[Part 3 of 3] The Eulogy…

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.­­