Eulogy for Arthur Henry St. Cyr

I'd like to start with a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson taken from the back of the remembrance card of my father's wake.

I selected this quote for a couple of reasons. First, the opening sentiment was about laughter, and that's how many people remember Arthur. He was extremely sociable, told good stories (most of them true), and always had the gift of making people feel at home. He would stand outside his home for hours, often leaning against his truck, greeting or shouting out things to people and cars driving by. He was also able to laugh at himself, which was good because some of those outfits he wore were pretty ridiculous. Dad was always a bit different and creative, and never backed down from doing the things that made him happy. My siblings and I have found some wonderful army photos featuring my dad laughing or smiling infectiously. He seems to dominate these photos, as if he felt the joys more than his companions, or was less inhibited in expressing his emotions.

The second reason this quote struck me is the line defining a successful life as one in which "even one life has breathed easier". Well, he has breathed life into 4 children who are very good natured and successful, and in whom he took great pride, telling everyone at the VFW or the Eagles how we were doing. Last night everyone said to me "Are you the London twin or the San Francisco one?" But over the years he has affected far more people than just his offspring, many of whom came yesterday to tell us their stories. He and Walter and other friends spent much of their time helping other vets, or volunteering for needy causes. All these tasks would not have been easy with his injured knee, but he bore that cross with few complaints. He focused his energies not on self-pity, but on others with greater misfortunes.

So my father's legacy, while not changing worlds, certainly touched the hearts and funny bones of many a person. This issue of legacy has often been in my thoughts these past few months, ever since the birth of my first child 5 months ago. My father had expressed some impatience over the years with his 3 sons, waiting for a grandson to allow his family name to carry on. Not that he really minded, since his daughter had already produced 3 adorable grandchildren who offered enough joy for him to handle. No, it was I who was impatient to start a family and keep alive the name St. Cyr.

Such regret, then, do I have that my father passed away before ever meeting his grandson Zachary St. Cyr. I regret not bringing my wife and child home last Christmas or Thanksgiving. I regret how Dad's health made him unable to visit me in London.

But I believe we all have some regrets today. We may have goodbyes left unsaid, or wishes unfulfilled. Perhaps you weren't able to talk with him one last time before he slipped into peace last Sunday. Or perhaps you wished you had tried more to help him regain his health.

For all these regrets, of mine and yours, I say let them go. Such emotions should play no part in my dad's legacy. His heart was big, and he saw the good in others, which means forgiveness of innumerable flaws.

My dad was not immune to those flaws, but that is not how I will describe him to my son. When Zac grows up, I'll take him to Bourne National Cemetery to visit his grandfather's grave, and I'll eulogize dad so much that Zac will wish he were still alive. I'll tell him all about our fishing trips down to Myles Standish, where we'd get up at ungodly hours to try and catch fish that I don't remember ever eating. I'll tell him of the character of a man who sometimes worked 2 to 3 jobs trying to support a family of 6, and of the shock, probably panic, he must have felt when his third child turned out to be twins. I'll tell him of the house filled with knives lined up on the wall, and swords displayed in the kitchen. I'll tell him of the pride I felt walking down the same streets of Tokyo that he had traversed while serving in the military decades before.

I may wish for more or different memories than these, but what I can recall I will cherish. I want no more regrets, just gratitude. Gratitude for a father who loved his kids to bits, and loved following our progress in life. Gratitude for all those things that a child takes for granted, for only now can I grasp the sacrifices and toil that went into them. Gratitude for the friendship and camaraderie offered by his fellow veterans, old friends and neighbors.

For all these things, and so much more, I give thanks.

Dad, please find the serenity you have been longing for. Everyone here, your brother, children, friends and neighbors, your mother and all your relatives who couldn't be here, loves you immensely, and our days will never be the same.