It wasn’t hard to make dad laugh. Most memorably, when mom, going through items on his desk said that he obviously hadn’t gotten much use out of a money management book he had bought. I countered for him by saying that the Martha Stewart “Guide to Housekeeping” was doing nothing but collecting dust since she had received it. That was enough to send him into rolling fits of laughter.

Despite numerous doctor’s visits, he remained in high spirits. During one procedure, he was asked several questions by the doctor to gauge his alertness, and the doctor asked if there was a question that would show he was indeed alert and not experiencing any ill effects. “Ask me the name of my first wife,” he said with a smile, “Ha, I like to have fun with her,” meaning mom. After the seizure, most likely brought on by a brain cancer treatment, the nurse asked if he could giver her a smile. “Sure I can,” and his face, so recently paralyzed by the seizure, broke into the biggest and brightest smile. I felt much better. Even though I was the one that had found him starting to seize in his bedroom.

Growing up, my brother and I were often asked to “perform” in front of friends and family. Whether it was a funny dance, or the way I could move my swing head around my neck like some Egyptian hieroglyphic, these talents were often called upon at family reunions and dinner parties.  This past fourth of July, eating with friends, I was strategically seated at the head of the table. The perfect position to monitor every conversation at the table and insert humorous comments as I saw fit.  After  a lighthearted story, and a comic remark from our host the conversation lulled long enough for dad to look to me.  Still smiling from the previous comment, he said to me, “say something funny.”  Remembering how we had been called on to perform as children, I let the moment pass, and the conversation moved on.  I realized that all those performances were never for the audience of family or friends.  It was about making our parents laugh. Or smile.  That was enough.

In the series of novels by Orson Scott Card which start with “Ender’s Game,” the protagonist vows to travel from planet to planet as a speaker for the dead.  After slaying a civilization that threatens planet Earth, he is intent on telling the true story of the lives of those who have passed.

In the novels, the recently deceased’s past is recounted for that was good and bad.  Among the survivors,  the speaker opens up the closet of skeletons that most are thought to hide throughout life, and, in this way, a type of healing and closure is meant to take place.

There was no possibility that I would have the nerve to present such a speech at my father’s memorial, but I thought about what would be said had a  “Speaker for the Dead” been present.  What I came up with was encouraging.

In thinking about my father’s passing I couldn’t help but wonder what skeletons could be brought to life.  Was there anything he had done that would suprise any of his family or friends?  Possibly his biggest weakness  came in the form of work.  It was no surprise to those who knew him, even in the least, that he was a workaholic.  Maybe he neglected parts of his life, but he valued hard work, and he would be a great inspiration to his children.  It’s thinking of this that I have to step back and rethink my life goals.

I hope that I can look back on a life lived, not only proud of what I have accomplished in my career, but also proud of the person I had become and lengths I went to make my life something that meant something.  If working too hard is the worst someone can say about you, I think you’ve done pretty well for yourself.