Dad's Eulogy

It may not have been the most difficult thing I ever had to do; walk up to that lectern to deliver my words to those assembled for the funeral of my son but I am having a hard time thinking what else there ever may have been.  As I walked up to the microphone unfolding the notes I had stored in my suit coat pocket I turned to face those in attendance.  I was taken aback by the sheer number of beautiful faces in the audience.  At the time I surmised there were around 250 that thought it was important to say this last goodbye to Geoff; I learned later that there were more than 300 in the church.  I laughed a little to myself thinking that originally we had thought about 60 would attend, then the caterer convinced us to figure double that number.  I surprised myself at how calm I felt while at the same time I understood the importance of delivering these words about my son and that there would definitely not be a second chance.  I took a deep breath and began to speak:

"As Geoff’s father and on behalf of his mother, Robin, and our entire family we would like to thank all of you for the love, caring and support we have received.  In many ways it has been overwhelming.

We all want to believe that Geoff is in a better place, although he truly loved the place he was in before he fell sick.  Working as a graphic designer for an up and coming design firm in the most beautiful city in the world isn’t all THAT bad.  Having a mother and sisters and a girlfriend that adore you and an extended family and friends that can’t wait until the next time they see you, should be at the top of anyone’s wish list.

It takes faith to believe that Geoff can possibly be in a better place but what we know is that this world is a better place for the all of us whom he touched and who knew and loved him.

In January, 2006 Geoffrey and Melissa were visiting me in California.  It just so happened that on Super Bowl Sunday, as we were settling in to watch the festivities on the TV, the phone rang.   My neighbor was calling to let me know that my back fence, 30 meters long and 2 meters high which is open to an adjacent vacant lot, had been covered in graffiti overnight.  Since the fence was on my property I was obligated to clean it up.  I hung up the phone and went to the garage to organize the paint I had on hand for just this purpose.

Soon Geoff popped into the garage to ask me what I was doing.  Once I explained the situation he said to me “let me have a look”.  He left to survey the damage and I assumed to figure out what tools would be most appropriate to help me with the task.  I continued on my mission to obliterate the scar on my pristine fence and never saw Geoff’s smiling face again until I returned to the lounge room and found him parked in front of the TV watching the now half-over Super Bowl.  He looked up at me and so I naturally inquired of him (in that way that only annoyed fathers can communicate with their sons): “What Did You Think?”  In a disgusted tone of voice he said “Dad, it had no artistic value whatsoever”.    Geoff was only interested in preserving the artwork, if it was worthy, but had no interest in helping me cover up someone else’s canvas.

Those of us that were raised in the 50’s and 60’s were reminded constantly by society that we were to get an education so that we could get a “good job” – like a doctor, or lawyer, or who knows, maybe even an accountant.  We naturally pushed those ideas at our kids.  As our children developed their own personalities and philosophies it was sometimes hard to let go of our dreams for them so that we could support them in fulfilling their own fantasies.  But then, when I think about it, I don’t ever remember being at a cocktail party and overhearing a conversation like this:  “Say George, have you seen Michael’s son, Trevor, add a column of figures?  Without a calculator?”. Although my own talents run along the lines of Trevor’s (I am pretty good a doing figures in my head!) it’s a challenging transition for someone like me to understand that certain people in this world have brains that work in no way like my own.  What our right brain vs. left brain thinkers struggle with is the concern that our creative offspring are time wasters or lazy because instead of practicing their multiplication tables they are doodling and drawing or, God forbid, playing video games.  Well thank goodness they do or we wouldn’t have galleries full of beautiful art, music to satisfy every taste or the incredible buildings that make a city stand up and command the attention of the world.

Most everyone knows that Geoff had a particularly evolved appetite when it came to food.  I remember the family taking the ferry to Manly when Geoff was still a young boy and giving him the responsibility of picking out the restaurant where we were to have dinner.  Thinking I was in for a basic meal of fish and chips or a burger, I found myself more than a little surprised when he picked out a seafood restaurant tucked away from the Corso. When I asked him why he chose this particular restaurant be boldly stated: “Because I always wanted to try the octopus”.

Years later, I found myself in a restaurant in another part of the world.  On the dessert menu was an item:  “Vanilla Ice Cream with 100 Year Old Balsamic Vinegar of Modena”.  I never imagined one could mix balsamic vinegar and ice cream.  So, channeling the culinary adventures of my son I felt I had to give it a try.  The waiter soon appeared with a single scoop of vanilla ice cream followed closely by a waitress with a fancy bowl, resting on a silk scarf, draped over a small pillow.  In the bowl was a very ornate, but tiny spoon.  She then carefully ladled a small amount of the 100 Year Old Balsamic Vinegar of Modena onto the single scoop of vanilla ice cream, ever cautious not to spill even a drop.  The waitress explained she had to be very careful not to waste any of the balsamic vinegar because it was very rare and quite expensive.  When that little ceremony was over and I was allowed to taste the dessert, I found the combination of these two simple ingredients to be delicious beyond words and I scraped the bowl clean to get every last drop; I found myself wanting more.

Our son, Geoffrey, was like that 100 Year Old Balsamic Vinegar on the vanilla ice cream:  Surprising, sweet and delicious beyond words.  We just didn’t get our fill.

Geoffrey John Loe saw beauty in places most of us never looked and he heard music when many of us were deaf.  He loved his family and the love of his life.  He performed at his job brilliantly and enjoyed his friends and associates.  Those of us that are left behind can only ponder one question – Why did he have to leave us so soon?"