Diane Wellins Moul - Eulogy at Memorial Service March 8 2009
A few days after my father’s death, while signing in for a doctor’s appointment, the receptionist asked me my date of birth. When I said “January 25, 1950”, the woman, who couldn’t have been more than about 25, spontaneously replied, “Oh! That’s my son’s birthday!” Without even thinking about what I was saying, out popped, “You have a 59-year-old-son?” and in that instant, I realized I had just channeled my father. His impish wit, and his desire to bring laughter into the lives of others, particularly others hard at work making him more comfortable, flooded over me in a flash.
A few days after my father’s death, while signing in for a doctor’s appointment, the receptionist asked me my date of birth. When I said “January 25, 1950”, the woman, who couldn’t have been more than about 25, spontaneously replied, “Oh! That’s my son’s birthday!” Without even thinking about what I was saying, out popped, “You have a 59-year-old-son?” and in that instant, I realized I had just channeled my father. His impish wit, and his desire to bring laughter into the lives of others, particularly others hard at work making him more comfortable, flooded over me in a flash.
I don’t pretend to his quick wit, or his way with a joke, as anyone who knew us both can tell you. But I must have been thinking about him in that brief instant, and it comforts me to think that perhaps, as I thought of him, his spirit entered mine to give one more hard-working receptionist one more good laugh.
That was my father. He was beloved of so many in part because he was kind – kind in that way that says to others, particularly those often invisible to the rest of us, “I see you. I see that you are working hard, and that your load might be lightened if I can make you smile – or better still – get you to laugh.”
In these last several years, when trips to Miriam Hospital became more frequent, the nurses often crowded around him as he was preparing to go home, glad to see him feeling better, but also clearly reluctant to part with him, because he made coming to work such fun. Those occasions were less like a going home from the hospital, and more like a rowdy send-off for a ship’s maiden voyage. I think that everyone here who knew him knows just what I am talking about. His gentle mischief, and his love of making people laugh was just one of the many amazing qualities that made my Dad --- my Dad.
I will miss him.
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More of Diane's thoughts ...
In thinking over what I’ve lost, one thing stands out above everything else. It isn’t his spontaneous humor, which was, nonetheless a source of everlasting delight, or his gentleness which gave me a permanent and unshakeable sense of security, or his intelligence, which shone so much light on the world around me, and sparked an insatiable curiosity, his valued legacy to both of his daughters.
More than these and other priceless gifts, he imparted a sense of honesty, fairness, and compassion to others that – to this day – I struggle to live up to. Now that he is gone, I feel more than ever, the imperative to insure that this – his most valuable gift of all – will not have died with him.
He was a renaissance man who loved science, nature, and art in equal parts. And he combined those loves – along with his principled and original intelligence – into a code of behavior that never failed to put compassion ahead of his own immediate interests. A committed environmentalist decades before it became fashionable, he abhorred waste in all its forms, and understood, long before most others did, the natural cycles that make such waste unnecessary. A dedicated lover of all creatures, particularly of animals and insects, he imparted to all who knew him his fervent belief that all creatures are sentient – as capable of suffering and as keen to survive as humans are. He instilled in us the wisdom that killing or hurting a harmless insect or animal for any reason other than survival or self-defense was unforgivable. And he was often a lone voice first as a pharmacist, for more thoughtful treatment of the elderly in nursing homes, and later as a CASA Volunteer for more sensible outcomes for children at risk in the court system.
I’m sure that those of you who have ever lost a parent understand how impossible it is to convey the scope of the loss. I’m not at all sure that I’ve had enough time to understand it yet, and no doubt, in the days to come, its various manifestations will continue to hit me. But I can say now that I take comfort in all of these and other legacies he left to me.
Though I miss him, I feel the indomitability of his spirit and the goodness of his acts in everyone who came here today to remember him.
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Nancy Wellins - Eulogy at memorial service
I’ve been re-reading my Dad’s letters from when I lived in Israel. In one, he wrote: “We love you and miss you so much, but that’s a small price to pay for the relationship we’ve enjoyed.” Now, Dad, I know how you felt.
What can I, one of the world’s two luckiest daughters, tell you about my Dad that you don’t already know?
- That he was meshuggeh on the subject of waste; he’d eat three-day-old salad, and took a shower one drop at a time. But if the whole world were like him – climate change wouldn’t be an issue.
- That he loved our mother "with unbounded love." He wrote those words to her, not long ago. He meant them. Even after 60 years.
-That, despite working long nights and weekends at his drugstore, he always made time to play a game with us. If you were sick, he’d sit on your bed and play Geography. When I reminded him of this during his final hospital stay, we played our last round.
- That, despite being not at all handy, he spent hours doing battle with a soldering iron, helping me build a radio for a school science fair.
- That he was a poet. Every birthday, anniversary, Valentine’s day. There was always something funny, and always something touching.
I’ll share today one I wrote for him, for his 89th birthday this past November. I wrote it knowing it was my last chance to tell him how greatly I loved him – beyond words.
I've been writing these poems 50 years now at least
So you'd think that, by now, I'd have fully expressed
All the myriad thoughts, all the heartfelt emotion
A daughter can harbor in filial devotion.
But even a jubilee's worth of bad rhyme
Has not yet achieved its ultimate aim:
To tell you the reasons my dad is unique
and belongs in a pantheon, high on some peak.
Is it his wit? You inquire. Not so,
Though I'd freely admit, he's the funniest I know;
Is it, he's cute? That's quite a good guess,
And plenty of folks have been worshiped for less.
Is it his knowledge, his inquiring mind?
You'd look long and hard, someone wiser to find;
But no, though his intellect's wonderfully keen,
That's still not the nub - not the core of his being.
Is it his kindness? Well, now you draw nearer,
For surely that's one reason he is held dearer
Than many another I've happened to meet;
No doubt about it - my Daddy is sweet.
But even his kindness, though vast, doesn't reach it;
My Dad's got a treasure, and no one can teach it.
His treasure is being content with his lot.
It's rarer than rare - but it's one Ira's got.
He knows where the best puddles are when it's raining;.
He'll let nurses stick him without once complaining.
He'll take what you dish out, and offer his thanks
With a bright cheeriness unlike other old cranks.
It's true that at restaurants, he doesn't like lines,
And in traffic's been known to be wrathful at times,
Impatient of fools and intolerant of waste,
But on the big stuff, he just smiles with good grace
And counts himself lucky - a lifelong trait which
Makes my Dad, of all men, much richer than rich.
I've been writing these poems 50 years now at least
So you'd think that, by now, I'd have fully expressed
All the myriad thoughts, all the heartfelt emotion
A daughter can harbor in filial devotion.
But even a jubilee's worth of bad rhyme
Has not yet achieved its ultimate aim:
To tell you the reasons my dad is unique
and belongs in a pantheon, high on some peak.
Is it his wit? You inquire. Not so,
Though I'd freely admit, he's the funniest I know;
Is it, he's cute? That's quite a good guess,
And plenty of folks have been worshiped for less.
Is it his knowledge, his inquiring mind?
You'd look long and hard, someone wiser to find;
But no, though his intellect's wonderfully keen,
That's still not the nub - not the core of his being.
Is it his kindness? Well, now you draw nearer,
For surely that's one reason he is held dearer
Than many another I've happened to meet;
No doubt about it - my Daddy is sweet.
But even his kindness, though vast, doesn't reach it;
My Dad's got a treasure, and no one can teach it.
His treasure is being content with his lot.
It's rarer than rare - but it's one Ira's got.
He knows where the best puddles are when it's raining;.
He'll let nurses stick him without once complaining.
He'll take what you dish out, and offer his thanks
With a bright cheeriness unlike other old cranks.
It's true that at restaurants, he doesn't like lines,
And in traffic's been known to be wrathful at times,
Impatient of fools and intolerant of waste,
But on the big stuff, he just smiles with good grace
And counts himself lucky - a lifelong trait which
Makes my Dad, of all men, much richer than rich.
* * * * * * *
More from Nancy...
My Dad was the single most "democratic-with-a-small-d" person I ever knew. He didn’t just treat everyone equally – he perceived everyone equally. Although I never saw him with the rich and famous, I am certain my Dad would not have behaved any differently with the president or the pope than with you or me – unless he disapproved of that person’s actions, in which case he might have offered a piece of his mind, and a fairly unvarnished piece at that.
Being with my Dad during his last hospital stays, I’d see him with the doctors and with the new immigrant who mopped his floor; he was the same. This learned man, who on his own had mastered astrophysics to zoology, was common, the way I imagine Abe Lincoln was common. He took a genuine friendly interest in all he met.
One evening, I found him in intimate chat with a cafeteria worker. After she left, he told me her story - a single mom working two shifts to support her children. Tethered to his oxygen, straining for breath, his thoughts were on her problems. He was so sincere and unforced in his interest, people knew he wasn’t condescending or angling for special favors.
Nothing fake. No matter what the setting, it would never occur to him to say anything other than what was on his mind. Sometimes he’d yell things in public places that left the less socially courageous members of his family cringing, hoping no one saw us. But if the Emperor ever marched past him wearing no clothes, my Dad would be the first to proclaim, very loudly, that he was naked.
More from Nancy...
My Dad was the single most "democratic-with-a-small-d" person I ever knew. He didn’t just treat everyone equally – he perceived everyone equally. Although I never saw him with the rich and famous, I am certain my Dad would not have behaved any differently with the president or the pope than with you or me – unless he disapproved of that person’s actions, in which case he might have offered a piece of his mind, and a fairly unvarnished piece at that.
Being with my Dad during his last hospital stays, I’d see him with the doctors and with the new immigrant who mopped his floor; he was the same. This learned man, who on his own had mastered astrophysics to zoology, was common, the way I imagine Abe Lincoln was common. He took a genuine friendly interest in all he met.
One evening, I found him in intimate chat with a cafeteria worker. After she left, he told me her story - a single mom working two shifts to support her children. Tethered to his oxygen, straining for breath, his thoughts were on her problems. He was so sincere and unforced in his interest, people knew he wasn’t condescending or angling for special favors.
Nothing fake. No matter what the setting, it would never occur to him to say anything other than what was on his mind. Sometimes he’d yell things in public places that left the less socially courageous members of his family cringing, hoping no one saw us. But if the Emperor ever marched past him wearing no clothes, my Dad would be the first to proclaim, very loudly, that he was naked.
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