Hi, guys, six years ago, this month, my dad died. It was the loss of my life for sure. In honor of everything I learned from him and in memoriam for the people who have been lost to all of us so many now, I'm starting a new thread on Kelly Corrigan Wonders called Thanks for

being here. This will be a very short pod that comes out every Sunday morning as Sundays are

for a lot of people, a time of reflection, a time to let go of the day to day and touch base with

what matters, what will matter, and what will have mattered. The answer to that question for me is often found in ceremonies.

I could literally watch strangers get married once a week,

and I'm even more affected by funerals,

sitting in a service, taking in the story of one life,

just another ordinary person, who they loved, who loved them, and why.

I feel a clarity and direction that I often can't find

in the daily push and pull. And eulogies in particular are about the most succinct source of

direction I can think of. So I asked readers and listeners who have lost someone to share their eulogies,

and every week I'll read one here so that we don't forget there is a point to the pain, that we have much to offer, that we affect each other, and that ordinary lives are really kind of exquisite when you look at them closely. This is thanks for being here.

This is a eulogy that was written by a guy named Andy Ward.

He is an editor at Random House and probably honestly one of the most beloved people in publishing.

He publishes me, but also people like George Saunders and Jed Appetow and Lena Dunham and a lot of other really special people.

And I bet you, if you asked every one of them, they would say he is world-class.

Here's his eulogy for his father.

When I was a kid, my dad had this expression that used to drive me insane. He'd only deploy it in certain situations when my 10 or 12 year old

angst and self-pity reached its insufferable peak. We'd be in the car on a Saturday afternoon

on our way home from the mall, and I'd be

wallowing in the profound feelings of betrayal that can only come from, say, driving all the way to

Foot Locker, only to discover that they don't have the shoe you want in your size. Or we'd be at

...