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received this eulogy from Jerry who read my article on how to write a
eulogy. Jerry followed the steps and wrote me an email stating, "I
took your advice and what resulted (and the congratulations I received
afterwards confirmed) was a very effective and engaging eulogy."
I hope you will find the eulogy Jerry wrote for his co-worker Mary helpful.
Someday if all my prayers are answered
I'll hear a footstep on the stair
With anxious heart
I'll hurry to the door
And maybe you'll
I sat down with Ed the other day and he had told me of a recent visit
from family just after Mary had passed away. They had brought with them
photos of Mary and Ed when they were much younger. Mary looked so young
and attractive in these pictures – and presumably Ed didn’t
-- that their relatives asked him how he did it? He asked them to elaborate
and they commented that Mary was such an attractive young woman and though
she and Ed were so well-matched, he was so scrawny-looking. Ed then said
with pride how they were correct, that Mary was such a gem compared to
him being such a rough ashlar, but she stuck with him …and, he added,
“especially after our early courting days.”
What do you mean? I asked.
Well; Ed recounted to me the story of the motorbike ride he took Mary
on on their second date. Ed, while wanting to show off his motorbike prowess,
had tipped the bike on a tight corner in the middle of a busy Vancouver
street with Mary on the back. But Mary was not deterred---a little bruised
maybe -- but willing to give him another chance. Although the bike had
Ed told me of another date – not long after that. Besides a motorbike,
Ed also owned an old 25’ fishing boat. Young Ed thought that it
would be so much more impressive than the motorbike date if he was to
take her on a trip in his boat. Besides, it would give him the opportunity
to show off his Captaincy prowess.
Just sit right back & you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful
That started from this tropic port aboard this tiny ship.
The trip from Vancouver to Nanaimo across the Georgia Strait apparently
went well and they had a lovely time on Vancouver Island. The return trip,
however; was not such a happy voyage.
The mate was a mighty sailing man, the skipper brave & sure.
Five passengers set sail that day for a three hour tour. A three hour
A storm at sea blew-up with waves as high as a house that lapped at the
little vessel. It was a rough trip back and Mary was not impressed; but
they eventually made it back to shore safe and sound.
I wasn’t there, but the way Ed described it to me, it sounded just
like the trip from the Gilligan’s Island TV show … a three-hour
tour. I can’t help but ask myself; if they had beached Ed’s
boat on a desert island, which one of them would have become the Captain
and which one Gilligan?
None the less, Mary didn’t give up on Ed, she gave him another chance.
Though the boat had to go.
Their younger days were not all danger and bruises, however. They often
amused themselves with low-budget dates, such as gate crashing the cruise
ships moored in Vancouver’s harbor. Ed told me in those days, security
not being quite as stringent as today; they would walk up the gangplanks
looking all the part of a couple of passengers and then head for the bar
for the evening.
They often spent time visiting vessels at the Vancouver docks. I remember
Ed telling me, years ago, of when they took the opportunity to do a tour
of a US Navy submarine. The only thing that they weren’t prepared
for was the amount of attention that the sailors were willing to give
Mary. It got to the point that one of the officers had to beat the sailors
back while Mary, in a short-skirt -- as was the fashion then -- went up
the submarine’s ladders.
Now; nobody would have blamed Mary, or anyone of you ladies perhaps, for
giving up on that scrawny fella’ – but Mary didn’t.
She didn’t and it speaks to her very essence. In everything Mary
took on, anything she made a commitment to, she would throw herself entirely
into it. She would take the bull by the horns and see it through.
I think many of Mary’s co-workers can testify to her determination.
Mary joined the Drumheller Town Hall staff in 2000. Anybody coming into
the Town Hall basement’s frenetic atmosphere would have to be crazy
to stay. Quite literally; working with Derek and me would turn anybody
crazy. But Mary jumped in feet-first, never skipped a beat and joined
in. With her background in computers and her well-grounded attitude she
became an essential, reliable and loved member of staff.
Mary was the necessary sanity, the den mother – if you will -- in
some crazy college frat house. She was a rock. We three had great times
together at Town Hall – sadly, those times are never to be repeated
– I still miss them and we will miss Mary.
I recall that so often she would say to me “Mind if I play mother
orangutan?” I didn’t know what that meant the first time Mary
said it to me. But it shows how often the tags must hang out the top of
my shirts or sweaters; as she frequently found herself pushing tags back
in, and I would then continue on my merry way. There was something about
Yes, she looked after Derek and me, and made sure that the team was on-course
and …dressed nicely…though I’m not sure if she ever
had a chance of helping Derek … what with his Hawaiian shirt, shorts
Over time Derek and I moved away and Mary took on more and more of the
responsibilities that were left to just her. She soldiered on; not only
due to her natural perseverance with everything that she did, but because,
as she had told Ed countless times, working at the Town was her dream
She considered her position in Town Hall as her “niche” in
life. She loved the responsibility it gave her, the opportunity to learn
and self-improve – either through experience or the courses that
she was able to take to do her job better – and she loved the people
that she worked with.
In their days as young parents their sons, Ken and Ron, were active in
the Cubs and Scouts. Ed and Mary involved themselves as volunteers in
the movement. Mary also volunteered for other groups over the years. She
was an active volunteer for the Calgary Transit Union prior to Ed retiring
and them moving to Drumheller. She frequently assisted Ed in his involvement
in Freemasons as well. At events that the Mason’s would put on,
you would often find Mary in the background somewhere taking on many tasks
and roles. She would busy herself with what was “needed” to
be done and do it quietly, unassumingly and often unnoticed – but
always extremely well and faultlessly. She assisted Ed in duties as a
Master and later with his duties as Secretary of the Lodge. Our fraternity
will miss her dearly.
Mary, as many at Town Hall recall, would look especially forward to Fridays.
Not because she wanted out of work – but Fridays were the days when
the “apples of her eye” -- her grandchildren -- would come
into Town from Calgary. Ed would drive in to the City and pick the children
up from Ken and Dianna’s. I remember how Taryn, Krysten and Ryan
would rush down the stairs at Town Hall – Ed in tow -- and all of
them were so excited and happy to be with each other. Mary then knew that
her weekend was going to be full of love, laughter and happiness.
Mary’s smile when she spoke of her children, her grandchildren and
other relatives showed that she had such great pride in them all. She
once recounted to me of a favourite Uncle she had as a child. She would
say how she and her cousins were so excited when their uncle would visit.
She beamed as she remembered how they would jump up and down with glee
whenever they saw their Uncle “Happy”. They called him this
as he was such a cheerful character. Uncle Happy or Uncle Tommy, as it
turned out, was quite a famous Albertan. He was Thomas Payne Fox, better
known as Tommy Fox. Tommy was a leader in Canadian bush plane operations
and he was so renowned for his early days as a bush pilot, and for his
other aviation achievements, that he is a member of Canada's Aviation
Hall of Fame. I could see in Mary’s smile, as she use to tell stories
his visits, the little girl that she once was.
Mary’s job with the Town of Drumheller involved a great deal of
creativity; and her creativity didn’t stop at work. She enjoyed
crocheting and other crafts. Mary also enjoyed music a great deal, Celtic
music and Jazz -- particularly performed by Dianna Krall whose song “Maybe
You'll Be There” I quoted at the beginning. Later on, Mary returned
to a hobby she had in her youth – bird watching – as she often
enjoyed many hours at the Reifel Bird Sanctuary near Ladner, B.C. when
she was young.
Mary enjoyed camping – well apparently she wasn’t overly keen
at first - - but when Ken and Ron were young she loved those family camp-outs.
And, as I had mentioned, when the boys joined the Cubs and Scouts movement
she, along with Ed, would volunteer on their camping trips too. Later
on, when Taryn, Krysten and Ryan came along, Mary once again found such
great joy in camping. Mary also loved hot springs. And the last great
outdoor adventure for Mary involved all of those things she held so dear.
Her husband Ed, her grandchildren and a camping trip to visit a series
of six hot springs in B.C.
Mary’s dedication and perseverance shone through in everything she
did. Her commitment to her work and to her friends as well as the volunteering
she involved herself in will be greatly missed. Mary’s love and
devotion to her family will always be dearly remembered. Her examples
of love, caring and determination lives as an inspiration to all of us.
If you are writing a eulogy for your brother you may be inspired
by the excellent, heartfelt eulogy that was given by Hunter Biden for
his brother Beau Biden
Hunter Biden’s Eulogy for his Brother, Beau Biden
By guest contributor, Charlie Klein
Hunter Biden at his brother's funeral
It’s hard to know someone without actually meeting him. However,
a good story about an individual enables the listener to have insight
into that person. After listening to Hunter Biden’s emotional eulogy
of his brother, Beau Biden, I felt like I knew Beau on a personal level.
My favorite line from the eulogy is, “But, to me, my brother is
not defined by his extraordinary resume, he is defined by the quality
of his character.” Beau then proceeds to talk about his brother’s
character by giving the audience stories about his life. I wouldn’t
feel like I had a strong connection with Beau if Hunter’s eulogy
consisted solely of qualities and descriptions. Instead, Hunter illustrated
different experiences he had with Beau; all of these experiences made
a great story/eulogy.
Every good story needs a theme. In this case, the theme of the eulogy
or story is about the comforting and reassuring presence Beau had when
you held his hand. Hunter constantly touched on this theme, conveying
the point that holding Beau’s hand was far more than just a gesture
of friendship, but rather a powerful healing experience that made you
feel loved. This selfless love is what defined Beau, and the only reason
I know that is because Hunter told a great story about his brother. It
seems that rather than giving a great eulogy, it is more meaningful to
give a great story.
Are you trying to write a eulogy about a loved one? Here is a guide to
writing your own eulogy for a loved one.
Below, you can find the link of the eulogy video and the text of Hunter
Biden’s eulogy (it is not the full text of the eulogy, I started
about midway through the speech because the first half covered the formalities,
the second half was about Beau’s life).
The first memory I have is of lying in a hospital bed next to my brother.
I was almost three years old, I remember my brother who was one year and
one day older than me, holding my hand, staring into my eyes, saying,”
I love you, I love you, I love you”, over and over and over again.
And in the 42 years since, he never stopped holding my hand, he never
stopped telling me just how much he loves me, but mine wasn’t the
only hand beau held, beau’s was the hand everyone reached for in
their time of need, beau’s was the hand that was reaching for yours
before you even had to ask. That is my brother’s story, that is
his story, not his accomplishments, and there were many, Federal Clerk,
Special Assistant to the US Attorney General, legal advisor to post war
Kosovo, Attorney General, became the most popular elected official in
his state, and a Major in the Army National Guard. But, to me, my brother
is not defined by his extraordinary resume, he is defined by the quality
of his character. The boy, the man who always held you close, the one
who always made you feel safe, the one who always made you feel braver
than you might have been, the one you could always count on for a special
kindness, the one who listened, the one who was always there when you
needed him most. The one who gave you credit for the things he did.
He was our leader, and he never asked to lead. He was our leader who
never judged, he only inspired us through his example. He was clarity,
a clarity you could step in to. He was the clarity of lake Skiniatlous
at sun rise. A clarity you could float in, clarity that was contagious.
It was that clarity not just for his family but for everyone who called
him friend. And those friends can attest to the multitude of times in
which Beau came to their aid without ever having to be asked. That’s
why when we were kids, we called him the sheriff. It wasn’t because
he was stern or unforgiving, he made us laugh more than anybody, he had
more fun than all of us, we called him the sheriff because we all knew
that if we were ever in trouble, if we ever needed someone to lean on,
if we ever needed to find the right answer, we all could turn to Beau.
Growing up, every mom, of every one of my friends knew that if you were
with Beau, you’re going to be alright. True. He was the sheriff
who bailed us out, who kept us safe, who showed us the path home. He watched
over all of us.
Not one of us ever had to ask him, he was simply there, always when you
needed him, and he never expected anything in return. And you were never
in his shadow; we were always under his wing. From the time we were kids,
mistakes were never too great not to be forgiven, or too small to be consoled.
Your problems were Beau’s problems, but he seemed to carry them
so effortlessly, like he carried so many of our secrets.
You unburdened yourself to Beau, knowing he would never break you trust.
He was the person you just wanted to be near, because you knew he would
make you smile, make you laugh, let you cry, he would just let you be
you. And not only would he love you regardless he’d love you more
because of it. There are so many people in this church today, across the
country, who have a legitimate right to say, Beau Biden was my best friend,
he was the best friend any of us ever had. In Shakespeare’s words,
“he was a man taken for all in all; I shall not look upon his like
again.” That’s who my brother was as a man, in everything
that he did, as if the most important thing in your world was the most
important thing to his. And it was genuine. It seemed every decision he
made, was guided by that same selflessness.
He didn’t join the army to be seen in uniform, or to pad his resume,
he didn’t need to. He joined because he thought it was the right
thing to do. He didn’t deploy to Iraq to earn a bronze star, he
went because he thought it was the right thing to do. Did he ever tell
any one of you that he was a bronze star recipient? One of his closest
friends said to me the other day, I can’t believe Beau never told
me that he was awarded the bronze star. Beau simply thought it was simply
a privilege to serve.
Those who didn’t know my brother, thought he went into politics,
because if your name is Joe Biden, that’s just what you do. But
my brother went into politics because for him, it was the right thing
to do. It was the clearest path to helping as many people as he possibly
could. And I know where my brother learned that, he learned that from
my dad. He learned that public life was not about serving yourself; rather
it was about the privilege of serving those who can’t always serve
Someone once said, don’t wait to make your son a great man, make
him a great boy. From the time we left the hospital 42 years ago, my dad
spent every moment that he possibly could with us. No event was too small,
no event was too great, and we traveled with up and down the state, across
the country, around the world. We went to thousands of speeches, chicken
dinners, debates, we rode the train with him for thousands of miles. We
went everywhere with him. We just assumed, it was normal to want to be
with your dad more than everyone else in the world.
We learned by his example, that even the smallest gesture can have the
greatest meaning. We’d go to the senate with him, more often I think
than any children of any senator ever. We’d ride the subway, and
the conductor would say, “You know our dad is our favorite”,
but the other senators were on the train so he’d whisper. And we’d
get in the elevator and the elevator operator would say you know we love
your dad. That’s what made us most proud. We thought it was neat
that he was a senator, and that he knew some really important people.
But we thought it was neater that he was friends with Mouse (he points
to a man sitting in the pew), we thought it was cooler that he knew every
employee at the charcoal pit. So Beau’s true north, his integrity,
his character, his honor, came from our father’s love.
But I believe, there is a weight to love, a balance, which determines
the limits of how much one can give and how much one can receive. But
for Beau, there seemed to be no such limits, the beauty of Beau was not
how much he was loved, but how much love he could give. And he gave that
love to freely, he gave that love in his laugh, in his touch, in his words,
but most of all, he gave that love in his deeds. That’s what made
his love so special, to him it was never a burden, and it was always a
joy. And that love lived in all of us, sometimes in profound ways. It
was a love whose light brightened our darkest moments, but for so many
it was a quiet, subtle love, a pure love. That was expressed simply in
the way he made us feel when he was near, it was a love so rich, that
all he had to do was hold your hand, and he held so many hands. Survivors
of abuse, parents of his brothers and sisters and uniform, victims of
violent crime in his beloved city of Warrington.
That’s my brother’s story; there are thousands of people
telling those stories right now. Telling the same story, about when Beau
Biden held their hand. My only claim on my brother is that he held my
hand first. 42 years ago, I believe that god gave us a gift; He gave us
the gift of sparing my brother. Sparing him long enough to give the love
of a thousand lifetimes. God gave us a boy who had no limits to the weight
of love he could bare. And as it began, so did it end. His family surrounded
him, everyone holding on to him, each of us desperately holding him. Each
of us saying, I love you, I love you, I love you. And I held his hand,
and he took his last breath, and I know that I was loved. And I know that
his hand will never leave mine.
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