A Eulogy For Barbara Peterson (Spoken at her funeral, March 20th, 2013)

I stand before you today, to offer a testament to not only a life lived, but a
life shared—a relationship of the most meaningful sort—between my father
and Barb, also fondly known as Nana and Papa. Their relationship lasted
nearly 35 years, far too short of a time. And my brother, Scott, and I were
a part of that relationship, part of what are now memories, building blocks
of a life shared, a life worth fighting for, for better, for worse, for richer,
for poorer. My dad is a fighter. He’s seen his share of loss, of tough times.
But what I love about him most is his spirit, his ability to find happiness, his
remarkable sense of humor; and I know that is what Barb saw in him, why
she built a life with him and became a big part of my early life.

I could stand here today and offer all kinds of sentimental thoughts,
reflections about loss, about how we should live meaningful lives, how we
should hug our loved ones and be nicer to one another; I have no intention
of offering you a Hallmark card moment, but I’ll say this: Days like today
are meant for reflection, for processing where we stand on the vast and,
simultaneously, short spectrum of life. In response, I ask of you: Where do
you stand on this spectrum? Do you have anything left undone? Is there
anything you need to say to a loved one? Is there anyone who deserves your
forgiveness?

Looking around the room today, I see many familiar faces from my
childhood, though familiar faces might not be a completely accurate
description. Maybe "cast of characters" is a more accurate description. The
past week has given me the special opportunity to reflect, to look at old
pictures of days long gone. Thinking back on highlights of my childhood,
I remember The clambake up on LaCross Road, various birthday parties,
the member guest tournaments, Echo Lake, multiple alumni day parades
and the barbecues after, Christmas Eve at Uncle Elly and Aunt Sue's house.
And after all these years, it would seem, now, based on the memories that
dominate my recollection of childhood, that we were always celebrating,
always laughing, always having a good time. The daily grind of life, filling
and emptying the dishwasher, cleaning my bedroom, raking leaves, stacking
wood; I don’t have very clear memories of. But the celebrations, the big
events, the people and the places are alive and well in my head. And Barb
was a huge part of those events, those celebrations.

Barb often played a supporting role at these events; weaving things together,
making sure whatever needed attention got the attention that was needed
(and it’s safe to assume that my brother and I were often the ones who

needed her attention and gentle reminders about having good manners or
advising us that we shouldn’t punch each other in the shoulder).

It saddens me to say goodbye to Barb because it forces me to reconcile with
part of my past, my childhood in particular, a childhood that is far behind
me now. But I credit Barb, and will be forever grateful to her for making
those memories possible. My childhood memories are a big part of who
I am today and because of that and because she always made Christmas
special, and because she had the courage to teach me how to drive a stick
shift on the incredibly steep hills of Springfield, for always picking me up
after track practice, for shuttling me to the town pool or taking me shopping
for school clothes, for encouraging me to attend college where I wanted to
go, regardless of cost, and for many other contributions and selfless actions,
I owe Barb more than I can imagine.

Today, we say goodbye to Barb. It pains us to soldier on, to write new
chapters, to find new reasons to celebrate. But we must. My family thanks
you for being here with us today, for remembering the good times, for
knowing that, without a doubt, there are more good times to come. If you
can, please join us after the conclusion of this service over in Chester at the
American Legion, so we can celebrate Barb's good life.