As I mentioned yesterday, as soon as I chilled out about this eulogy being “perfect,” the words flowed onto the page effortlessly. I truly feel like Dad and I co-wrote this together — in more ways than one.

I’ll include the full sermon as I spoke it in the YouTube video (which I'll include at the bottom) — I said some things not mentioned in the written version. I’ll include the written version here, too. Enjoy :-)

Hi everyone. Thank you for being here. I’ll start the same way Dad used to start his graduation speeches at the High School:


The great comedian George Burns once said: “The secret of a good speech is to have a good beginning, and a good ending; and to have the two as close together as possible.”


As Dad would say: “Today, I will do my best.”


Er, we both will… Dad kept most of the sermons and speeches he gave — so I realized I can lean on his words today — and fill in the blanks with a few stories.


To inspire the graduating class of 2009, Dad said: “Each of you can be a difference-maker in our society or not… the choice is yours. The choice is also yours as to whether what you choose is: — for the good of all or, — only for you.”



It’s no doubt that my dad made an impact here. My brother and I felt it growing up, watching him run his businesses, commit time and effort to so many organizations and individuals who needed help, and still carve out valuable time for us to spend as a family of four.


He was the best dad, husband, brother and friend.


Dad had another good nugget of wisdom for the graduating class of 2012. He said: “Whatever strong belief you now hold about what it means to be successful, I hope you will stay open to the possibility that you might have it all wrong and accept a new awareness when it comes to you.”


I love this part of Dad— he was the best listener, to the point where he knew his principles, and yet he was always open to having his mind changed by present circumstances..



A quick story…



Aside from a cat who was around for the first few years of our lives, Matt and I never grew up with pets. So when I met my – now – husband, Sean, who was the proud owner of two dogs, I wasn’t sure what to expect!


In 2012, Sean and I decided to take a month-long road-trip to Alaska. Sean’s parents graciously volunteered to take one of our dogs, Daisy, in California. And Mom and Dad tentatively agreed that they’d watch Dexter. ONLY for a month…


May, June and July cameand went… and in September I called up dad to tell him Sean and I would be driving out to Wisconsin to get Dexter, and I’ll never forget his response:



“You know I’m not giving him back, right?” The rest was history 



Dexter was with us through the diagnosis, and through the last years Mom and Dad lived in our childhood home on Round Lake. That dog provided the levity our family — and Dad— needed through that time, and we’ll be forev­er grateful.



I’m sure those two are reunited again. 


In 2010, Dad said to the graduating class: “It all comes down to one hope: that you’ll only do things that make you proud, so that when you look in the mirror the next day you can smile. If you can do that, you will be successful. You will be happy.”


And to all of you who are thinking of the Steve Shambeau you knew and loved, I know you’d all describe him as a happy guy. He loved to laugh and he’d tell the best dad jokes I know.


When a waitress at any restaurant would ask him, “How was everything?” He’d look down to his empty plate without missing a beat and say, “Didn’t like it at all! Send it back to the chef!”


In terms of doing things that made himself proud, there was one thing Dad always wanted to do: Drive his boat from Naples, Florida six hours south to Key Largo.This was the longest journey he’d ever driven, and I just remember thinking he’d done so much to prepare the year we pulled it off.


Four-ish hours in, the journey was going smooth — er, as smooth as ocean travel can be — until he spotted a bird just ahead, that appeared to be standing on water! How odd, to see it standing there —  and before we knew it, our boat had beached itself on a small sandbar. We were stuck!


His first words, no doubt, were probably: “OH SHIT!”



And then he got to work… I don’t remember it taking too long to get unstuck, but we sure had a story to tell at the end of the day. That was the sort of guy dad was: Showing up to the present circumstance and ask: What’s needed? How can I serve?


That trip was one the four of us will never forget.



In another sermon Dad said: “So it is only through our relationships with others, that we can define who we are and who we are not. It is only through our relationships with others that we can grow and experience who we are and what we want to become.We must have those relationships with others, or we are nothing!”


No pressure, right? But I love this sentiment, and it speaks so beautifully to the many friendships Dad and Mom maintained throughout his life. The neighbors and regular visitors to our Round Lake house, along with the countless parties they hosted played such pivotal roles in my brother and my worlds growing up.


Especially after Dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and life started to get confusing and riddled with change, friends and family stuck by us through it all and surely help us weather – what I can only describe as – the longest storm of our lives.



Dad (and Mom) always taught us that life is too short to go to bed angry with a loved one. And though none of us in the Shambeau household prefer conflict, we all love a good resolution. This was made explicitly clear as I watched my mom stick by Dad’s side through the last decade. As the Steve we all knew withered away, she met each phase of his disease with courage and gumption.



Alzheimer’s may be “the longest goodbye,” but I’ll tell you: My mom made the most of every moment.


And that’s the reality Dad loved to speak about, especially in the later years of his spiritual life. He referred to Hell as not a place – so much as a way of existing. If we don’t take advantage of the fullness of life — pain and all, we find ourselves in a hell of our own making. Life sucks. I assure you, there were many moments in my own processing where I felt this way about losing my dad.


However, Dad followed that up by saying that if we dive fully into life, relationships, and the experiences before us, and put our effort into “doing our best,” then life on earth looks as close to Heaven as we can imagine.


And that outlook — that sweetness — is how I remember dad most. Not only did he LOVE sweets (especially Peanut M&Ms!), but he chose to focus on the journey.


He advised the graduating class of 2012: “Take joy in the journey, rather than building your life around how good you expect the view to be when you get to the top.”


Because as much as we want to control how life looks, we really have no control at all! Dad’s life — and death — was a testament to that more than anything. All we have control over are the actions we take in each moment.


In closing, I leave you with one more quote from one of Dad’s sermons.



“You see, I’m not afraid of death or what comes after. I believe we are all here by God’s grand design… to experience all the opportunities and — this is very important — we can’t mess this program up. We cannot lose this battle. We cannot fail.”


So whether you believe in “God,” “Universe” or “Something bigger than yourself,” I — and my Dad, who’s here with us, no doubt — hope that you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be. You have everything you need to do what you need to do right now. And you cannot screw this life up.



He sure didn’t :-)
Thank you for being here. Love you, Dad.­­

So many times during all the rituals and ceremony of Dad’s funeral and visitations, I thought to myself: This is living yoga. Not practicing yoga, or teaching yoga… but real life, putting the teachings into practice… yoga.


I hope your future doesn’t involve a funeral of someone close to you… but, it is the inevitability of life itself, no? Here are some yoga tools I used to make it through:


Just did my best— I initially put a lot of pressure on myself to write the best eulogy… but when I relaxed a bit, channeled my dad’s presence, and trusted in my ability to write (a trust in myself that I’ve earned over time), the words flowed effortlessly on the page. Can’t wait to share that with you, tomorrow.

Trust — To battles nerves before speaking, I said to myself: *I trust whatever words I say are for the highest good of all concerned.* And I believed it.


Deep breaths — When I welled up with tears on the podium, I rode the wave and took a deep breath. I realized later that so many people in the crowd took that breath with me and needed permission from my tears to let their own tears flow.



This is that — so many times I felt conflicting emotions. Anger at losing dad, and joy to relive a memory of him… I understand that both emotions can coexist. To allow anger to flow through is to make space so joy can bloom in its place.

“Let Them” —  I used Mel Robbins’ principle from her book, “The Let Them Theory,” as I had to watch others struggle in their own experience of my dad’s death. I let myself have my own experience, and I let them have theirs without trying to fix, change or ignore.


Moving physical tension — When I realized parts of my body were tensing up, or I slept wrong somehow, I took the time to massage those parts of my shoulders or move my legs on a walk to help the tension move. Stuck energy just leads to more pain over time. (And I didn’t need more pain that week!)


Be present — I tried my best to be present with every moment. Every speech, every conversation, every tear, every moment sharing this experience with my family. I didn’t drink alcohol and I didn’t spent much time on my phone, either. As tough as it was to BE THERE, I feel so much closer to my mom, my brother, and my husband for weathering this storm together. That was a gift.


Gratitude — I know for me, the sooner I move into an attitude of genuine gratitude, the easier life feels. I was grateful for so many things this week, and that made a huge positive impact on the entire experience.

I aim to move forward into this new chapter feeling spacious, grateful and… empty. And I’m in no rush to fill the void — just going one day at a time.


Living yoga starts by learning and practicing yogic concepts — that’s where we draw energy from the earth to the heart and our mind. In this initial phase, we remember and awaken dormant parts of ourselves… we have “ah-ha” moments with an upward flow of energy…


….but this is only part of the journey.


The real work happens on the descent of that wisdom. We have a life experience — like a funeral, a birth, anything at all — where we can recognize and apply the yogic teachings in real time.


In those moments, there’s not a mat, pose, or student in sight. Our only job is to put knowledge into action.


Managing the descent and integration of the yogic teachings into life on earth is what it means to practice Kriya Yoga… the yoga of evolutionary action. And I am so grateful to be a yogi in this season of my life.


Stay tuned tomorrow for my full eulogy with Dad’s words of wisdom.
In light,
Mollie

I love to tell my yoga students: “Everything is only as sacred as you make it.”
​

And every detail of my dad’s funeral earlier this month held deep meaning for our family… from the Egg McMuffins my brother and I got for breakfast (Dad’s bribe of choice to get us to Sunday School growing up), to this toast with frothy green drinks at the post-funeral celebration:

(And yes, the same frothy green drinks shown in the old photo of Dad at the top of this email)


The “Green Drink Party” was as sacred as it gets to the Shambeau family. This tradition began long before my dad took it over in the 80s.


My grandparents, Dave and Emilene used to serve this frothy mint-green concoction every Christmas morning (pictured below in 1973) at a gathering that could ebb and flow from a casual crew one year to a rambunctious party the next.

I remember Christmas morning so fondly from my childhood — before I was old enough to try the drink myself, and of course after I’d turned 21 and could indulge.


Although if you knew the true recipe, you know full well that even a half glass was more than enough. I don’t have the exact recipe on hand, but I know what usually went into the blender was: Ice, heavy whipping cream, Crème de menthe, and another sneaky liquor I can’t recall.



Laugher and conversation over green drinks and deviled eggs will forever be a core memory.


And, the most special part is knowing that Mom and Dad first locked eyes at a Green Drink party at Dad’s house on Christmas Day, 1984. From his spot at the kitchen window, he watched my mom step out of her parent’s car in the driveway, wearing a mint green sweater, and instructed his friend Tom Karavakis to “follow that girl” and find out if she was seeing someone!


Although he served Mom a green drink and some small talk, they didn’t connect much at the party aside from the sparks they both felt — and I’m not exaggerating! They both remember an instant connection.

(Below is a pic of the two of them, during that first week together)

At 5pm that day, Dad called Mom’s parents’ house and asked her out on a date. A week or so later? They were engaged… just like that.


I feel so fortunate to have deep love and partnership modeled for me in my life. To watch that love transcend disease and death was both gut-wrenching and beautiful at the same time.


(Below, my brother Matt, Mom and I after spreading some of Dad’s ashes together in a place that was special to all of us)

I would wish my Dad back in a heartbeat if I could... but somehow I’ve found gratitude this past month, honoring his life, his stories, and his deep love for Mom, and for our family.



I know that’s a gift, and I won’t take it for granted.



I am going to send y’all two more emails this week — one that details with all the ways I used yoga to help me through the funeral, and the other is where I’ll share the eulogy I gave for Dad. It was filled with nuggets of his wisdom and I would be remiss if I didn’t share it, far and wide.


In the meantime, if you want to read a few other stories I’ve written about Dad throughout his journey with Alzheimers, here are a few memorable ones:

• 10/2023—  My dad (the yogi) travels light
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 1: Sharing my whole spiritual journey
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 2: Is this really it?
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 3: I found what I was looking for
  
• 4/2021— Some things are too personal for social media…
  

Until (part 2) tomorrow,
Mollie