Christmas Eve Memory

Christmas Eve marks the first anniversary of the last evening spent with Dad. I haven’t written in a very long time. Sometimes the words just don’t come to me – at least ones I want to share.

This is surprising. Most of the time they spill out – usually without regard to self-consequences.

When it comes to memories of my dad, most would seem insignificant or even boring.

On Christmas Eve, I will be clock watching, waiting for the minute hand to pass by that moment when we know dad passed away. The family as a whole will strive, much like last Christmas to proceed as normal. A dinner with family, wrapping the last of the gifts, getting the stockings hung by the chimney with care – all the while, my eyes darting and sometimes merely glancing at the clock.

I plan on sitting silently and praying, taking slow breaths trying to hold on to the moment as well as let it go. I feel guilty that I didn’t get up at midnight as planned. If I had, I would have been by his side just as Mom. I lay there in bed, ten after midnight, trying to pull myself to wakefulness before what I presumed would be long early Christmas morning. At twenty-six after I was springing to my feet, throwing on my scrubs to join my family in tears.

The children were roused from bed or the bathroom brushing their teeth, all of us surrounding Mom and Dad, touching and kissing good-bye. He was at peace but I was not there when I thought I should be.

Rather than our typical calls to family of “Merry Christmas” it was “Merry Christmas. I want you to know that Dad passed away just after midnight getting his wish to see Christmas.”

A year has passed and this is the memory which I dwell on most.

- Craig

The Smell of Old Shoes

This might be an odd title, but appropriate for today’s blog entry. While in Wyoming, my brother and I played a number of tricks on each other – he, trying to sell my “work” laptop – I, the axe blade in his carry-on luggage…

But Greg wins! I unpacked my car trunk upon returning home and found a pair of dad’s old sneakers. They don’t really smell like old shoes. However, they do bring back memories of dad wearing these (or ones very similar) with white socks and walking shorts. The vision is vivid.

The shoes smell of memories.

- Craig

Estate

Over a lifetime you create an estate. Sometimes the estate is big, sometimes small. Bill Gates lives in an estate or so they say. I think it is a mansion. His estate might not be that big in fact. Well maybe it is depending on the definition.

Merriam-Webster defines “estate” as the degree, quality, nature, and extent of one's interest in land or other property (1): possessions, property; especially : a person's property in land and tenements (2): the assets and liabilities left by a person at death. Other definitions of course include social standing or rank especially of a high order.

Many times people confuse “economic wealth” with “estate.” While I am guilty of similar association, I want "estate" to mean much more.

Sometimes the estate is also a legacy. The legacies of deeds or wealth, friendships, and love as well as property are all a part of one’s estate.

Today was the beginning of a two-day sale of Dad’s estate – not the family farm, but the many things collected over the years. It is only property. While memories exist – the camp stove, a tent or sleeping bag, a shirt or a tool – they are not “my dad.” Nor are they my dad’s estate.

His is estate is the legacy I mentioned earlier. Love and friendship are the most important, followed closely by his mentorship and respect for others.

It makes me think hard about the collections of legacy I will leave behind. I want my most important estate to be love and friendship as well. But I have this whole garage full of stuff to get rid of too.

- Craig

Road Trip

My dad loved to go camping, fishing, hunting and hiking. I grew up in an outdoor family. We camped, fished, hunted and hiked with family, friends, and in Scouts.

Combine our joy of the outdoors with vacation, and the Edmonds family spent many days on “road trips.” We stuffed the cars with everything but the kitchen sink – although we did have plastic tubs for washing dishes. Occasionally we stayed in a motel or hotel but for the most part it was “drive, setup camp, eat, tell stories, sleep, get up, eat, break camp, and hit the road again.”

Packing the car to fit everything was an art. My dad taught me to use the nooks and crannies under seats or the gaps between odd sized luggage and boxes. Make sure you can easily get to the ice chest while you were driving to feed the young ones with snacks or to give dad a cold beer. We didn’t have air conditioning.

Rest stops included an occasional picnic area with an outhouse, but with kids, stops were frequently “behind that tree over there.”

Tomorrow I start the road trip to Wyoming. I am driving by myself, so the road trip is “different.” I will stop at gas stations, but at the same time, grab finger food, a water bottle refill, and hit the head… 15 minutes tops, then on my way. I can play the radio as loud as I want and even sing. Usually my singing is not allowed when the family is in the car.

- Craig

Savages

Friday night Julie and I watched the 2007 movie “Savages.” A friend from work recommended and loaned it to me. He said it was based loosely on a portion of the writer’s life. He said “I think you can take it.”

A brother and sister deal very truthfully with the care of their aging father after he is diagnosed with dementia. The story begins with their father being evicted after his “common law” wife of 20 years passes.

There are not many similarities to my situation. I was never abused, and I was VERY close to my father. However, there were a couple of places which touched like a hot poker.

In one scene the brother says “we are not savages for doing this” as they leave their father in a nursing home. While dad was never in a nursing home I remember bringing up the discussion of “hospice.” How do you say “I love you” while proposing that you have given up the fight? Dad had not given up. It might have been a fronted positive attitude, or he may have truly believed he would beat the cancer. But there was either disappointment or anger, or frustration when I brought it up. He knew though I was insistent on him meeting with the hospice people. We (the family in general) simply wanted to ensure we cared for him the way he wanted.

It was also hard watching caregivers getting him ready for bed or handing diapers to the daughter before boarding the plane to take him “home.”

Dad never wanted to be in a hospital, let alone a nursing home. His home was designed around living there until he died. And, he did just that.

- Craig

Father's Day

Yesterday was Father’s Day – the first without Dad. I received a text from my brother indicating his sadness with this fact. It was tough for most of the day.

My kids were gone for the majority of the day, but Julie and I worked quietly in the yard. After a while, I went into the garage and worked on a project for the beach house. I needed to use some power tools. I did the same thing in August and September of last year after I found out dad had cancer. At that time, I built the top for a large round table for one of our decks – I still haven’t finished it, needing to put on legs and build the benches. Yesterday was a sign with the street number – but it will be completed today.

When Amanda got home from work, we went over to the in-laws. Chad went out on the boat all day with “papa” and Julie’s brothers. When they returned from the boat ride, we barbequed hamburgers and played bocce ball – much to everyone’s surprise (not!) – I was on the winning team (Mike). I know Dad liked bocce ball too – a game for all ages.

Mom called in the afternoon to wish me a “Happy Father’s Day”. She had been outside working all day, finishing yard work. She sounded great. Greg and I will join Mary and Ray in Wyoming late this month into the first week of July. It will be great to see everyone.

I hope all of you enjoyed your “day” too.

- Craig

Appreciation

On Christmas Day 2007 my dad passed away. It is difficult to lose a loved one, whether it is your parent, a brother, a sister or a child. A family pet passing is also a great loss.

Katrina devastated New Orleans and the gulf coast August 29, 2005. Many people lost their lives. Many more people lost their homes and their livelihoods. Amanda spent a week the summer of 2006 rebuilding in a small town in Mississippi – Pass Christian.

Pass Christian Mississippi 2006

Myanmar was devastated by cyclone Nargis the first weekend of May. While by most accounts just fewer than 2000 people lost their lives in Katrina; Myanmar 134,000 lost their lives by recent accounts. “"I knew I'd lost my family," says Myanmar fisherman – the headline of a recent article stated.

Myanmar, Cyclone Nargis, 2008

The recent earthquake in China also killed as many as 50,000 people. The news of schools collapsing on children bothers me tremendously. Do we value our children so little that schools would be “cost effective” or in other words, poorly designed and cheaply built? The videos of parents standing by the demolished schools waiting to see or hear of a child surviving is heartbreaking – especially when you remember China’s policy of “one child” families. They lost their only child.

Sichuan Province China Earthquake, 2008

People have lost everything. I have lost nothing in comparison.

While I have lost family pets, aunts, uncles, grandparents and my father – and shed many tears – I am still blessed. I have a whole new appreciation for what God has given me – and what He hasn’t taken away.

- Craig

Favorite Joke

I have lots of "favorite" jokes. I am not exactly sure what "joke" was Dad's favorite, but I remember him telling this one (and I can remember him chuckling vividly as he said the punch line):

A guy meets a hooker in a bar. She says, “This is your lucky night. I’ve got a special game for you. I’ll do absolutely anything you want for $300, as long as you can say it in three words.” The guy replies, “Hey, why not?” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, and one at a time, lays three one hundred-dollar bills on the bar, and says, slowly: “Paint…my…house.”

-Craig

Once in a Lifetime

“There exists snippets … etched into the fabric of time .... scripted by a power with perfect timing … that know no bounds, … to be remembered and cherished ...”

While I use this quote from the “Golden Buddha” by Clive Cussler and Craig Dirgio (The Berkley Group by arrangement with Sandecker, RLLLP, 2003) without permission, I do so with great respect for both the author and the content.

These particular words speak to me. They remind me of my father – a once in a lifetime person.

The question begs to be asked. What are the once in a lifetime events we experience? We might remember our first kiss or our first true love. I don’t remember either of these. I don’t recall my first dog Butch – other than by name and breed.

I do remember snippets of my wedding day or particular vacations. I would say many are even etched and scripted.

I remember the birth of my children and the first time my father held them in the hospital. I can feel the joy dad felt when each of them was born, a granddaughter, a grandson, and three more granddaughters. Each held a special place and he talked proudly about all of their achievements.

The difficult portion of the quote is “with perfect timing.” Are these memories of events perfectly timed? I think so. I believe each of the events in our lives occur for a reason, and are perfectly timed. Whether we like it or not, we get what we need when we need it – scripted by a higher power.

Dad said he would make it to Christmas and he did – etched into the fabric of time, scripted by a power with perfect timing, to be remembered and cherished.

- Craig

Names

When I was working on Dad’s obituary and eulogy I got to thinking about middle names. Dad’s middle name is Sanford. His twin brother’s middle name was Manford – after Grandpa Edmonds – Manford Wayne. Dad was the oldest so you might think he would have Manford as his middle name… instead he got the rhyming first name to Grandpas’ middle.

I know Dad really liked his middle name. His signature always included his middle initial. My signature includes mine as well. Alexander (defender or helper of mankind) is a long middle name. Chad (warrior's town) has the same middle name as me. Julie (youth) and I liked the name Brandon, but Brandon Edmonds seems like too many “Ns” and your tongue tends to stick to the top of your mouth when you have too many Ns and several syllables.

Amanda’s middle name is my mother-in-law’s maiden name – Dupree. I say “Do-Pray” after the French pronunciation, but everyone else says “Do-Pree.” I like both. Amanda means “lovable, worthy to be loved.” Ain't that the truth!

Sometimes people combine long first names with short middle names or vice versa. A lot of thought goes into names. Some are hand-me-downs or have family meaning. People always buy baby books to find the “true meaning” of a name. Mine means “from the Crag” – it reminds me of the title of a Sci-Fi thriller – “From the Black Lagoon”.

Many people want their names to mean “love,” “strength,” or “gift of God.” Sanford means “negotiator.” How true of my dad!

I hate it when people combine two halves of two different names. Yes they are unique, and they can sound beautiful, but they are always hard to spell. You know what I mean.

- from the Crag

Concrete

I became an expert pouring concrete. While I can’t make my living at it, I’ve poured a lot.

I remember helping build forms for the foundation of the cabin. This was my first exposure… digging, nailing, leveling… all of the skills of carpentry and child slavery. It was early ’62. I was five.

Packing to remove air as you pour.

I’ve poured what seemed like miles of concrete around the edges of the lawn. Dad said it would keep the grass out of the flower beds and make it easier to mow and edge – most of which benefited everyone but him. Mom weeded with Greg and I helped. Dad mowed occasionally, so the benefit truly was a lesson for the boys.

At my home in Kent I learned to poured exposed aggregate – my father in-law taught me that – 3/8ths plus or minus, gently floated between the leveled forms I had built – a walkway from the front through an arbor covered arch to the deck I built.

The slab for the shed in Seatac, the curbing under the chain link fencing Dad taught me to stretch between cemented metal poles.

I expanded the width of my current driveway with Dad’s help one day when we poured the slab for the dog kennel Jake used for about a week. We just couldn’t see fit to leave him alone outside. That was eleven years ago.

I have a newer walkway poured with forms to look like a stone pathway. It also runs through an arbor gate.

Dad taught me so many life skills. I miss him.

- Craig

Closing Doors

Sometimes my brother and I fought – physically. Those of you who know us may find that hard to believe. Usually the fight started with something small. Playing one-on-one football in our side yard resulted in an extra shove or two – more than once.

Greg kicked me in the crotch and the chase was on. He was a fast fellow and he was pulling away toward the upper driveway, but my leap onto the rock wall short cut several feet. Greg swung open the screen door deftly passed through the main entry and slammed the door closed – just as I crashed into it, my right foot going cleanly into the hollow wood door. I would be in serious trouble with Dad. Not so much for fighting, but definitely for the outcome – the purchase of a new door. (I liked the looks of the new one better anyway).

When God called my dad he closed the door on his physical life. It closed a door for all us and of our physical relationship with Dad. Easter reminds me that closing a door opens another.

In a movie yesterday, a woman spoke of losing her mother as a small girl. In the movie she recalled how her dad walked her outside and pointed to the stars in the sky. He said something profound and fitting both for Easter and for the passing of my dad. “Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window to heaven.”

- Craig

In Her Shoes

“In Her Shoes” (2005) starring Cameron Diaz, Toni Collette and Shirley MacLaine is a story of sisters who each find their own way in life through differing avenues. They “come together” after reuniting with their estranged grandmother. One interesting scene has the sisters recalling memories of their mother – with grandma. While they shared a single memory their views of the memory were quite different.

When they got a dog, why their parents fought, how their mother died… all from two different sides of the same coin.

I have learned this in writing the blog too. Ham versus Meatloaf; how old we were when one event or another happened… Dad said “remember when you put the truck into the ditch when you and Clay were cutting firewood?” Although I didn’t say it I thought - “No. I remember putting it in the ditch when I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to do…” It was a totally different dent when Clay and I were cutting firewood…J

Telling stories the weekend of Dad’s service I learned all of us – Jack, Rod, Greg, Julie, Amanda, Chad, and myself – and many others – all saw things a little differently. I am not sure we gained consensus on who’s perspective or memory was the correct version.

The really cool thing is that we – collectively – the whole family has found their way – found each other, reconnected after years, through the sharing of memories. While the reason we were together was not “a good thing” the time we spent together was special.

- Craig

Pride

I know my father was proud of both Greg and I. I don’t recall him saying it to us much directly, but everyone has told us “Your dad was so proud of his boys.” It is certainly good to know that – and is a lessoned learned – tell your children you are proud of them. Tell others you are proud of your children – especially if your kids can overhear.

Amanda had called to tell Julie and I she had passed the West B test (sp?) which was a requirement for entry into the school of education. She also said she was working on some scholarship applications (something I hope she gets!). She is continuing to do much better in college than I did – which makes me so proud.

Chad is an excellent student too, but two things I am most proud of right now is his faith and belief in God. Chad felt it was important to read Bible scripture to Dad on Christmas Eve just before he passed away. He sensed the importance of this to my father. It was an extremely difficult thing to do – as many if not most of us don’t read the Bible enough, let alone to some else – it is almost like “witnessing.” I am a poor witness to my faith and beliefs. Chad also had the courage to stand before 400 people and read scripture at Dad’s service. It was also extremely difficult to do and yet he did it with a professionalism Dad can certainly take pride in.

Dad was a speaker too. He joined Toastmasters when I was young in order to hone his skills. He would practice each of his speeches and as a pre-adolescent I would critique and count “ums,” and “ers.” I believe this was one skill my dad thought was important to his career.

I had a dream the night before last. There were three of us at the table, but my focus was on Dad. The conversation centered on Amanda passing the test and applying for scholarships and Chad reading scripture at the service. I expressed my pride and said “you would be proud of them too.”

The conversation continued for a while longer (although I do not recall what we were talking about) and Dad had a big smile, gave a “humph” and laugh. He said “well you know that is not going to happen.” I wish I could remember what we were talking about at the time.

The curiosity of the situation was this. I was confused in my dream. Was I talking to Dad? I recall knowing at the time, the events we were discussing had occurred after he had passed away. Could I have been linked directly to Dad – now – through this dream?

Dad looked like the Dad I want to remember and for that, I am eternally grateful.

- Craig

First Encounters - Part II

(Reference Posting from yesterday, January 25, 2008)

I attended kindergarten at a church in the Renton highlands. In the early sixties, most school districts did not have kindergarten. In kindergarten I made friends with a boy named Jonathon. I bugged my mom for days to have Jonathon come over to our house to play. She discussed it with his father who said “No.” After a couple more tries Mom and Jonathon’s dad were able to agree on meeting at our church. Mom and Jonathon’s dad talked while Jonathon and I played. It just wasn’t proper for Jonathon to be at a white boy’s house – even in the northwest! I never saw Jonathon after that year.

Mr. Taylor lived at the end of our street in the SeaTac area of south Seattle. He had a little house. We loved to go there for Halloween because he gave out the “nickel” candy bars.

When he drove by and we were outside he would wave. He had a great smile! (I could write a whole blog just on that – some day I will). Sometimes he would sit in his car and we would chat – but he would never get out of the ’65 Chrysler New Yorker. It started out as light blue and he painted a couple of times – ending up a beautiful dark, almost navy blue.

Dad asked Greg and I to go mow his lawn. It was mostly grass gone to seed. The first time I asked him he said that would be wonderful – how much do I want? We said “nothing – people do these types of things for neighbors.” After the mowing he would bring us a “giant” bottle of pop – probably about 20 oz. size. Usually it was Sprite even though I preferred 7-Up, I didn’t complain. He would sit on the steps and tell us his story (this would be several interesting blogs).

Soon the four of us became good friends, Mr. Taylor driving by slowing, stopping occasionally to chat. I remember a time when we were standing by the car and Mr. Taylor handed Dad a half gallon bottle of Gallo Burgundy – maybe the start of Dad’s love of wine (jug kind anyway!).

Dad asked Mr. Taylor if he would have Thanksgiving Dinner with us. It would be just the neighbors. He replied politely “it would not be proper for a black man to enter a white man’s house.” Dad of course said “bunk” or some other polite response. We wanted him for Thanksgiving and none of us cared what others thought. Mr. Taylor however refused. He was scared of what people might do to him. After all he was 89 at the time and could hardly defend himself and his property. It was in the early to mid-seventies (before I graduated in ’75).

That Christmas Mom fixed a basket for Mr. Taylor for the men to take to him for Christmas. I remember it included oranges, some nuts and a wrapped pair of black gloves – the kind which are partly knitted with leather on the back and palms.

Dad, Greg, and I took it up to his house – wrapped in cellophane. This was the first time we went in – he offered. We stood there and told him to unwrap it. His smile was beautiful and you could sense the pure joy and appreciation he felt. Dad asked him if he liked the gloves and Mr. Taylor responded, “Only a person who did not like gloves wouldn’t like these.”

I graduated and moved on, never really seeing much of Mr. Taylor before he passed away, but I will always remember him and the mutual respect we all showed as neighbors.

- Craig

First Encounters - Part I

Last Monday was the National Holiday celebration of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday.

Blogger Side Note: Chad celebrated his sixteenth birthday on the same day. We didn’t get to the DMV for his written driver’s test last week, and they were closed on Saturday for the holiday since they were closed on Monday anyway. Chad passed the written exam on Wednesday and is scheduled for the driving portion of the test on the 6th of Feb.

On to the blog…

Last Friday evening Julie and I attend the MLK celebration at Emerald Ridge High School. Chad was a part of the vocal support in a student written “performance art.” At first I thought “why am I here?” Before long though I knew I had made a good decision to attend. By the end, the emotions which flow up and done daily now had gotten the better of me. My voice cracked as I told the young man acting the role of Dr. King that he “was amazing.” I told his Grandparents who were standing with him (as well as a sister I believe, and other family members) with beaming smiles, “you should be very proud of this young man – he sounded just like Dr. King – he will go far.” My eyes were welled up.

One thing I noted in a number of quotes attributed to Dr. King was a similarity to Dad’s personal philosophies.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. quotes:

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

“The good neighbor looks beyond the external accidents and discerns those inner
qualities that make all men human and, therefore, brothers.”

“Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost
universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people
more than having to think.”

“The function of education is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically.
Intelligence plus character - that is the goal of true education.”

“The art of acceptance is the art of making someone who has just done you a small favor
wish that he might have done you a greater one.”

“We must use time creatively.”

All of these quotes were visibly displayed in Dad’s foundational beliefs.

Dad once told me “I never saw a black man until I joined the Air Force.” During the early fifties I am sure our black servicemen were not treated well. Dad never discussed this history directly, but rather espoused the ideal of treating everyone equally – with value.

-Craig

Minister's Message

Hi Craig,
Here's the message for your Dad's memorial service on January 12, 2008. Let me know if there's anything else I or the church can do to help your family.
Rev. Susan

Scripture verses: Psalm 121; Isaiah 40: 3-8, 28-31; and John 14:1-6.

We gather in this place today for a service of memory and anticipation. We remember the life of Duane Sanford Edmonds and the promises of God. We have today a heartfelt sense of great loss. Duane's family has lost a loving husband, father, grandfather, brother, brother-in-law and uncle. The community has lost a leader whose competence and willingness could always be depended upon in every good enterprise. A vast circle of friends has lost a true and unselfish friend whose personality was joyful with understanding and sympathy. First United Methodist Church, Powell, has lost not only a loyal member but also a talented and faithful worker who gave himself wholeheartedly to Christian service. Many of us are better because he was with us. We thank God for Duane and we bless his memory. God has spoken to us through his life and character. Today we wish to listen to what God speaks to us through Duane's death.

The first verse of John 14 tells us, "Let not your hearts be troubled...." And that's difficult advice to follow on a day like this. Behind it is the same kind of faith that lets us take comfort from praying, "Our Father," for if we have a heavenly father, we don't need to have a troubled heart. Loving fathers mend broken hearts.

Behind the advice of Jesus' words as recorded by John are other words of advice. Christ has invited us, for example, with the words, "Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." More importantly, however, are two messages that appear to contradict each other. Often, when we gather on occasions like this, we pray to God asking that strength be given not to grieve like those who have no hope. On the other hand, Jesus taught us in his sermon on the mount: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

You feel the tension, don't you? This very sad day is also a very glad day! The only way to get through it is to grieve and to sing. The only way to get through as a Christian is to grieve as a Christian.....a hope-filled, life-expecting Christian.

Let me pause for a moment here to mention the effects Duane may have had on our lives. Any of us who were a part of Duane's life were well aware of Duane's attitude for life. He put it on all his e-mail correspondence: "Anyone can make a difference, everyone should try." We knew his deepest values were his love of his family, his honesty, his integrity, and his service to others. We knew he tried to make every day a good day. We knew he was a powerhouse of energy, enthusiasm, and optimism. We knew we could depend on him. We seldom hesitated to ask for his help, because of his willingness to say, "Yes." We knew that in any conversation with him.....he would be genuinely interested and concerned about you. And Duane's willingness to help others, I believe, stemmed from his love of God and the basic tenets of the Christian faith.

This very sad day IS a very glad day. I say it by faith, but Duane can say it now, from experience...direct experience with the Heavenly Father who makes this time untroubled.

It is, of course, the death of Jesus that makes the death of Duane bearable. We know what happened for God's own Son. We know that the funeral for Jesus was not the last event. Even as we call that Friday "Good" on which Jesus was buried, we call today a "glad day" for Duane. Glad, because it's not his last day. Glad, because Easter is God's answer to our sadness. Glad, because God has promised to do for Duane, and for all who believe, what he did for his only Son, Jesus.

This is why we do not mourn like those who have no hpe. We've been told a few things about what's next. We've been told that we, like Jesus, get a brand new body, fit to live eternally; a vigorous, healthy, painless, eternally young spiritual body.

The prophet Isaiah reminds us how temporary our earthly bodies are...."they're like grass and flowers...but God's word, God's promises are forever. God doesn't become weak or tired....God gives power and strength....and those who wait for the Lord will renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary."

Jesus tells us in John's gospel that there are many rooms in his Father's house. There's a place for everyone who believes. We know, too, that Jesus is "the way, the truth, and the life" because he tells us so. We also know that without Jesus no one can go to the Father. I believe Duane knew these truths as well. I believe Duane loved God and God loved him. Duane is God's child, and now he returns to God.

The psalmist perhaps says it best: "The Lord is your protector, and he won't go to sleep or let you stumble....the Lord will protect you now and always....wherever you go."

Let me close with one long question, filled with sadness, filled with joy, linking us all together as family:

If God could make Duane; if God could let him be safely born here in Powell; if God could make him a brother; if God could bring into his life a woman, Jo Ann, to love him for almost 52 years; if God could make him a father of the two sons gathered here today, and grandfather of more; if God used Duane's time to inspire us and instruct us in the church and community in so many ways; if God could do all that, and much more, then don't we have reason to believe that God will accomplish even more?

This is a sad day because Duane's work is done, the memories are beautiful, and we will all miss him. This is also a glad day, because we'll miss him only for a while. Then, we who believe in Jesus Christ as our Savior, will join him in that eternal home in heaven, join him in peace and joy.

May the peace of God which passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.

From: Susan
To: Edmonds, Craig
Subject: Re: Your Message

Hi Craig,
Yes, I'll be glad to get a copy of the message to you. Would you like it e-mailed and/or snail-mailed? Let me know. I won't be able to get around to it until after Monday, but I will get it to you.
Susan A-T

Eulogy - I

On behalf of Duane’s family and friends I would like to thank you for being here to celebrate his life.

Duane Sanford Edmonds was born August 21st, 1931, the oldest of identical twins.

It is his death which brings us together today. The death of a great man, our Dad, our husband, our relative and our friend. But it's not of death that I want to talk about today. While good men die, their contributions do not. I have chosen to talk about living and giving.

God is here with us today, and while God is not here to take away our pain and suffering, He is here to fill us with His presence.

We are gathered here in the presence of Dad’s family and his friends and God to say that here was a life that demands notice. A life that exemplified kindness. A life that illustrated the Golden Rule, “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” A life that inspired emulation. A life that provided light for others' lives. He was living proof of just how fine (good) a person can be.

"A successful man," observed Albert Einstein, "is he who receives a great deal from his fellowmen, usually incomparably more than corresponds to his service to them. The value of a man, however, should be seen in what he gives and not in what he is able to receive."

The Apostle Paul in his letter to the Romans declared, "Every man must give an account of himself to God." Today I give this account before God, his family and his friends.

In one word, Dad was a man who gave.

He gave us encouragement. I've never known a decision so heavy, a deadline so pressing; a crisis so confusing that Dad could not put a spring in my step – sometimes because of a swat. He had a way of putting things in perspective that made the situation bearable, if not actually beneficial. As his sons, my brother and I know this because we had many such times.

Someone has said that a good way to judge a man is to see which he would take if given a choice—a light load or a strong back. Through no choice of his own, Dad's situation required a strong back. He grew up during the depression. He lost his father as a young man. He lost his mother, a brother and his sister. And along the way, through his own experience and heartaches, he developed a soft shoulder and an encouraging handshake.

A friend (Raven) he met at while in treatments in Phoenix, said “every day when I would ask him ‘How ya doin' today Duane?’ he would always reply "WELL I'VE NEVER HAD A BAD DAY AND THATS NOT GOING TO START NOW.”

As a Christian I have always envisioned "mission" work as being something you do "overseas." Many if not most of us cannot go on such a mission. Seldom do we see the mission right outside these doors - in our neighborhood, and our community. My father did. He made his mission this community and this state.

He gave us time. He attended meetings just to offer emotional support when we needed it. When any organization needed someone to step in – he always volunteered; Boy Scouts, Boys and Girls Club, school district levy elections (in WA), where to put the community pool, assisting with candidates running for election, fundraising for numerous organizations, for scholarships for kids, Bingo, the American Legion, the school board as member and president, and the state board of education as member and chairman, the National Association of School Board Education, the Northwest College Foundation, the Korean War Veterans Memorial, driving the church van to get people to services, and many other committees.

He phoned us at home to ask about our sick parents or children or spouses; he mowed our lawns or dropped off trout, elk or deer, and an occasional onion or hot pepper or two. He stopped by our homes to visit; at our places of work or on the streets to chat. He always took a few minutes or a few hours to become a sounding board for plans and decisions. Dad helped us get our computers up and running or helped us with our taxes.

He never once asked us to devote time and energy to something where he did not make an equal, if not greater, commitment. Dad had great personal values and then upheld them in every situation—without compromise even when they might cost him.

He led. A short statement, but very long on meaning. Although there are many definitions of leadership, Dad led in such a way that he exemplified leadership rather than defined it. And as other leaders do by definition, he inspired. Nothing was quite as embarrassing as watching him do something you assured him could not be done. We all wanted to work as he worked – and sometimes that was hard to do. I often wanted to take a break but he wanted to keep going until the job was done. It was simply his nature.

Dad was a storyteller. Whether it was a story of Jack Crandall, Rex Posten, or Ike Dishpan driving stage coach to Yellowstone, and discovering gold – or the many stories and antics of his youth – and believe me – there were many; or about his service to his nation – of which he was so proud; or the stories of others he recalled so clearly. All were interesting and entertaining – and he reminded me at Thanksgiving, even with his brain racked with cancer, that his memory was better than some of you here today – and he did it with a smile.

He gave us laughter and he loved to laugh. He liked to tell jokes, but he loved to send them in email even more. He never forwarded an email which did not touch him, from the funny stories, to the emotional, heartfelt ones.

He trusted others and he himself could be trusted. Until the day of his death, he never broke a promise when it was within his control to keep it.

Adlai Stevenson once commented about a man and his contribution: "It is not the years in a life that counts; it's the life in the years." Dad lived.

Dad did what had to been done. He did what others could not.

Yes, my Dad, Duane, gave us encouragement, time, laughter and stories. Only the time is gone. The encouragement, laughter and stories will remain.

As a dedicated Christian, his eternal home is with God. When God finally got to see our dad on Christmas Day, God said – “This is my finest creation. This is how I wanted you to live your life.” We will miss him.

My family asks that each of you continue his work – by smiling at someone who needs a smile, by laughing, by listening to someone who needs to heard, by hugging someone who needs a hug, by living, by doing what you can do.

Anyone can make a difference. Everyone should try.

-Craig