Tributes to Dad

Below is my tribute to my father which I read at his funeral earlier today.

-- Chris

1 Corinthians 13 (New King James Version)

1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.
4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; 5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; 6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
8 Love never fails. But whether there are prophecies, they will fail; whether there are tongues, they will cease; whether there is knowledge, it will vanish away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part. 10 But when that which is perfect has come, then that which is in part will be done away.
11 When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12 For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known.
13 And now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

--

What is it to be a man? What is it to be a brother, a husband, a father, an uncle, a grandfather? What is it, indeed, to live? And what is it, to die?

Today, we come together to celebrate my father, John Richard Garbutt, who was my guide, my hero even, when I had big questions like this.

A family man. Who made time for his children.

A funny man. Where I got my sense of humour.

A musical man. Musicals, songs for every comment.

A tragic man. Ilnesses, the last year of his life.

A curious man. So interested in his children. So excited by a child’s question, or my first road trip. “Why is the sky blue?” He explained the answer in detail.

An inspiration. All of us have been inspired by his curiosity, and each of us children have found a way to learn from him and take what we’ve learned into the world.

Down-to-earth. Literally.

A loving man. He loved us kids. And the way he felt about my mother was a love stronger than any I have ever seen.

Today, we celebrate my father’s life, but I have to say that as much as I agree that it’s better that his suffering has ended, it hurts that he’s dead. It hurts a lot. All of these things that I loved about him – I want them back. I want him alive. I want to talk over big questions with him.

And yet, as I look back on how hard it was to see him suffer over the last year and the last days of his life, as I think about the hardships he suffered (and he did suffer hardship, especially with his health), all I can think about is how lucky I am.

In the last year of his life, he told me stories. In one, the mafia had him holed up in the offices of the Stouffville Tribune, and he couldn’t figure out why. He sang songs. And even when he couldn’t remember who I was, he was always delighted to see me on my bi-weekly visits. He greeted me with a wave and a big smile, and would often say, it’s so good to see you!

As he was dying, probably the hardest, saddest moment of my life, we watched him struggle to breathe, and then, with three of his children and his wife holding his hands, he then let go. And yet, among all this pain, this loss, I feel strangely uplifted. To have seen my father out. To have been with him when he had decided it was enough. What a privilege to be there during this last year, and during this last week. And to be up here talking about him to all of you. And to have been loved by such a man.

My father loved us fiercely. And when I think about how I don’t want him to be dead, I remember. He’s here right now, in all of the people he’s touched. I’ve felt it every minute of every day – his life continues. Thich Nhat Hahn talks about how you can see a cloud in a sheet of paper, because the rain from that cloud goes into the ground and into the trees which is turned into the paper I’m using right now.

The same goes for my father.

When I feel my heart beat, I remember the gift of life my father and mother have given me. I breathe because of them. My blood flows because of them. I am alive because of them and I have love because of them. I only hope to be half the man my father knew I was capable of being – kind, honest, hopeful, strong, curious, loving. I bring all of you all of my love, to this room, right now, because my father gave me many gifts, but the greatest of these was love.