Eulogy I read at the service (by Angie)

First, I want to thank you all for being here. For showing such tremendous respect for my Dad and providing such gracious support for my family. Thank you.

In the last year, as we've all dealt with Dad's illness in different ways, I've thought mostly about my relationship with him, and what I will be taking into my life from him that I can pass on to my children. Because I am a mother and not a father, it has taken me a long time to see what I have gotten from Dad besides his big round face and his big, ugly feet. I hear myself sounding more and more like Mom every day as I raise my kids. But I have worked to find Dad in me, too. There’s so much more of him in me than I ever thought. Let me tell you about him, from the perspective and experience of being his baby girl.

My Dad and I communicated best just sitting together quietly shoulder-to-shoulder. Or joking around endlessly. If you really knew him, you know he had a great sense of humor. For instance, we have spent the past 15 years, since Mom died, scaring each other with rubber snakes. Back and forth, I never knew where I’d find one… in my bed, my suitcase on many occasions, my sock drawer, wrapped around my steering wheel. I’m going to miss those stupid snakes. He didn’t always say what was on his mind, but he found ways to communicate his love anyway. He was a hugger, and his hugs cured any pain, any heartache. Out-of-the-blue hugs where he just grabbed you with his big strong arms from across the room and enveloped you in his love and security. He was a man of few words… but when he spoke, you listened. And in all my 32 years, I never, ever heard him raise his voice in anger. Ever. Or say a single mean word to anyone. He didn’t have to. It wasn’t his way. He gained so much respect from that quality.

From him I was given unending support, even when I made crazy decisions like moving to California right out of college to be with some guy with insane dreams. I always wanted to make him proud and never disappoint him. He always trusted me to make the right decisions, and if I didn’t, I knew I always had him to fall back on. He was always my soft place to fall.

So, how do you say “goodbye” to the man who gave you everything? The man who gave you life. The man who provided you with a solid and secure foundation built on love. I had the greatest childhood. Ricky, Keri and I are some of the few people in this world who can say they had a close-to-perfect childhood. We did. Our parents were the reason. My dad worked hard so we could have worry-free lives, giving us the ability to use our imaginations to dream and have good educations to make those dreams reality. He gave us everything.

My Dad always gave me the best, juiciest bite of his steak. He always smelled like Ice Blue Aqua Velva, or grilled food or fish or car grease. He taught me how to bait a hook, and clean fish. When I was in high school, soon after mom died, he would take me in the back yard and throw tennis balls at the brick wall of our house with me to release anger. Also during that time, he taught me how to fall asleep on nights that I couldn’t. We’d lay together, first relaxing our toes, then our feet, our ankles…an so on. I don’t think we ever make it to our thighs before we were both snoring. I have taught that same trick to my oldest daughter.

Speaking of my girls. He was an even better grandfather. A “Pops”. He was a get on the floor and play a game Pops, take them fishing or boat riding Pops, chat on the phone Pops, X-Box playing Pops. They are going to miss out on so much of his love and personality. We will keep his legacy alive, with the help of “Mr. C”. Now they have one more amazing angel to watch over them as they grow.

Because of my Dad, I don’t cringe at soft rock or easy listening music. It makes me think of him. So many songs from so many road trips make me think of him. What other 60-year-old man knows the words to Baby Got Back? Because of him I love camping and water and Daddy-long-leg spiders, listening to birds. I love BBQ pork chops and steak grilled with only garlic. I know how to properly mow grass and change oil and tires in my car.

He was the ultimate father and ultimate provider. It never failed, he would stand in the driveway in his moccasin slippers saying, “Before you go, let me check your oil and tires”. “Do you need any cash?” - “No I don’t.” - “Take it anyway.” Just this past Easter he stuffed my pocket with a wad of cash. He figured that as long as he could help, he would. He had, has a heart of gold, for his family and his friends. I am his baby. He protected me from everything.

It feels so strange to be talking about him in the past tense. He is still so much a part of our lives and always will be. He was such a good, good man - an amazing dad, husband, brother, son, friend, soldier, hard worker, fisherman, generous and loving and strong and kind and funny and full of life. There was so much more he wanted to do with Dixie, wonderful, beautiful Dixie. We are so incredibly fortunate to have her in our lives. There is so much more he wanted to do with his grandchildren. I know he has gone to a better place, a place without pain and into the arms of a woman who has been patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for him to return to her, but it still sucks. I have been unable to come up with a more suitable word for this situation. It just sucks. It still seems unfair. The only solace I have is that we will all be together again one day, never to be separated. It’s only a matter of time.

And so, I will always think of him when I look at myself in the mirror and see that I really do have the Jackson face and so many of his mannerisms. We both chew our cheeks when we’re nervous, we both love our heads and backs scratched, we both go silent when we’re feeling strong emotions. I can also see that I am lucky to have his passionate nature, his love of the outdoors, family and of life itself, and his strength. With any luck, in thirty years, my children will look at themselves, and count themselves lucky, too.

So, I will miss you, Pop, my Popadopalus, my Superman, my hero. I will miss you, but you will be with me wherever I go, because I am from you.

Love, Your Baby, Forever and Always
Shorty