The Eulogy

I was going to post this on the anniversary of London’s death, but it seemed too clunky, too forced, and the wave of emotion that hit that day was much stronger than I was prepared for. This was London’s eulogy—at least part of it—and many people who attended her funeral have asked me to share it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, so I wanted to let it sit. I also have not edited it (beyond spelling), so it is raw and unrevised, which means it might not read as well as it was spoken.

Revisiting it now still seems strange, like I don’t deserve or can’t fathom the reality of existing. We have come quite a way in our grief, not that there is a destination, but a lot has shifted. From the fogginess and general complacency early on to a feeling of waking up from a delirious sleep, and noticing that nothing feels worth it. This is double-edged because cynicism is close behind but it also frees you from the constraints of cultural normality. The common passive-aggressive approach to life that most people default to becomes intolerable. Perhaps we were lucky because we didn’t have jobs that we felt we needed to quit or a life that we had to drastically rearrange. Still, there is a heavy presence that makes small talk difficult, or normal social interaction pointless. Death is a magnifying lens and grief is the haze that clings to it. It is not something you try to clear, it is only something that can dissipate through time and particular attention to it. If you can make it through the constant derangement that slaps you every time you consider reality in the first parts of fresh grief, there is a crystal clear observation and a profound desire to ONLY live in a way that makes sense to you. This is what death offers as recompense.

I miss her every day. And nothing will alleviate that longing to have her present. I make a conscious choice to view her short time here as a gift. It isn’t an easy idea when you feel like you have been robbed of the normal life experience—being outlived by your children—but I don’t think there is another option. There is a real danger of letting insanely rare circumstances determine your outlook, to mold you into a morose person. Many people allow their tragic experiences to dictate their future experiences and this does not pay tribute to the kind of person she was, nor does it make my own future look livable. It is also too easy, to let unfairness cloud your zeal or pain harden your spirit. What we deem as “hard” will always be different from this point, and that is not a bad thing; THAT is the point. Experience that gives you the opportunity to shape yourself for the better. We are all headed toward the same end and we all get to choose our attitude along the way. I am grateful for London who heavily shaped mine.

Grief seems inhumane. What is it about death that makes the living feel guilty for being alive? We want to live, and when those we love lose the fight, the living’s will follows suit. Despite our reluctance, it’s what we all have in common. Perhaps you don’t like to think about it, but 100% of us will one day share this unifying experience; no one gets out of here alive. 

I know, It’s all very serious. but one of my favorite observations on death comes from the thinker and teacher, Richard Albert, AKA: Ram Dass. His most astute perspective came in the form of a joke that goes something like this:

“why are people so afraid of death?…

…It’s perfectly safe.”

This is what truth feels like, funny, and also gut-wrenching. 

Grief—our reaction to tragic loss—is one of those experiences that can only be communicated through the eyes and the long stare when you confide in another, or the shake of a body when it trembles as it’s held. What words will ever do justice to that? What can you write that encapsulates 13 years of some of the most profound love you have ever felt? 

These words are merely echoes. Sounds that bounce clumsily out of the caves that we call throats. It can’t live up to—nor will it ever represent—the initial vibration we feel, especially if that chord is first struck by the heart; the universe’s most powerful feeling generator. 

We keep trying anyways. Curious creatures we are, throwing rocks in a pond and expecting tidal waves. How might we move the world when we have been moved by it?

I was headed nowhere, my spirit connected to nothing; then someone landed in my pond. What a splash London made. She had no problem moving our world. She tore at every veil to make it here, leaving no doubt that she belonged. She was not a child that was unseen or unheard, and we fostered that bright and bouncy step that danced around our lives the best we knew how. 

The countless stories I have of HER teaching ME when I was so certain that it was the other way around. She asked me how planes fly, so we hopped in my car and I had her put her arm out the window—at an unreasonable speed in a residential neighborhood—to demonstrate the coefficient of drag and lift. When I saw her smile I knew that I actually understood lift for the first time.

She came almost fully formed, her body growing but her spirit knew things about the world, about us and about you, that only someone who had loved and lost and learned to love again a million times over could know. And that is that there is little time in this world, so you should fill it with what you love. You should cook and dance and hug and hold those you love while you can. 

We were flabbergasted by how young she was, how developed she was, and what preternatural sense she had with creating a reality that we all wanted to be a part of. However devastating her absence is, we are left astonished by her ancient soul and the beauty that continues to shower us with gifts. Thank you London, you changed me. 

When her grandmother, Karen passed away, I was worried for her. They were eternally close, they clung to each other like one was a chair and the other a pillow. How were we going to explain this to her, the fright of loss and the guilt of regret—not saying what you wished you had, not cherishing every moment? She had none of these feelings, and once again London would teach us about subjects that we thought we were here to teach her, about forgiveness, remembrance, and unconditional love. She had been writing a note the morning we learned of her grandmother’s passing. Erin interrupted her at her desk scribbling on a piece of paper to tell her the bad news, but then stopped to read the note before telling her. It read: “Grandma, I love you.” 

If you live a short life, it’s vital that you say what’s important, when it’s important to say it. 

I got to see Erin become a mother, and I don’t mean birthing a child, I mean learning to nurture one. Erin has always been beautiful, but nothing is as beautiful as seeing how she looked at London, to see that unbreakable love on full display every day and in every moment is what we should all aspire to. It is a love so fierce that it hurts to look at. It feels dangerous to love someone that hard. Do you have that, a love so deep that it terrifies you? I would suggest not trying to get in the way of that love. Few animals are as fierce as a mother’s preservative instincts, and none can equal their love, absolutely none. When London became sick, she called on her mother to never leave her side, because she knew she wouldn’t. We teach people about endurance but last week I learned something new. I watched a mother fight day and night for her most precious girl. Without food, sleep, or water; love is jet fuel. It was heartbreaking, heart-moving, and heart-opening. 

I can’t believe we have lost that beauty from the world. To know she will never bounce into a room and light that part of us up will be the tragedy of my lifetime. But the pain is something that I am willing to pay a thousand times over because of what I got from her while she was here, I got a piece of her heart. Do you know what that is worth in a day and age where people mark their worth with their things, the materials they accumulate, and the number in a bank account? Some people are fortunate enough to earn millions, sometimes billions of pieces of paper. They have a number on a computer screen that tells them and the rest of the world their worth and compared to what we had, it is worthless. I was blessed with such an overwhelming abundance merely because a little girl showed me that the heart is bottomless, so she opened hers to mine and I became rich beyond belief. This is the wealth often only realized by loss.

What can you say about a father that understands the depth of his child’s love so well that he is able to share his fatherhood? Thank you, Brook, it was an honor to get a daughter, but also—surprisingly—a friend. How London orchestrated her aim in her final act of us just giving up petty humanness and learning to just love each other will forever be a mystery of the universe. Yes, she is still teaching if you are listening

I said this to both Erin, and Brook when we learned that there was no other option but to stop hoping for her mortal life, and that is that I am thankful. I have an immeasurable amount of gratitude for what you both created, and I and everyone here got to experience it. London was an extraordinarily beautiful being, the shortness of her time with us only adds to that value. 

A child is a reflection of your worst fears, but an emblem of your highest hopes. We have realized our worst fears and it is merely pain. I would bare any pain for her, including this. I can continue to hurt, I pray that I always do. I pray that the pain will remind me of what is possible in love. And that is the paradox, what we avoid in love we only actualize in loss.

Our highest hope is that you can love unconditionally. This, for her, I can also do. To develop such love means that you start to understand the word sacrifice. That you would give your life for another—at least that’s how my old understanding was. There is another sacrifice: you might live for another, against every inclination not to. It is a very real feeling to not want to live after losing the loves of our lives. I can’t deny the urge, the anger, and the guilt. But a tribute is not a platitude or empty verse, it is sacrificial action. To live and to live fully, to explore every inch of this earth and every crevice of your soul is the only way to pay tribute to life.

London is happiness. What better way to honor the gifts and lessons she gave than to embody her spirit of joy? To fully live and love is the only way about it. I can hurt and mourn, and remember. But I refuse to let her existence here be anything but a beacon for the potential of grace and love. And I hope you will do the same by celebrating the gift she was to your life. 

I stand here today and I have nothing but joy and happiness rippling in my pond because I was lucky enough to share a part of her life, and it will affect me for the rest of mine. She was the tiniest of little pebbles and I am submerged in her wake, engulfed by her love

Thank you, London, from the bottomlessness of my heart.