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//Author’s Notes: These were my remarks at the “Celebration of Life” we held for my father in October 2024. He passed in February of the same year. My aunt, his older sister, hosted a gathering at her home for family to attend.
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Afternoon everyone. Thanks to all of you for making it over here to gather and celebrate Dad’s memory. This isn’t a typical “memorial” service, so I’ve got no eulogy or anything so formal as that prepared. I just wanted to say a couple quick words before we dive into delicious food and wonderful company.

[Aunt, Uncle] thank you for hosting us in your lovely home. Mom, thanks for getting food together for this small horde. And again I want to express my sincere gratitude for everyone else that was able to come here today.

A phrase often associated with folks with dementia and their caregivers is “I will remember for you.” There’s the practical element of that, certainly: when cognitive function declines, you step up to make sure day-to-day life goes on. But there’s the other meaning familiar to anyone who’s faced such deep loss: you carry on for them, remembering their life and their story when they’re gone.

So here we are, remembering for him. Beyond that sense of “memorial” though, this is a celebration of life: his life, and our lives with him. This is a gathering to share stories, embrace one another, and find peace after his passing.

A particularly poignant quotation I’ll paraphrase here says “Every person has two deaths; when they pass away, and the last time someone remembers them.” Dad didn’t leave a legacy of engineering projects with his name stamped all over them, pieces of art hung in galleries, or famous photos published in popular magazines.

What he did leave was his stories, his jokes, his love, and the impact he made on our lives. For every memory he lost before he passed, there’s a dozen shared among those of us gathered here. So let us honor him, and keep him alive in our hearts and minds.

Thank you.