Eulogy for Papa

On Sunday, March 18, 2012, my dad, Gurnade Mason "Buddy" Barziza, died in a drowning accident.  He was 83 years old and was married to my mother for 42 years.Today his ashes were placed in the National Cemetery in Houston, Texas.  He served with the Marine Corp during WWII and in the Korean Conflict.  The  memorial service was Friday, March 23, 2012.  I wrote and delivered this eulogy for him at that service. 

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Eulogy for Papa

In the top of your closet, or perhaps under a bed, you have a box that contains treasures beyond price.  Some old buttons, a faded photograph, perhaps a scouting badge or two, maybe a golf ball from a memorable game. You rarely share this box with anyone since these things are the most personal of your possessions.  They represent the treasures of the heart, fragments of memories that always stay with you.  

When I think of Buddy, there are treasures that I will always remember.  Papa loved fire trucks, probably because he grew up next to a fire station, and loved to watch the fireman work on their engines.  At one point, he served as a volunteer fireman. Having served in the Civil Air patrol, he loved old airplanes.   There was a playfulness about his enthusiasm for these things, a glint of the little boy within that made him ageless.   It was a magical thing to witness; the unbidden joy of simple delight.   Sharing that delight with him was a window into all the marvels that the world holds.

Fire trucks, airplanes, and cowboys.   Often children think of men in heroic terms.  Men in white hats riding into town to sweep away all the problems, gathering accolades, and riding off into the sunset.  In reality, it is the men who are willing to work toward goals less easy to reach that leave lasting impressions. It requires intensive focus.  Not every problem has a simple solution, nor is every project easy to complete. Papa understood this.  I do not believe that Buddy was ever idle; he had a passion to improve as he worked toward his goals.  In his view, it was important to always be moving toward something rather than away from something.

Intensity is closely related to compassion.  You cannot be compassionate if you are not committed.  There are many people in this room that Buddy helped without being asked.  He never sought recognition.   He did not have to do any of these things he did.  He acted because he wanted to make the path smooth for others.  Buddy never paused to ask should we help.  He stated his response in terms of action “Let us do something.”   This compassion was the defining quality of his life; it was his true personal calling.
There are so many gifts that Buddy gave us.  His love for my mother never faded through 42 years of marriage.  The simple pleasures he found in the garden and watching wildlife.   The love he had for his children.  His graceful acceptance of the many changes in his life. Yet all of these together cannot make the measure of a man.   No matter how many treasures we collect, our box is never complete. 

A life well lived is worth so much more than the events and roles that made up that life.  On this day, we recognize our loss and understand that we never really know each other.  The gift of each of us is immeasurable and we are beautiful and complex.   My father was a compassionate man who loved deeply and wanted to make the lives of others better.   I am not sure that I fully appreciated that when he was with us.  It takes death to make us pause, to consider the essence of a person, to look past the threads of a life to see the whole cloth.  This is the great gift of heaven. When we meet again, all the old threads will fall away and we will understand each other fully. Our treasure box will overflow and we will be transformed by the love in our hearts.

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I am back at work today but I am thinking about Papa.  The sky is clear and I bet is it a beautiful day in Houston.   A friend shared this poem; it seems to fit this day.

Memorywork

by Jack Reimer and Sylvan Kamens 

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.

In the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.

In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.

When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

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I love you Papa and I will always remember.