Transcription
Good morning. I am Sam, the middle child and Dad's favorite. Yes, that is correct. Right before Dad died, he pulled me in close and he said to me, "When you give my eulogy, you can tell everyone that you were my favorite." I said, "Oh no, Dad, Dad, I don't think that's the time. I, I'll wait a few weeks and then I'll tell Scott and Spencer." He said, "No, it's time. They all know." I said, "Okay, Dad, okay. If it's your dying wish, I will say it somewhere in the middle of my eulogy." He said, "No, firmly. They must know right up front that you always have been and always will be my absolute favorite. And one more thing, investigate your mother. If this isn't a case of foul play, I don't know what is."
I, I like to think that I get my shocking and often times inappropriate sense of humor from my father. He loved that moment of tension when people didn't know if they wanted to laugh, uh, cry, or walk out the door. We Griffins have that effect on people, and I am proud to carry on that tradition. Thank you so much for joining us today. It means a lot to have you here to celebrate and remember the, the life of my dad, Stevenh Curtis Griffin. We want you to please sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. Um, our only concern is that with Dad gone, Spencer and I have lost our best audience. So, uh, we're hoping you can fill in the dead air space with a little polite laughter or a standing ovation, whichever you feel is better. Um, and we, not we, promise not to keep you long because, uh, that's only because our mother threatened to cut the mic after 7 minutes. Apparently, she has some pull here this morning.
I would actually like to begin with the end of our Dad's life. In August of 2017, our dad, D, was diagnosed with calciphylaxis, a rare and incurable disease. He was given 6 to 9 months to live. I had just moved to Charleston, South Carolina, and I had basically lost my mind. I felt so far away and helpless. For those of you who know me, you know that I have a terrible memory, and my biggest fear was that the memories of him would fade, and I would never forget something as simple as the sound of his voice. So I raced home, and I spent a week recording interviews with my dad about his story, our stories, and the stories that he didn't want us to forget. I'm happy to report that Dad stuck around a little longer than we thought, and I amassed over 13 hours of audio and video riddled with "Stevenisms." For example, in the episode about my mom, I asked, "How did you know she was the one?" and he said, "Who said she's the one?" And then he asked me never to share that with anyone ever, or he would haunt me. We even recorded an episode solely dedicated to Dad's jokes. Obviously, this was his idea. He suggested we sell them on iTunes for $1.99 each and earn a little extra cash to take Mom on a fancy trip. Here is one of his favorites, and one of the few that is safe to share in a church.
He stops. Guy goes to M. Southern Missouri, and he stops at a convenience store. Just before he gets there, he goes by a Baptist Church, and there's a nativity scene. And in the nativity scene, the three wise men have firemen's hats on. And the guy says to the guy says, "I couldn't help notice the nativity scene that the three wise men have fireman, uh, hats on." And the guy behind the counter says, "Don't you know your Bible, son? The three M came from afar." Stupid.
[Applause]
Needless to say, we have received zero cash from those uploads. In all seriousness, the last seven years have been nothing but a tragic privilege. With every curveball after gut-wrenching curveball, we saw the best, and sometimes the worst, in each other, in ourselves. But through this pain, yet painful, yet beautiful chapter in my family story, we managed to keep our twisted sense of humor intact, and we came out stronger and closer. I could go on at nauseam describing all the ways that we have changed, but instead, and in true Steve Griffin's speech-giving spirit, I simply offer the top 10 things I learned while Steve Griffin was looking good but feeling really bad.
Number 10: Scarcity creates value. As a former professor of Economics, one of Dad's greatest disappointments was that none of us became economists. But it turns out his long-winded explanation of supply and demand just might have sunk in, because when we learned that the time was precious, my brothers and I doubled down on our investment in Dad, and I can tell you that the reward was exponential. Invest in the people you love, and the people who love you.
Number 9: You can't change people, but people do change. Our dad was a beautiful example of an evolution of heart, spirit, and ideology. In so many ways, his illness healed him. He focused on strengthening his relationships, making amends for some of his missteps, and was able to let go of some of the anger that haunted him throughout his life. And the most significant change of all, of course, was that he died a registered Democrat. Hallelujah.
Number 8: Steel Magnolias was right. Laughter through tears is the best emotion, and we are all living proof.
Number 7: Good things come to those who live. Don't wait to do all the things you want to do. Don't wait to say all the things you want to say. Soon you will be surprised how short life is. Okay.
Number 6: Luck is believing you are lucky. Before his illness, our dad considered himself unlucky in many ways: a tough upbringing, evil professors, conniving bosses, corrupt business partners, failed adventures, and of course, Spencer. He wasn't wrong. He had a lot of misfortune. But the years went by, and my dad kept beating the odds. His luck was something that we started to believe in, and so did he. One of my favorite stories is when a new doctor with a terrible bedside manner came onto the scene about four years into his condition. The doctor was reviewing all of Dad's charts for the first time and blurted out, "Well, you might be the unluckiest man I've ever met." Trying to prevent my mother from strangling him, my dad quickly responded, "Well, I would respectfully disagree. I'm still here, which makes me pretty damn lucky." It should be noted that that doctor has never been seen from or heard from again.
Number 5: With gratitude, optimism is possible. Our dad never stopped being grateful for every day he got. He treated them as the gift that they were. Each kept him fighting for the next. He had this thing where he would earmark the next big event as his goal date, be it one of our birthdays, an anniversary, graduation, wedding. He would set his sights on the occasion, determined to be present and celebrate with us. And he did, over and over again. It was this relentless optimism and positive spirit that kept him here as long as he was. Well, that and the fact that he loved to say, "I told you so."
Number 4: Prayer works, even when they don't. I said a lot of prayers. Some of them were answered. Most of the big ones weren't. I learned you can't pray something away. God does not play favorites like that, though I wish she did. As the lost disciple Ted Lasso said, "It may not work out how you think it will or how you hope it does, but believe me, it will all work out."
Number 3: God reveals himself in puzzling ways. Every evening, without fail, our parents watched Wheel of Fortune, which is a game show where you basically yell wrong answers at the TV, and then when the contestant answers the puzzle correctly, you say, "I knew that." On our final day in hospice, we sat by Dad's bedside and watched Wheel of Fortune, just as we had done countless times before. This time, Dad lay silently, and we said our answers a lot more softly. About 15 minutes into the show, one contestant said, "I'd like to solve the puzzle." And quickly, I answered, "Breathtaking helicopter tour." Correct. Proud of myself, I looked over to my dad for approval, and it was at that moment that he took his last breath. It sounds silly, but I feel like there couldn't have been a more perfect way of Dad telling us where he was going and how he was getting there.
Number 2: It takes a village. It turns out that just like the beginning of our life is improved by communal effort, the same can be said about the end of life. I want to say thank you to the dozens of doctors and nurses that cared for our father, especially Dr. Overton, Cary, Dr. Moy, and the staff of For Sinning as Dialysis Center. To the Kavanaugh House, thank you for having a peaceful hospice for our dad's last week. You are truly angels on Earth. To the Hope pastors and staff, thank you for yesterday and today, but mostly thank you for caring for our mom and allowing her the space and time to take care of Dad, year after year after year. To our friends and extended family, thank you for the outpouring of love and support. Your kindness was our strength, your hugs were our comfort, and your memories of our dad will keep him with us for years to come. So please don't be afraid to keep sharing them with us, over and over again, just like Dad would. To my husband, Kevin, there are no words to thank you for how much you've done for me and our family these last 5 years, and especially these last 3 weeks. Dad liked to joke that you were his favorite son. I liked to to joke back that if I had parents like yours, I'd be a better person too. But the truth is, you really are the best of us, and I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for holding my hand through it all. I love you.
And finally, the number one thing I learned while Steve Griffin was looking good but feeling really bad: Our mom is better than your mom. Mom, you are the strongest and bravest person I know. Because of you, I, I have learned more about love and patience and selflessness in these last 7 years than I ever thought possible. On behalf of all of us, thank you for being our father's advocate, his caretaker, wife, and best friend through it all. While Dad wasn't always the best at showing it, he adored you endlessly. So do we. Mom, this whole room has you in their hearts. We are all here for you and always will be. Can I get an amen?
Okay, Dad, unfortunately, I've come to the end of my tribute. And since I began with your end, I think it is only fitting to end with our beginning. I was born at 12:38 p.m. on January 18th, 1980. Mom said it was a Friday. She said you held me in your arms and told me that you loved me. I don't remember that exact moment, of course, but since then, I've never gone a day without feeling your love, without knowing unconditional love. And what better gift to give a son than that? Dad, your life was a blessing. Your guidance was a gift. Your strength was an inspiration. Your presence will be irreplaceable, and your memory is a treasure that I will carry with me forever. I will miss you every day, and I love you so much. Thank you.
[Applause]