My Hero is in Heaven
December 15th, 2006
By Kevin Meylor
As most of you know, Dad was in the hospice program here in Vermillion for over two years – which I understand may just be a local record. He was pretty proud of that. It was about the time he joined hospice though, that I realized I would want to speak here today. Well, need to speak here, is actually a better way to put it. I need to let the world in on some of what I know about Pat Meylor. Perhaps it will give you some extra memories to add to your own, or maybe provide a little comfort for your own grief.
Today, my hero is in Heaven. He's gone to join his mother and father, and the aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who have gone before him. But most importantly, he has gone to be with our Creator, His only Son and the Blessed Virgin. This week, I have felt the deepest loss of my life, but at the same time I find myself overcome with joy at his passing to Heaven – and so this Mass is truly a celebration for me.
Dad taught me that words have
meaning. And aside from hearing "I do" from Pam at our wedding,
or "I love you" from one of my kids -- the most meaningful words ever
spoken to me came at the departure gate of the
It took a long time for the full meaning of those words to really absorb – but in a nutshell, they summarize what I know about Pat Meylor. His whole person, his entire soul was concerned about, and thought about, loved, and lived for other people. Whether it was us kids, or Mom, a grandchild, a friend, or the workers at McDonald’s up the street – he thought constantly about other people, and how they were doing.
Sitting with him this last week, it dawned on me – that I never saw my Dad too busy to stop and talk to someone. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all say the same thing about ourselves? It’s funny though – as a teenager, I endured a typical bout of “parental embarrassment syndrome” – and for some time, my excuses revolved around Dad’s unstoppable ability to connect with anyone he met. We’d go to the store or somewhere, and after waiting for fifteen or twenty minutes of conversation to come to an end, we’d finally leave. I remember often asking, who he’d been talking to. At least half the time, I’d say it was a new person he’d just met standing in line, or more likely while waiting for me. To my Dad, every person was an interesting and unique creation – and he always made you feel important.
This love for people gave Dad a tremendous amount of compassion for the suffering of others. Last week, I received my final phone call from him. He just wanted to check in on me – and find out how I was recovering from the flu. His thoughts always seemed to drift to others. For example, when Ellie was in the hospital earlier this year, Mom mentioned he had prayed to take on any of her suffering that God would grant him. This was typical of his character. Dad was a very good man, and a beautiful human being.
He consistently went out of his way to help us – wanting to mow our yard, fix something that was broken, or find almost any excuse to pick something up for us at the store – all during a part of his life when most people would be looking over their shoulder for the grim reaper. And no matter what he went through, Dad’s eyes always revealed that he was more worried about us than he was himself. I think this fine character trait began in the tough times his family had early on, and it ended up as a sincere appreciation for the rest of the God’s children.
Dad’s father died when he was only three years old, and this left him, Larry, and Grandma pushing up hill for a long time. I recall Dad talking about how both boys held down jobs early on just to make ends meet – so he always had a variety of interesting work stories to keep us entertained. Yesterday I thought about some of these laughed out loud – so I couldn’t help but share them here: First, there was the tarantula he found in the banana box while working at the grocery store; and there was the three second blooper of a man in a t-shirt he spotted during Ben Hur while running the movie theater projector in town, and of course there were the details on how he managed to run two lawn mowers at the same time while grooming the cemetery where we will be this afternoon – but probably my favorite story was hearing about Pat and Larry hauling trash in Kingsley. I always got such a kick out of the fact they had to stay in the alleyways, because neither of them was old enough to drive a truck legally. Adversity builds character for sure – but it also makes for great stories.
Without a father of his own growing up, I wondered how Dad became such a good one himself. A great one is really more like it. He and Mom actively sought Mike and I out, and we were both adopted as infants. To this day it amazes me how completely bonded he was. I cannot tell you how many times I truly forgot that we weren’t genetically related. So I asked Mom how he did it without a role model, and the answer was just a practical as you’d expect from him. She said he had watched many men – cousins, uncles, family friends, and neighbors – and looked for the best traits in each to emulate. What a great idea – and how well it seemed to have worked.
Money never seemed important to Dad. And I guess growing up without a lot of it, materialism just never took. He didn’t seem interested in big televisions, fancy houses, or plastic anything – although he did have a weakness for most anything with a motor. Dad loved cars and trucks, and tractors and mowers – or really anything else you could drive. From what I could tell, he pretty much grew up behind the wheel. And although, he didn’t buy a lot of vehicles – he sure like to “dream” as he called it. The next stop after Mass on many Sundays was the local car lot.
His love for driving never dwindled and as recently as October we enjoyed a meandering trip back from Le Mars together. And although I know he was sad to do it, he was proud of himself when he decided to let Mom take over the privilege. Driving he loved, but he loved the other people on the road more.
I don’t think there’s anyone else he would have turned over the wheel to though than Mom. He truly adored her. And for anyone who’s ever seen them together, this doesn’t need much explanation. Although he joked about doing what she’d say in order to avoid a whack with a 2x4 – the truth is he trusted her completely, all the way to the end. For the last 12 hours of his life, his only significant movement came as a muffled “No” and reaching to get her hand back, when she’d taken it to grab a prayer book. He simply would not let her go. I’m guessing this is why he held on to life for so long. Dad cherished her – and for good reason. We love you Mom – and are so thankful for you.
Lots of folks have expressed appreciation for how hard the last couple years were for Dad physically. And while there’s no denying he suffered, clearly he relished life and was genuinely happy. He tried so much to make it to daily Mass. When he couldn’t leave the house, he found a way to attend through the computer. I know it was a big accomplishment for him to retire his glasses last year after cataract surgery. His lungs may not have worked anymore, but he could see more clearly than ever. And of course he took great pride in our little construction project across town, which he felt would give Mom a safe and secure home for her many years to come. I truly thank the Lord for these last few years. What a blessing they have been.
And although it’s far from a church hymn, I couldn’t help being struck by how fitting the words of a classic song describe this recent time:
Frosty the Snowman,
knew the sun was hot that day,
so he said, "Let's run, and we'll have some fun,
now, before I melt away."
One of the pictures you’ll find in the back of the church shows Dad lying on the floor, with toddler Maddie on his chest – and his inhaler sitting right next to him. That’s the Grandpa Pat I will always remember – enjoying life despite his physical obstacles. Just this fall I saw him ask Mom (in between breaths) to come and “save him” from little Ellie, who wanted to keep scaring him with her two year old “boo”. It was pretty clear that Mom needed to intervene, because he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint his granddaughter. For Dad the only other option was to keep playing their little game until it knocked him out cold. He just loved people – especially kids.
Dad had always seemed have a smile while he was sleeping and I think I finally know why. I often wondered who he was thinking about when he laid down for a nap. Was it just Mom, or Mike, one of his long-time friends, or maybe a grand-kid? I suspected it was all of us at one point or another. But recently I’ve come to a different conclusion. I think his smile came from knowing he was loved dearly by God. He knew we all were – and had a lot of confidence in it.
This confidence showed all his life, but never more than in the last week. Beyond Mom’s hand, the only thing that seemed to give him comfort was prayer. Early last week, Dad had all but lost the ability to communicate. For a full day his only words were a kind of assertive mumble that we couldn’t make out. But when he gained back just a little bit of strength, Mom was able to ask him what he’d been trying to so hard to say. He told her he was praying. From that point forward, there was near-constant prayer. But it seemed to comfort him the most to pray for those who I’m sure were actually praying for him.
Dad had such a sincere love for God and a devotion to Jesus. He loved the Mass, and I’m sure will be thrilled that we were all able to make it to church on his account. But he also had a strong relationship with the Blessed Virgin. As a kid, he told me many times, that if you have a special prayer – you should bring it to her as well. Because as all mothers do – she has a lot of influence with her Son. I was always so impressed with how well he could squeeze the parts of a Hail Mary in between breaths, and I’m so glad he’s with her now.
Because of his love for the Lord, Dad really appreciated the wonder of His creations. Whether it was people, animals (he especially liked dogs) or the wonder of our landscape – he really took the world in. In my renowned teen wisdom, I remember questioning how he could possibly think corn fields are beautiful – but I am starting to understand. He had a true love for God, and all that He gave us.
But now that he’s gone from this world, there are many of us that will miss him desperately. There are times the grief seems to be overwhelming – but just as with Dad’s suffering, I think the remedy is in our belief. He is in such a better place than we are now – and I find comfort in paraphrasing that same Christmas song:
Frosty the Snowman,
had to hurry on his way,
But he waved goodbye, sayin' "Don't you cry,
I'll see you in Heaven some day."
God Bless you Dad.
Thank you Lord for the time we had together.
Copyright © 2006-2007 Kevin L.
Meylor. All rights reserved.