Eulogy for Dad

There is a lot about my Dad that happened before my first memories of him: growing up in Eureka with grandpa Theo and uncle Ralph, going to Humboldt and then Berkeley to become a civil engineer, mastering the arcane art of slide rules, serving in the national guard, going to East Pakistan (now Bangledesh) with the Peace Corps, traveling Asia, speaking Bengali, acting as Sunday School superintendent at First Covenant, working for CalTrans and the city of Eureka, meeting and marrying my Mom, Marilyn. This period was dark to me.

Then, after this very full and rich early life, I started to know him a bit--as with a strobe light, 2 weeks of darkness, followed by brief weekends of light after his split with Mom. We would join him at his house on 5th street, sneak candy up into the attic crawl space, sleep on the kitchen floor, playing baseball, soccer, flag football (never well for me, I left that to David). We joined the YMCA Y-Indian guides with him, he was Old Fox and I was Sly Fox. Famously, we tried to win a scavenger hunt by spray painting a banana black. I knew his work a little: from director of public works in Morgan Hill (whatever that meant!) to M.H. Engineering (which had a great dart board)

Once in a while, the period of light was a bit longer, as we spent extended time with him. He met and married Barbara. Then we would go camping, or spend an long weekend at Pajaro Dunes on the coast or watching a race car he sponsored at Laguna Seca, or ski cross country up at Kirkwood. It was during this period that I suddenly wasn't the oldest child as Anne Marie, Peter, Jamie and Joe from Barbara's side were all older than us. What a relief! Dad taught me to love games, teaching us hearts, Uno, Milles Bornes, Stock Market, Facts in Five and even Dungeons and Dragons. That trend continued even recently with other games: Ticket to Ride, Azul and more.

When I reached adulthood, the pattern of the light changed, from bi-weekly flashes to a more irregular. pattern. Dad always made sure to stay in touch, from Helene Lane to Mountain View to our first house in Fremont and then El Dorado Hills. He and Barbara would make trips to see us, not during the holidays when all was crazy, but in the in-between time when we could relax. He was a treasure trove of stories about a wide range of topics. He and Barbara invited us along to story telling conferences which they frequented. I wouldn't say we were close during this period, but I was constantly aware of his positive regard for me, Helen and our growing family and for the generosity of his character.

The pattern changed again, more recently, with his first cancer diagnosis, and the removal of a malignant melanoma. He called as asked me to drive him to a few appointments and stay over after his surgery. Even during Barbara's illness and passing, he handled everything. 

During this period, he returned to regular involvement at his church, he learned to share his time with their long-time friend, Donna, he actually learned to root for the Warriors basketball team. But, this request marked a change because he was asking me for something. That would be the pattern for the next few years, through the discovery that his melanoma had metastasized in his already under-performing lungs, up through his starting treatment. He has a lot of memories, and as he felt they were getting away from him, he made sure to tell them to us, so we would remember as well.

We had never spent more than a day or to with my Dad over the past 40 years. But that changed with the call from the emergency room doctor at Hazel Hawkins. The strobe light had stopped pulsing, it was full on. It was long hours at his side for a week and then a trip home when it looked like he was on the road to recovery. Then another week with him as the emergency room and ICU drew us back to South Valley hospital. He was sharp until the end. The doctor asked him: "who is this guy?" referring to me. "My son, Tim" How long have you known him? 54 years. "Who is this lady?" "That's his wife, Helen." "How long have you known her?" 32 years. At that point, I had to double check in my head, because I had forgotten how many years I'd been married. But he remembered. Later, he explained to another nurse that he knew how old I was because "I was born in 1940 and he was born in 1968. So I'm 82 years old and that makes him 28 years younger than me." He had plans for what he wanted to do next. Where he would go, Who he would see. Who he could help. 

Eventually, though his mind was sharp, his body failed and he passed away peacefully, his hand in mine on January 19th. 

Since then, I've learned even more about him from some of you. As you can all testify, he was a faithful and caring brother, father and uncle, a good neighbor, a caring supervisor, a sharp and creative problem solver, an avid novel reader and a generous human being. The Bible says, about people like Dad:

"Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them." (Hebrews 11:16)

We are proud to be George's sons. Thank you for coming today to help us remember our dad, George Lewis