hearts if they, too, have passed. Happy Father's Day...
"I don’t want to put pen to paper.
Still, after all this time, I don’t really want to mark this timeline of grief with the finality of a funeral, eulogies, or photo reels of a life well lived. Forced to acknowledge that the beautiful process of adding memories to a lifetime’s collection of others with our dear friend, beloved father, PopPop, mentor, spiritual advisor, husband, partner in crime, and colleague…has come to an end.
Perhaps luckily, then, a delay in ceremony has suspended reality just a little bit. The grace of time has afforded me, and perhaps all of us to some degree, space to process the great sadness of this loss. I’m grateful we have each other, today, to share our feelings, swap a few good stories, and be there for each other in a way we haven’t been able to since the pandemic began. Thank you for allowing me to say a few words and add one more perspective about the dynamic Mr. Vincent Pribish…or, to 8-ish of us, just…Dad.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve grieved Dad’s mortality…in elementary school I bargained with God to let him see me graduate high school. Later it was college. Then, I just hoped he would meet my future husband. Was it too much to ask for him to hold on long enough to walk me down the aisle? After we passed all of those milestones, I added more, praying he would meet our grandchildren…travel to Alaska…have lunches in person more frequently…and probe further into his storied past, asking for guidance related to my own path in the future.
I have obviously been given too much b/c we reached the end of my list and I wanted for nothing more.
Harboring this fear of loss for so many years revealed a silver lining, as it prevented me from hesitation. It propelled our conversations to keep flowing, especially once I made that leap from adolescence to adulthood. I refused to have regrets when the inevitable would happen.
There is that cocktail party conversation that comes up about whether you would want to know how much time you have left on this planet if given the choice. Have you ever heard someone wish for that forbidden knowledge? I don’t think I have. In hindsight, however, I realize we almost LIVED this reality b/c I feared the end was always just a moment away. Tears shed after those visits tasted salty and sweet…sharing notes of gratitude with grief. I cried almost every time we said goodbye b/c I feared it could have been the last.
Until it wasn’t.
Mom and Dad moved to Raleigh several years ago, and we got to see them more frequently, sharing special meals at holidays and saving seats for them in the audience at the elementary school plays. The last chapter of necessary talks were bookmarked and saved in my memory or captured with the help of technology. Those were good years.
Then, Dad declined and there was a day he didn’t know my name…and past memories were going to be more or less all that we had left.
Until they weren’t.
There was still a smile, a warm hand squeezing back, and a presence…with or without clarity. It didn’t matter.
So, it has me considering the summation of his life, befitting for this occasion….an overwhelming task…until…
It isn’t.
Because this isn’t about eulogizing. It’s certainly not about me, Mom,…or any single one of us. There are no grades. There is only warmth and love, family, friends, and Dad’s spiritual community in this room, sharing grief AND joy today.
While Dad could be honored for many impressive accomplishments throughout his lifetime I’d like to refrain from mentioning even a single one of them. They ARE impressive, and they HAVE actually been headlined in essays for schools, newspaper articles, and speeches. But I think what Dad would appreciate most…is sharing a special lesson he taught me, forever the educator… a sweet correction later in life in a message straight from the source.
During one very lucid, very heartfelt moment several years ago, I arrived home here in Raleigh with bags of groceries in my arms. Dad met me at the door- the gentleman that he is- and ordered me to stop. At first, I thought I had offended him in some manner, or failed him in some way. But he simply asked me to listen. He continued, sharing with me how proud he was of me…of how we were raising the children…and what a wonderful partner my husband, Mike, was…that we were doing a good job at life.
Caught completely off-guard by his bold and stirring reflections, my own reply was a jumble of compliments about how much we love and respect him and how incredible his achievements have been and …well, then he stopped me once again. He said, “Ahh- none of that actually matters. All that matters is love. Love is the only thing. As long as there is love, that is all you need. I just want to be remembered with love. I love you very much.” Trying to be a quick student, I revised my reply and told him how much I love him. We shared a long hug in the sunshine of our doorstep.” And, with his signature rub on the back, from one calloused hand and a knobby fingernail-less finger, I knew that moment was one I would treasure always.
Dad was strategically planting seeds of thought, of life guidance, of the great wisdom he always spoke highly of, that would germinate perennially…internally…a gift that lives on in each of us and requires not his physical presence. We were perhaps one of his greatest scientific experiments. No lab required! I know he was proud of the results, the legacy of his family.
So now I remember, that when life gets overwhelming, make your world small…even smaller… and focus on what truly matters. Dad was right, it all comes back to a small but mighty 4-letter word.
I also see now, in retrospect, how love, that exact 4-letter word, was the constant in all the years of his long life. Love allowed him to endure tough times in his youth, forge unbreakable bonds with his sister, almost telepathically, parent each of his 8-ish children (hello, Bruce!) uniquely, embrace a very progressive understanding of his own Catholicism, move about from city to city with each city loving him back, and bring out the best in not-so-best characters, despite their circumstances. Oh gosh, the company he would keep! I”m sure Mom has more stories to share, but it’s something to think about when the roster of pals included high-brow company, low-brow company, and those who kept no company at all…lonely in life and in need of understanding.
Dad’s quiet demeanor allowed others to shine. So without doubt people were drawn to him. His ego did not require that others knew of his brilliance or wit. He was content for others to know him as a people’s servant, always willing to volunteer time, put others first, and treat all with respect and kindness, without exception.
In leading by example, there was always so much love:
He loved us baking all that fresh French bread, devoured before it could even find its way to a proper cutting board. He loved us playing Dealer’s Choice at the dinner table, explaining the rules every night to distracted children on top of sticky table. He loved us with that boost on his shoulders to reach the MacIntosh at the top of the pick-your-own tree. He loved us when he winked and ordered a Manhattan at that fancy restaurant in the city. He loved us when he made funny sounds through his teeth after we pounced on Mom & Dad’s bed on Saturday mornings and poked his cheeks. He loved us when he held our son’s small hand with one thick-knuckled finger and walked him to the playground. He loved us threatening to order a copy of all of our high school textbooks so that he could keep up with what we were learning and fill-in the gaps of poor teaching in the classroom. He loved us when he envisioned the home on Boom Rd and built it all, from the ground up. He loved us when he instilled a sense of boundless potential- in each of us…”there is nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it”. He loved us when he went out to find us up past curfew, furious and frustrated. He loved us when he held onto that boat we enjoyed so much, probably long after he should. He loved us when he introduced us to his relatives in New York…not an easy trip…and always an occasion of great joy or great sadness with the rotation of weddings and funerals to keep family reunited. He loved us when he repeated the message that blood is thicker than water…friends might feel like family, but nothing will replace family over time. He loved us when he allowed us to experience our own version of faith, rooted in traditions that were dear to him and Mom. He loved us when Mom got sick and he took to the kitchen with great creativity- perhaps a distraction from the fear he felt but couldn’t share. He loved us when (ahem) one of us had an accident in the mall and he wrapped a towel around the child and carried him out swiftly and without shame. He loved us when he transitioned to a friend, the moment we left for university. He loved us in saying he wouldn’t tell us what to do or parent in the ways he had in the past, but he would always be there for us if we needed. He loved us when braved a hurricane to march up and down the bleachers to attend that Notre Dame game wearing a bight yellow poncho and hobnobbed with rivals and fans alike. He loved us when he got angry hearing about kids getting kicked out of the house or not welcome back a prescribed age. He and Mom were/are our “home” and we were always welcome to share it. He loved us when he tossed a water balloon at his grandson, winding up like his buddy Babe Ruth, dressed in his Father’s Day tee and a bowtie. He loved us when he smoothed the tablecloth as he thought about the punchline to the joke he was about to share. He loved us when he became more comfortable hugging and saying “I love you” as adults. He loved us when he would engage in a deep, metaphysical talks about life after death, the meaning of life, and more. He loved us when he did not judge…our choices, those outcomes, or our musings about what WE thought about life.
This list could continue nearly endlessly.
It was all for love.
Love is patient, love is kind. Love does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
When we were there at the end of his physical life, holding Dad’s hands, stroking his cheek, and sharing reassurances, we were simultaneously searching for messages in his eyes. The fear of dying passed quickly. Resolution and peace took its place.
We may have lost parts of Dad’s consciousness in those final years, but I like to think he simply retreated intentionally to study the process from the inside out. And I know he felt all of our love when he took his last breath…our final parting gift as he passed from this world to the next. A lifetime of lessons, in practice.
So we toast today to loving boundlessly and selflessly, without judgment or fail, for all that we have been given, and for all that we have lost…to Dad…we love you now and forever more."
With love always and forever, your daughter,
Margaret Elizabeth
Comments