Papa

This Sunday marks the first anniversary of my Father's death. In his memory, here is the eulogy I delivered at his memorial service.My sister and I called him Papa. In some senses, he wasn't unique. He grew up in tough times. As a very young man, he fought in World War II and survived to come home, marry, buy the home he lived in with my mother in Mountain View, CA for over 50 years and raise two daughters. But I want to talk about the ways in which he was unique.
I was raised by a man with good character. From him I learned fortitude and perserverance -- to stick to a job until it was done; that a job worth doing was worth doing well. Whether it was getting on a train to commute to his job at PG&E in San Francisco every day for 34 years, or a building a project at home, Papa always had the right tools for the job, and he taught me how to use them.
When I was in college I commuted to San Francisco for two summers and worked in the file room -- he said that to this day there are invoices PG&E can't find because of the time I spent in the files. Papa loved to tease, but his teasing was kind. Despite his cruel illness in his final years, that sense of humor never left him. He cracked jokes literally until the day he died in an Alzheimer's care home in Sonora, CA.
Every one of Papa's caregivers said the same thing about him. He was a gentleman. He was a gentleman and a gentle man. He loved football, good food, his cats and all the neighbor's cats and the city by the Bay, but most of all he love my mother and his two daughters. He wasn't a churchgoer, but I had the privilege to witness his declaration of faith in Jesus and his baptismn in our church in Campbell about 10 years ago.
I also had the privilege, along with my mom, of being with Papa when he left this world. Our prayers were answered and God took him gently. His character shone through to the end. He communicated his love to us and he worked hard to leave us well. He was prepared for this journey, with his earthly affairs in order and his spirit in God's hands.
I miss you, Papa.