The following eulogy was written by Greg Flynn for his father’s funeral mass in Ireland on March 27.
I am my father’s son – one of four. You may know me as Greg, but I was born with my father’s name, Patrick, the name of his own father, who died on the same day 43 years ago. The story is that we would be known as Old Paddy, Young Paddy and Young Paddy’s son Paddy. So, they used my middle name, Greg, or Gregory if I was in trouble.
We don’t choose when we enter this life, but we can choose how we live it. Dad lived his with love and generosity, compassion and caring, industry and quiet persistence, stories and … Dad jokes. Life is a gift from God but it’s not ours to keep – it’s a loan. In our death we repay the debt. In living we earn the interest, and Dad lived his life well – by tending to the needs of others, expecting little in return. His reward is the love and respect of you all gathered here, and those whose lives he touched who cannot be in this space, and especially the love of our mother, Harriet.
Thomas Merton said, “I cannot make the universe obey me. I cannot make other people conform to my own whims and fancies. I cannot make even my own body obey me.” Dad showed how we can choose to live in this universe, how to contribute, how to be kind, and to comfort, and how to make something out of nothing. He loved to take broken things apart to see how they worked, and to mend them – toys, tools, appliances, or people.
He would help people install new washing machines, then take the broken machines home, fix them, and pass them on as wedding gifts to young couples. He saw obstacles as opportunities. Like water in a stream confronted by a rock, he ran around it and continued on life’s journey. A few times in his long career with the ESB he hit a cul-de-sac, and always found a path to better opportunities. He cared for co-workers, and neighbors, and family, and friends, and strangers alike. He loved his children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
If you talked to him long enough, he could tell what county you were from, what town you were from, what friends you had in common, and eventually how you were related. He loved, and was very attentive to our mother, perhaps at the expense of his own physical well-being, but I like to think that love extended his life.
When he ultimately allowed himself to be helped, it was with the loving attention of caregivers, friends and family, hospital staff, and staff at hospice, where he spent his last days, peacefully, with a view of the garden with a sculpture by our brother Paul.
I’d like to thank the priests for blessing his passing. I’d like to thank my three brothers, John, Paul, and Peter, for walking this road with him, and our mother Harriet, for putting up with all of us over the years.
Please go from here sharing your own love, sharing your own time, being present in the lives of others. The road will rise up to meet you, and God will hold you in the hollow of His hands.