Welcome to Thanks for being here. 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 eulogy by a woman named Stacy 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 in 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 and worry over business

or money or family, utterly calm and quiet. He was able to let go. I miss him already.

A man of few words, I miss his voice. Dad's voice ranged greatly. For me, it was a silent nod with a

soothing pat on the back of my shoulder late at night at the kitchen table as he quietly said good

night with a slight smile. Knowing I had procrastinated too long on whatever school assignment was

due the next day. And so he exited the kitchen, shut out the lights and the rest of the house,

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