Today my dad would be 78 years old. A year ago today I called and sang happy birthday to him. We were eagerly looking forward to this year of healing that would follow his hip replacement, scheduled for a week later, and hopefully lead to a restoring of his mobility and his ability to resume all the things he loved to do. We fully believed that on his 78th birthday he would be back to his old self, healed and able, ready to embrace the next stage of his life.
It was not to be. Dad had the surgery, but that experience, along with the recovery to follow, was so much more difficult that we could have imagined it would be. And nine months later, two months and 17 days ago, he left us. We were devastated, every single one of his children, grandchildren, children-in-law, and especially my precious mother. Our only consolation is that now he is truly healed, truly himself again, truly able to embrace this next stage of his Eternal Life.
I was privileged to have been able to speak at my dad's funeral. It was a well-attended celebration, and we were overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and admiration that was expressed there for my father, who had touched far more lives than he ever could have known. As I stood to speak, following my three adorable nieces who wanted to share words of love for Papa, I had no idea how I would proceed without losing my composure. But somehow I did (mostly), and afterward so many kind friends, family members, and even strangers expressed their appreciation for my words. Since then, I've been asked by a number of folks who couldn't attend the funeral if I could send a copy of my eulogy. At Christmastime, I overheard my sister-in-law tell my mother she was so sorry she never had the opportunity to meet my dad. My mum's response was, "Just read Leanne's eulogy and you'll know him".
For that reason, because so many more people should have had the chance to know my dad, I am posting that eulogy here, on his birthday. It is not a work of art. It is unpolished and barely edited. But it does paint a picture of who my dad was to the ones who loved him most.
"My dad would love this so much. He would be smiling the biggest smile and ready to share a big welcoming hug with every one of you. My dad knew how to work the room at a funeral. He knew how to make a connection with every person there. And that is why there are so many faces here today, to honour a man who spent every day nurturing connections with people.
I thought I would spend some time talking about the things my dad loved.
I thought I would spend some time talking about the things my dad loved.
He loved being Daddy - He had two little princesses before the long awaited prince arrived, and I always knew my dad loved being a dad. He is part of almost all my early memories. He always worked a lot, and he traveled, but he made a point from day one to be a very involved dad. He built rinks in the backyard and took us skating. He taught me to swim at Parlee Beach. I remember I loved it when it would be just him and me out in the water and I would beg him to take me out over my head. He taught me to ride a bike and he drove me to school. I’d get up in the middle of the night and find him making a snack in the kitchen. I loved the times when I had him to myself. For much of my life I really believed my dad was the smartest man on earth. He knew everything and he could do anything. I think that is exactly how a little girl is supposed to feel about her dad.
Hockey - If it was the hockey season, hockey was on TV. He played when he was younger, and when Brad was born, finally getting his boy meant finally getting his hockey player. I don’t really remember Dad playing hockey, although I hear there is an infamous green helmet still hanging in Brad’s shed that looked ridiculous on him. He truly loved the game, except when his team was losing. And then he went to bed. He could be a bit TOO passionate about live hockey, as anyone who found themselves sitting near him at a game knew all too well. If a call was made that he didn’t agree with, his temper would flare and everyone would know it. I hope all those refs understand it was nothing personal. He was just passionate about hockey.
Cars - As most of you know, Dad spent his career in the car business. I grew up thinking that was because he loved cars so much, and he did. He loved everything about the car business. But I know now that Dad was a car salesman because he loved people. He loved the connections he made with people and he loved matching people together with the right car. He was successful at his job because of his endlessly welcoming personality, and the way that he made everyone feel like their needs were his top priority.
Babies - I’ve never met a man more content to sit and hold a baby. If there was a baby in the room, it was probably in my dad’s arms.
Crossword puzzles - Dad was always content, especially the last few years, if he had a crossword puzzle or word search to work on. He was often our shopping chauffeur, dropping Mom, Tracy and I at the mall doors and sitting happily with his puzzles until we were finished.
Sweets - No one had a bigger sweet tooth than my dad. He earned his diabetes. Cakes, cookies, ice cream, war cake. He was always happy to take the Halloween treats we didn’t like (and I suspect he dipped in when we weren’t looking, too). Dessert was easily my dad’s favourite meal.
Mardens and Princess Auto - Dad could spend literally hours wandering the aisles, just browsing. He loved those stores. He loved to find a deal. Mom says every time he went to Mardens he picked up about four tarps, just in case. Or the latest gadget. Oh, how my dad loved gadgets! And he loved showing them off! He was so proud of his finds.
Puttering - Dad loved taking care of his house, and that was one of the things that became so frustrating to him when his mobility decreased. I have no idea what he did all those hours that he spent in the garage or the shed or the yard. I’d find him there and ask what he was doing. “Just puttering”, he’d say, happy as could be. Whenever he came to visit he’d ask for a list of things he could do while he was there, jobs he could take care of for me. He loved to be a handyman.
The Cottage - Ten years ago Tracy and Blair were kind enough to buy Dad a cottage, and it became his happy place. Sitting on the porch swing, or the dock, or the riding mower was his favourite place to be. I am so thankful that he made so many memories there with us over the past decade.
Family - My dad loved a good family reunion. Birthdays and Boxing Day gatherings with family, my dad was in his element. He loved making those connections, and he always had a way of making people feel like he was most interested in what they had to say. Often our family gatherings involved a game of cards, which he also loved, unless he was losing. He did have a fierce competitive streak, and Wizard was the game our family loved but it wasn’t Dad’s best game, so it became his nemesis in the last few years. We would beg him to play and he would agree, but he would let us know he wasn’t happy about it.
His Church - Dad loved his church. He was a tireless volunteer, who served on many boards and committees within Kings Church over its lifetime. The first time we walked through the doors of Kings Valley Wesleyan, as it was called in those days, it was still meeting in the music room at Lakefield Elementary. A month later the original building opened for the first time, and from that point on, Dad’s smiling face was there nearly every Sunday. For many years, he was in charge of the parking crew, and his smiling face welcomed just about every car into the parking lot on Sunday mornings. If the mission of the church is loving people, my dad spent his life as a faithful missionary. We were never in doubt about what our dad believed, either. He was vocal about his faith, he loved his Saviour and he believed that our lives were in God’s hands and it was our responsibility to trust Him and to live our lives serving Him and His people. Most of all, my dad lived out his faith. I never doubted that I was loved by my Heavenly Father because my earthly father’s love was so very tangible in my life.
My Mum - More than any of these things, my dad loved my mum. I love hearing about my parents love story. Mum’s first memories of him were from when he was about seven, just after his own dad had passed away. She saw him with my grandmother at some kind of church function, and he made an impression on her. A few years later they rode the bus to school together, and one day he decided to sit with her. She was mortified. That night at dinner her brother announced that she had sat with a boy on the bus. My grandfather made her walk to school the next day. I’m glad that didn’t end the relationship. They were high school sweethearts, and they married when they were twenty-two. They had fifty-five years of ups and downs and lots of love. My parents’ love for each other has been a beautiful example to Tracy, Brad and me and our spouses. So many times dad has told me, very matter-of-factly, that he just couldn’t live without Mum, and I’m glad he never had to. She wasn’t feeling well Thursday night, and went to bed early. In the wee hours of Friday morning Dad checked on her, asked if she was okay, and she assured him she was fine. I like to think he was checking to make sure she’ll be okay without him, and that he knows she’ll be just fine. A beautiful ending to a beautiful love story.
Growing up with Dad, we always knew we were loved and fully supported. He told me countless times that I could do whatever I wanted to do. He was endlessly positive. I never doubted his belief in me. When I was 16 and just learning to drive, Dad told me I had to take one driving lesson with my instructor before he would take me driving. I agreed and had my lesson, and Dad kept his end of the bargain. My Drivers Ed class was held in town, and Dad said I could drive the car on the way in. I was pretty confident, but I had only had one lesson, and we were taking the highway to town. Dad was heading back to work for the evening, as he did twice a week every week, and he had already had a long day, so when we got to the onramp to the highway he turned to me and said, “You know how to do this, right?” I replied that, yes, I was pretty sure I knew what I was doing. He said, “Great! I’m gonna take a nap!” And he did. Miraculously, we both survived the trip.
During university, I had the privilege of working at the dealership where Dad was the general sales manager, so I got to see him in his element, working the showroom floor, meeting people and matching them up with just the right vehicle. I learned a lot about my dad working there. Much of the time I worked out back, cleaning vehicles, and I would walk through the service department, whistling a tune, and invariably someone would call out “Sure isn’t hard to tell whose daughter that is”. I soon knew why. We could always tell when my dad was nearby when we’d hear him whistling that happy tune. He loved to sing, too. We grew up listening to him and Mum harmonizing together on old hymns and gospel tunes in the car, or at the organ in the living room. I can remember hearing them sing together in church, and for a while he even sang in the church choir. He loved music, and when he listened to songs he loved they bubbled out of him as he sang along.
We all considered Dad the eternal optimist. There was nothing we couldn’t do, in his opinion. No obstacle was insurmountable. This was great when it came to encouraging us to reach for our goals, and cheering us on when we were trying something new. Sometimes his optimism was a little over the top. Back in the days that I worked at the dealership, Dad would often need someone to deliver a car or pick up a car in Fredericton or Moncton, and Dad knew I loved the chance to get out of the shop and spend the afternoon driving. More than once he came to me and said “I need you to pick up a car in Fredericton. The only problem is it’s a manual transmission”. I did NOT know how to drive a standard, but to Dad that was just a minor complication. “No problem”, he would say. “We’ll just go over to the Superstore parking lot for 10 minutes and I’ll teach you”. Oh, Dad. It would take about 20 minutes for him to admit that he needed to find someone else to pick up that car in Fredericton.
Having spent the last three days reading comments about Dad on Facebook, and talking to so many people about him yesterday, there is certainly a common thread running through every comment. Everyone pictures Dad with a smile and open arms or a high five. He has always been a welcoming presence in our home. Growing up, our house was the one all our friends wanted to come to. Our parents were the ones that all our friends felt the most comfortable with, and Dad was a huge part of that. He just poured out love on every friend who walked through the door, and I’m not sure, as a teenager, if I really understood or fully appreciated that. He was still pouring out love on his grandchildren's friends right up until last week. My dad was a favourite uncle of all of my cousins. They are feeling his loss keenly today. One of my friend’s comments was “I can only remember your dad laughing. Probably usually at us”. From one of Tracy’s university friends “Stan’s laugh and big hugs always made a homesick girl feel welcome in the Constantine home”, and one of my favourites “I loved the joy and positivity Stan brought to my life. He makes Heaven a better place to want to go”. So many others just said “I loved your dad so much”. And I know so many of you did. Often reading those thoughts made me wish I could share them with Dad. I hope he is feeling all the love being poured out on him today.
It is nearly impossible for me to remember who my dad was before he was a grandfather. You only need to glance at the countless photos of Dad with his grandchildren to know that Papa was the role he was born to play. I knew the day Connor, his first grandchild, was born that my dad was going to be his biggest fan, and moving my kids to Ontario was the hardest thing I ever did, in large part because it would mean separating them from him. But he never let that distance become an obstacle to nurturing a great relationship with our kids. No one has relished the job of grandfather more than Stan Constantine. Whether he was snuggling with them as babies, cheering them on in sports, or watching them play together at the cottage, Dad loved every single minute of being their Papa. He has been endlessly loving and full of pride in his grandchildren. I never spoke to him on the phone without him saying “How’s the kids? Give them hugs for Papa”. Seeing Connor, Janelle, Jillian, Charlie, Hailey and Molly standing by his casket last night, struggling to say their final goodbye, I realized that they fully understand how very blessed they have been to have known and been loved by their one-of-a-kind grandfather. I am so very grateful that they will carry memories of their time with him in their hearts forever.
We did not expect to be saying goodbye to Dad today. Losing him was sudden, but we had been losing him by inches for the past few years. Mum has tirelessly and without regret cared for him in every way these last months. She fulfilled the “in sickness and in health” vow she made 55 years ago a hundredfold, but she did not begrudge a minute. Brad and Tracy have been by Mum’s side through it all, at their home in minutes whenever he would fall or experience a setback, accompanying Dad to doctor’s appointments and making daily visits to the hospital when he was there. I am so very grateful that they were here when I couldn’t be. Janelle and I came home in March to visit and I took over the role of coach, encouraging Dad to do the daily exercises that were so painful and tedious and frustrating. We went for walks to the mailbox or the stop sign at the end of the street, taking shuffling baby steps the whole way. It was so frustrating to him when his body just wouldn’t do what he needed it to do. Nothing was easy for him anymore. His ever ready smile wasn’t quite so available. Until a neighbour or friend walked in the door and he would brighten and say “I’m doing just great!” Although he was discouraged, Dad never lost his optimism. He often said to Mum “When I get better, we should take a trip to Florida or Mexico”. She doubted he would ever get to that point, but he always saw the glass half full. Before I left to return to Ontario in August I said “Dad, keep doing those exercises so next summer we can walk all the way to Marr Road together.” He grinned and said, “Yes, we will”. I plan to take that walk, Dad, and I know you’ll be by my side, every step of the way.
To everyone who is here, thank you so much for showering our family with love this week. For bringing food, or travelling to be here, or just taking the time to share with us your memories of my dad, who was and will continue to be such an enormous presence in our lives. Thank you for holding us up in prayer in the days to come, when we kids go back to work, the grandkids go back to school, and Mum is alone with her thoughts and her memories. And please know how very much Dad would have appreciated you being here, and how he would have smiled and hugged or high-fived every single one of you on your way out the door."
In the past two months and 17 days there have been so many times when I thought of something I couldn't wait to tell my dad. Like when I went to my first Raptors game and saw the reigning NBA champions pull off their biggest comeback in franchise history. On the way home in the car I thought "Oh, wait until I tell Dad about this!" And I was overtaken by a fresh wave of grief. He would have loved hearing all about it! Over the past few weeks of union negotiations I've wanted to call Dad and complain, especially after spending a day on the picket line. So now I've decided that when those moments come, I should just tell him all about it, just as if he could hear me and revel in the joy or the misery.
Twenty years ago today, I called my dad and told him I was working on a great birthday present for him. One day later I placed his first grandchild in his arms for the first time. I never saw him smile wider. The combination today of missing that smile and realizing that my son is twenty -- TWENTY!!! -- has me a bit of a mess. But it helps to know that this year my dad is not spending his birthday using a walker and a cane. He is spending his birthday able to run and play hockey and golf and fish and do whatever he wants to do. And someday I'll be able to do those things right along with him.
Happy birthday in Heaven, Dad. I love you and miss you so, so much.
