Welcome to Thanks for Being here, a very short pod that comes out every Sunday morning as

Sundays are such a good 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 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 and who loved them. In a way, eulogies are about the

most succinct source of clarity and direction I can think of.

So I ask listeners who have lost someone dear to share their words, and every week I'll read

one eulogy here so that we don't forget.

There is a point to the pain.

We have much to offer.

We affect each other deeply. 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 by a woman named Stacey for her dad.

Tuesday.

It is snowing this morning in Chestertown.

In fact, I woke to the snow, catching the first few flakes drifting down, and it made me smile, despite the pathetic fallacy, knowing that this was somehow my dad's gift.

His spirit scattered on the eastern shore,

blanketing the area and peaceful downy layer of white, makes me think of his beautiful silver hair,

the crinkle of his laugh, the sparkle of his eyes. I'm glad to have been here these last days.

He looked so peaceful on Monday, not a line on his face. No longer the worn groove between his

brows that I have inherited, by the way, furrowed in worry over business or money or family,

...