My notes for the eulogy...

[johnpalmer]

kightp asked if I would share the eulogy I gave, and I decided to post my notes here.

The notes don't seem to fit anymore... but then, I poured out my heart when giving the eulogy, and I think that the words were the least part of things.

In fact... I've had a couple giggles today, thinking of my poor younger brother. See, we were both scheduled to say a few words, and, poor guy, he went after me, and, well... it just wasn't quite fair. But he handled it, and did it well. I think he realized that the important stuff had been said, said a few more words, and let the funeral continue.

Anyway:



My earliest, and maybe my best, memory of my brother is from summer camp, a long time ago.

I saw him, and he didn't see me, and he was just eating a candy bar. He had these little gestures, little flamboyancies, and he was bringing a piece of the candy bar to his mouth with a little flourish, and *bang*, it hit me.

My brother was beautiful, and I loved him... but to say either of those things was both completely redundant, and hopelessly inadequate.

You need to understand, of course, that this is my brain works, sometimes. Things can hit me, hard and deeply... so deeply that I can still feel them nearly thirty years later. And, what I saw that day was real, and true, but it wasn't for several years that I finally had the final lesson that needed to be learned from that moment in summer camp, long ago.

I loved Chuck, but please don't think that this meant I suddenly stopped taking my duty as being a pain-in-the-butt little brother any less seriously, nor did he suddenly take his job of tormenting his bothersome little brother any less seriously. But, when the chips were down, and when I most needed to remember, I did. Because Chuck was beautiful, and I did love him.

Eventually, Chuck felt driven away from the family, and there was a rift. Some of you may know the reasons why, some of you may not. The only thing that's really important is that there were real reasons for it. There were real problems that broke us apart, and it took some time to get over those problems.

Later on, we got back together, and I started to understand something. I started to realize my brother had the same type of problem that I'd had. He was also hit by these deep, powerful thoughts; sometimes there was too much going on, too brightly, too painfully, inside his brain. I think that was a large part of what drove him away, and made him feel different. But, now I understood that, and we shared that much, I guess.

He was hard to understand, and frustrating to deal with, and he still had the ability to drive me crazy... but now I knew why. I think he did, too, because we started growing closer once I understood that.

Because he had things shining brightly in his brain that he couldn't express in words; he had thoughts and feelings that he felt no one could understand; I think he sometimes felt driven crazy when the hard, bright, and nearly painful thoughts would pounce on him without warning. It was like a bright light shining, one that was hard to bear from the inside, and one that, if you didn't see it just right from the outside, would blind you... and leave you confused. You wouldn't understand why he felt a certain way, or why he said a certain thing, and, honestly, not even he could always tell you, I don't think. I think that drove him to places he wouldn't have had to go otherwise.

When I talked to him the last time we talked, I told him he had one last gift to give. He could still give his gratitude for the comforts people could give him, for the things people would do that he could no longer do for himself.

I told him that, because I knew it was the last thing he could do that would show him that,although caring for him was a hard duty, and a sad duty, it was still a duty taken out of love, for him.

To any of you that did not get to hear him say thank you, please trust me... I saw it in his eyes. If he did not say so to you, it was only that he was afraid. When you feel so strongly, it gets so frightening to say it... and there are no words that are adequate. But he felt the need... he understood. He wanted to say it; he wanted you to know. But he also wanted it to be real. And it hurt so badly to need so much, and be unable to express it.

He wanted to be the brother, the son, the friend, the family member that you deserved to have. He knew he sometimes fell short, and he regretted it, but the desire was there, and it was real.

My greatest hope is that, in the end, he knew the truth, from me, and from all of you... the wording will change from person to person, but the essential truth won't.

He was my brother. He was beautiful. And I loved him.