It Would Have Been Enough: A Eulogy for My Father
Dear Human is a Verb Community-
It has been 13 years since my dad died of lung cancer, and tomorrow my husband becomes Dr. Steve on the same day my dad graduated to heaven.
So much life has been lived since May 9, 2013. I started a Ph.D., moved to Boston, got married, became Dr. Julene. The eulogy below is what I read at my dad’s memorial service. It felt inspired then. It still does.
Peace,
Julene
Dayenu: It Would Have Been Enough
A eulogy for my father, given at his memorial service in 2013
At the beginning of Lent this year, I came across a very short devotional by Richard Rohr. It was a devotional shared to prepare people for Lent. Richard Rohr writes,
The Jewish people have a beautiful prayer form, a kind of litany to which the response is always “Dayenu!” (“It would have been enough!”) They list one by one the wonderful works of God for their people and themselves, and after each one, shout out DAYENU! As if to say, “How much is it going to take for us to know that God is with us?!” It builds satisfaction instead of feeding dissatisfaction.
When the diagnosis of stage 4 cancer came we were all shocked. My dad had been dealing with chronic back and neck pain for fifteen or so years. Really, we’ve been grieving his losses for a long time. There was already so much he couldn’t do. He had been on disability and hadn’t worked in three years. But cancer? And stage 4? Talk about dissatisfaction.
Many of us entered into a time I began to call limbo grief… it is this time when you know a loved one is going to die but they are not dead yet. I was surprised by limbo grief as I will likely be surprised by the grief to come. Limbo grief uncovered for me hopes and expectations for my dad that I was clinging to. Every daughter wants more, right? I did. And I do. It is one thing to actually lose a loved one. But almost as significant is losing the hopes we have for that loved one… even if those hopes are really unrealistic expectations.
As I was doing this, something else began to happen. I found myself experiencing Dayenu—it would have been enough. I found myself building on satisfaction rather than the impending dissatisfaction of loss. In the last few visits with my dad there were so many gifts. Each time I came home in these last three months I knew I may be saying goodbye for the last time. I knew each encounter with my father might be the last. So with each encounter I began to think to myself,
If this conversation was my last, it is enough.
If this one last expression of “I love you” is the last, it would be enough.
If this last movie watched together is the last, it is enough.
If these words of encouragement and pride voiced by my father on the phone are the last, it is enough.
If these words of “I’m sorry” and “forgive me” are the last, this is enough.
As I did this I began to find a deep sense of gratitude for those things my dad gifted me—gifted us—with.
This Jewish Passover idea of Dayenu became so important to me during our last three months together because it allowed me to practice thankfulness for what was and what is. And this is how we celebrate a life. We grieve the losses of unmet expectations, of unrealized hopes for the person we loved, and we celebrate the gifts that were.
I want to share several of those gifts with you. And when I say “Dayenu,” I want to invite the community to respond with me, “It would have been enough.”
✧ ✧ ✧
My dad was a man of faith.
But it wasn’t always that way.
My parents raised me in the church. Early on, however, it was only my mom, brother, and I who would get up every Sunday morning. Dad didn’t go. As a little girl I prayed often for my dad. He wasn’t a Christian… at least I didn’t think so. He wasn’t a Christian to me because he didn’t go to church. Later on he’d tell me I was wrong. It doesn’t really matter if he was or wasn’t. What mattered to me as a child and now as an adult is that God answered my prayers. My dad gained a personal relationship with Jesus, and it would mark our relationship for years to come.
I have been so grateful for the way God used Tony and Diane Parenzin in my dad’s life. You were an answer to my prayers. Thanks.
Watching my dad grow into his faith over the years is one of my great joys. Actually, my dad is someone who took the faith part of faith seriously. He didn’t understand worry. He just knew that God was involved in his life and in our lives. Our family, the business, and our lives together were in God’s hands, and he knew it. He knew it when we didn’t know it. Even when he knew he had cancer, he knew it. He told us that he believed the cancer wasn’t really about him.
The way he ministered to the nurses in his last few weeks blew me away. I thought to myself, I’m witnessing Pastor Ray… see… my call to ministry wasn’t so far-fetched after all, Dad. I’m taking after you.
Many people were praying for my dad’s healing. My dad wanted to be healed and believed God would heal him. He just didn’t know if that healing would come before he died or after. On Easter he prayed,
God, I know you can heal me, and if that healing comes after I die, I’ll be ok.
In one of my last visits with my dad, he expressed concern that he didn’t know how to pray anymore. He was confused about praying. He said something that I had heard him say before:
I just figure God hears me the first time when I ask him for something. So I don’t feel I need to keep asking for the same thing.
This was my dad. His life’s motto was “KISS”—“Keep It Simple, Stupid.” He put this motto to work in his prayer life too. It was far from a “simple” prayer life… no, it was faith… believing God was present and active for us… no matter what.
If my dad only gave witness to a simple faith, Dayenu—it would have been enough.
Thoughts from my mom, Becky:
Like Job, I felt that because Ray had so much faith, Satan started taking away everything. He lost his health, his livelihood, his identity, his independence, his ability to play his guitar and use his voice for worship… how we will miss that voice. But Ray never wavered in his faith. He never turned from God; in fact, he turned more to God. He always said, “Cancer is not about me. It is about God. And if God can use me through cancer, then so be it.” God gave him a spiritual boldness in the end, and a tenderness. He went in to pray with nurses, pray with doctors, pray with patients in the waiting room.
✧ ✧ ✧
My dad was a provider and a pathmaker.
My dad was so adamant that my brother and I wouldn’t need to work during high school. He wanted us to have the opportunity to be kids. Work would come later. With my mom’s help, he did all he could to provide for us so that we could focus on school and be involved in the things we enjoyed. He gave my mom the gift of being home with us during our teen years. This was one of the coolest gifts he gave all of us—he worked hard so that we’d have at least one parent available at all times.
It was important to my dad that my brother and I go to college. He provided a pathway for both of us to go. He helped pay our way. At the time I had no idea what a gift this would be. Sure, I had scholarships for grades and basketball, but it didn’t cover everything. I’m so grateful for his foresight and commitment to us. There is no way I’d be where I am today without his support and help. He wanted to make sure we didn’t have to carry debt. He wanted us to finish college without debt, so I wouldn’t have to worry about debt in ministry.
My dad carved out a pathway for my brother and me. But I watched him do this for others. There are a number of people he trained up in the field of orthotics and prosthetics. My dad was a developer of people. He was someone who found people he could believe in, people he saw potential in. He would teach them so that their potential could be realized. He provided places for people to find their way. One of the unexpected gifts is that he also created a pathway for my mom to find her way. She too has come to find her place in the world of orthotics and prosthetics.
If my dad was only a provider and a pathmaker for a few of us, Dayenu—it would have been enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
My dad conveyed wisdom when it was needed most.
My dad’s first language was sarcasm. Sometimes you could hardly get a straight answer from him. There was always a joke. Some of the most precious memories of my dad came when he could step out of the sarcasm and speak from his heart. Whenever he did this, he had my full attention, because often what he said I needed more than he knew.
One of those times came during my freshman year in college. When bio-chem wasn’t cutting it for me and I wanted to change my major to religion, both of my parents were surprised. I remember my mom saying, “But those credits won’t transfer.” Like me, we were all wondering: what could a woman do in ministry? I was wrestling with a sense of calling, and we were all wrestling with my gender within that calling. I needed my parents’ support.
My folks came down to San Diego for some athletic player-parent banquet. I remember sitting across from them at the breakfast table in a San Diego diner, sharing my heart and my desire to serve in ministry. This would mean I’d study Bible, theology, and ministry classes. I was excited but hesitant.
My dad took out the salt and pepper shakers and used them to give me a picture of a path. He said that if God was calling me to move from the salt to the pepper, and I didn’t say “yes,” God would eventually get me to the “pepper” by one path or another. In a sense my dad was saying, “You need to follow what you think God is calling you to do.” He said this even when he had no idea what or how that could look. My dad didn’t always understand my call to ministry and where it would take me, but he always found a way to support me.
If my dad’s wisdom came only in a few key moments, Dayenu—it would have been enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
There are so many things my dad will never get to do.
One of those is to be in my wedding. Heck, the way it is going, I may never be in my own wedding. (I got married in 2016) My dad went to heaven on the one-year anniversary of my ordination.
It was a special thing to have my parents at my ordination service. I remember after the service he was beaming with pride. He was also overwhelmed. It was like he didn’t know what to do with what he had experienced. I guess when you have a baby girl you create pictures in your mind of walking her down the aisle at her wedding and holding her first child. Apparently most dads don’t picture watching their daughters walk the aisle to be ordained as a minister of the gospel.
My dad got to share in one of the most profound moments of my life—my ordination—and I’m grateful. There are many things in our lives that he will miss, but there are so many things he was present for.
If my dad only shared in my ordination experience, Dayenu—it would have been enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
My dad lived to serve others through weakness.
It is pretty cool growing up in a household where a parent is committed to serving people with disabilities. From a very young age, Justin and I were around people with disabilities. We learned from his compassion and his commitment to serve others.
My dad had a deep well of compassion within him. It is true that sometimes he had a hard time showing this side of him, especially as his pain increased. However, if you knew my dad well, you probably saw his deep care for people.
I find great irony that he helped so many people find relief from pain, yet he lived for years with pain. He helped people with their physical disabilities, but he was losing his abilities. He helped people use their extremities, and he was losing his ability to use his.
My dad gave all he could to all he could whenever he could. Early on he modeled for us a way of being with those in our society who face distinct physical challenges. He gave his career to make sure others could have a better life.
If my dad only served others well into his own weakness, Dayenu—it would have been enough.
✧ ✧ ✧
“I hope I’ve done enough.”
One of the nights before I moved to San Diego to go to college, I remember my dad’s anxiety about my leaving. There was a moment that evening when he articulated his hope that he had done enough for me. I remember him communicating that he had done all he knew to do, and hoping that it was enough.
A few weeks before he died, with all of us gathered around his hospital bed, he said those very same things. He hoped he had been enough and done enough. He asked for forgiveness for the ways he had hurt us. He knew he wasn’t perfect—and who is? I imagine every dad in this room shares the same concerns he had.
Dad, you’ve done enough. We thank you for your love and your life among us.
If we only had you for half the time we did, if you only gave us half of what you did, if you loved us half as much as you did… Dayenu—it would have been enough.
✧
Ray Tegerstrand
Died May 9, 2013
Age 59
Faithful father, husband, friend.
Eulogy delivered at his memorial service, May 16, 2013, at Redding Church of the Nazarene (California).
Beautiful tribute! Thx for sharing.
Thank you, Julene, for sharing this. I was there that day with you as you gave this eulogy. Your mom has been one of precious friends. Hugs from Wyoming.