Eulogy

My older sister Doris died last Sunday. It wasn't really a surprise; she had been sick for a long time. But she had always bounced back, so it wasn't really something I was prepared for.

The most embarrassing part is Deb and Doris knew each other, and now there's someone on there's someone on the other side who can tell baby stories about me.

I made my plans to go back to Yuma on Thursday, so I could either sit around and mope for a couple of days or I could try to carry on as usual. I chose the latter. It worked out OK, because I feel better when I have something to occupy my mind. But I did ask the few people I told to keep it to themselves because I wanted things to be as normal as possible. I knew the emotional stuff would hit me when I got back there. And so it did.

I volunteered to say a few things during her service. I knew our mother wouldn't be able to make the trip, and even if she had she wouldn't have wanted to speak publicly, so I felt I was acting as her representative, as well as being there for myself. I'm not fond of public speaking, but I figured I could tell a story or two off the top of my head; get on fast, get off fast, before my nerves took over. I saw it as a mission.

So I get there, and I see the program for the service.

Welcome.

Opening prayer.

Eulogy - Tim Chong.

You know that sinking feeling when you get the restaurant bill and instead of it being $15 it's $50? Multiply that by a thousand.

Somehow between Monday and Friday, my story or two off the top of my head had become a full eulogy! I'd never done a eulogy; I wasn't even sure I'd ever seen one. I tried to hide my terror as best I could, but I knew I was going to have to come up with something very good, very fast.

I messaged my sister Sandy, who hunted up a couple of websites for me. I found one of those very useful. Plus once I started thinking about Doris, the words just flowed. I was up late writing it and ironing it out, but finally I came up with something I was satisfied with. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have had any sleep that night.

After the service, people told me I did a good job. I didn't care about that. I just cared about doing Doris justice. And I hope I did.

Here's what I wrote.

Good morning, I'm Tim, and I'm here to talk about my sister Doris.

Please forgive me if my voice wavers or I lose my place, because microphones make me nervous. You know they're always pointing at you, and I think it's rude to point.

First, allow me on behalf of my family to express our gratitude for all of you coming out today for this service. Never in my wildest dreams did I thought this would ever happen. Doris was on death's doorstep so often, death thought she was the pizza delivery guy.

When I heard she was sick again and was going into hospice, I thought, as I'm sure most of you did, that this was just another time when she was going to ignore the doctor's advice and instead of dying, she was going to get better and live.

If there is one word that describes Doris, it is stubborn.

She got her stubbornness from our mother, who couldn't be with us today because, like Doris, she has her own health problems that should have killed her years ago, but, like Doris, she ignored the doctors and lived.

But I still half expect Mom to come down the aisle on her electric scooter any second now, having ridden here from Missouri, saying, "Sorry I'm late, the interstate was backed up." And Doris would pop up and say, "That's no excuse, Ma, you should've called. I'd have come and gotten you."

Mom didn't play favorites among us kids, but it's clear Doris was closest to our mother than any of us. They were so much alike. They both got married young. In 1965, they both had charming, intelligent sons. Thirteen months after I was born, they both had daughters who ... well, they're sort of OK. No, I'm just kidding; they both are beautiful women who had beautiful children.

When they would go out together, sometimes they would be mistaken for twin sisters. I know Mom was tickled whenever it happened, but I never had the courage to ask Doris what she thought about it. But they were so close, I imagine Doris was proud to be compared to our mother anytime.

Their bond was the purest example of family love I've ever seen, and it's one everyone should strive for. It's the kind of strong bonds that can carry a family through any crisis, like losing a brother to leukemia in his early 20s. Or a bad auto accident that sends you into a windshield, making people wonder if you will even speak again. Or caring for your mother as she fights an aggressive cancer and wins. These are challenges Doris faced and conquered, and it's this kind of family love that will have to carry us through this difficult time as we try to adjust to life without this sweet woman who affected our lives in so many ways, and always for the best.

I said before this isn't the first time Doris had been close to death. In 1995, she had her liver replaced. After it was over, she asked me to write a letter to the family of the donor, and I was proud to. In one part of the letter, I described Doris this way:

She is the mother of three, and a grandmother. She has an excellent sense of humor and has a laugh you must join in with whenever you hear it. She is incredibly strong willed (I didn't want to call her stubborn) and is the type of person who gives to others, sometimes at expense of her own comfort, and through this ordeal she has shown nothing but strength and optimism for the future. I admire her a great deal.

It's 17 years later, and all of those words are true.

Earlier I said that if there was one word for Doris, it would be stubborn. Of course, one word isn't enough for her. You need so many others - loving, funny, caring, mother, Christian. Of all those words, though, I think the most important is caring.

Doris was always caring for someone or wishing she was caring for someone. I was told when she ended up having to use a walker, she'd grab the walker with one hand and have a dustpan in the other, still trying to clean.

Doris was always telling our mom that she was going to go to Missouri and take care of her. My mother was amazed, telling me, "How is she going to take care of me? She needs to take care of herself!" But it wouldn't have surprised me if I called Mom one day and she said, "Guess who just showed up at my door."

Toward the end, I'm told Doris was restless and agitated. The hospice nurse asked if there was anyone Doris might be waiting to talk to before she left this life, and someone said maybe it was our mother. They got Mom on the phone, and even though Doris couldn't talk, Mom told her that it was OK, she would be fine, and that it was OK for Doris to go and that she loved her. I'm told Doris calmed down after the call, and a few hours later she died peacefully. I firmly believe that even at the end Doris was wanting to take care of Mom and she wouldn't leave this world until she was certain Mom was going to be OK without her.

Doris was always caring for someone. She cared for her children, then her grandchildren, then her great grandchildren. She cared for me and my sister when we were young. She cared for other people's children as a babysitter. And she cared for her husband.

Now she's in a position to care for all of us, without the body that betrayed her in this life. And I bet she's excited about that job and already getting started on it, rushing around heaven, and if she sees our guardian angel taking a nap on a cloud, she's nudging him, going, "Hey, get back to work. They need you down there!"

Let me end with this story, and please forgive me if I have trouble getting through it without tearing up. My wife Debra died of breast cancer in 2006. We had been married for a little over two years, and she was everything to me. With her gone, I was completely lost. I didn't know who I was and didn't care if I was alive or not. The funeral was in Missouri, far from our home and the few people we knew in Florida. And even though my relatives were around, I felt completely alone. In the middle of the service, it hit me, like it's hitting me now, that I was really saying goodby, that this is really happening. I broke down completely. I was at the lowest point of my life and I thought I would never be happy again. I thought no one would ever care for me that much ever again.

Then I felt someone grab my hand.

Doris held on to my hand through the rest of the ceremony and pulled me through. It was like she was a lifeguard, and she kept me from drowning in my grief.

It would take me years to crawl back to being able to enjoy life again, but the one who started me back on the path was my sister Doris. And I thank God that she was a part of my life, and I will miss her.

I love you, sis, and thanks for everything.