Julia’s Eulogy for Dad
My dad loved life. He loved his family and his friends. He loved the arts, nature, travel, sports - the list doesn’t end. My dad experienced life through a lens of wonder and awe, and was ever the optimist.
He loved the arts. As a child, his parents took him to summer theater musicals at the Eastern Slopes Playhouse in Conway, NH–the same playhouse where he and my mom then brought us each summer to enjoy an evening of theater. He loved music, filling our mornings with classical music and transitioning to 70s Classic Rock by the afternoon. He enjoyed visiting museums and galleries in cities across the world. Last spring, he and I spent a lovely afternoon at the MFA, followed by an early dinner at one of his favorite French restaurants, sipping rose and catching up on life.
My dad also loved nature and anything that allowed him to get outside and move freely. He shared his love for the White Mountains with us and showed us the beauty of working hard for the pay-off of incredible views when hiking. While some of those hikes were short, others ended with us hiking out in the dark–with no headlamps and not nearly enough food or chocolate, but singing and happy all the same. While he hiked up mountains in the summer and Fall, dad loved to fly down them on skis in the winter. We took yearly family ski trips out West growing up, and later, once I began teaching, he and I would take sacred father-daughter ski trips each year to places like Telluride, Jackson Hole, and Snowbird during my February break. I treasured these weeks together and the rhythm we would fall into: wake up early and enjoy a strong cup of coffee, ski until the last lift, take a dip in a hot tub, and then enjoy a delicious meal together. Dad also loved to run when he was younger, a passion he passed along to me. He loved to sail, bike, water-ski, and take long walks. He loved to play tennis with family and friends and talked fondly of getting together with “the boys” for his Monday night tennis game.
Of all the things in life that my dad loved, he loved his family the most. His favorite moments were when all his “darlings” were together. For this reason, he especially enjoyed holidays. As kids, on Christmas Eve, we would all cuddle up in bed and dad would read us Twas the Night Before Christmas. The next morning, he would always go down the stairs first to turn on the Christmas tree’s lights. The three of us kids and my mom would wait on the stairs and my dad would emerge and wave us to come down. As we took in the glowing tree, he would say “it’s a maaaagical Christmas tree” in the same sing-song voice every year, and every year, it truly felt magical. Similarly, during Hanukkah, after singing Rock of Ages, he would gleefully announce, “Happy Hanukkah everybody!” In later years, if he would forget, us three kids would always look at him and give him a nudge, because to us, Hanukkah could not be concluded without him saying his line. Dad enjoyed the poetic readings, songs, and games involved in our version of Passover and took us on long, reflective walks for Yom Kippur.
Beyond the holidays, my dad maintained that same theatrical, contagious excitement for life and ensured that we knew he would always be there for us; he used “monster spray” to ward off the monsters in our closets and under our beds, made up fanciful stories in which Camilla and I were always the princesses and stars of the tale, he cut up fruit for our cereal every morning, attended back to school nights, leaving notes with goofy drawings on our desks for us to find in the morning, cheered us on at weekend sporting games, talked through our school essays with us, and took us sailing on Conway Lake, during which we shared updates on our lives.
Once I started college, anytime I returned home, my dad would see me pulling into the driveway, immediately fling open the front door, and exclaim “Jellybean’s home!” and wrap me in a tight hug. While I always assumed it was because I was the middle and favorite child, he apparently showed the same excitement for my siblings’ homecomings, as well.
In his final days, when asked how we could make him as comfortable and happy as possible, my dad repeated over and over that all he wanted was to be home, surrounded by his darlings. While we weren’t able to get him home, he was surrounded by those who loved him and who he loved dearly, as he passed.
Finally, my dad was beyond excited to become a grandpa and cried happy tears when we told him we were expecting. In those final months, my dad talked often about something my grandfather had said to him, which was that once you become a grandparent, in many ways you become immortal since your genes are passed on. So while my dad may not be here physically anymore, in that sense he is immortal - he lives on in each of us and left a mark on this world that has left so much love, in so many people’s hearts.
- Julia Hermann (daughter)
