Remembering my Father
My father passed away on May 31, 2022. Many years ago, he had told me that when he died, he didn't want us to be too sad, and wanted me to tell stories about him and his life, so that we would focus on the good he had done. I was honored to be able to deliver this eulogy to my father at his funeral Mass.
Good morning. My name is Mariano, and I am the fifth of my parents six children. On behalf of Eileen and my brothers and sisters, I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to accompany us during this time of loss, whether through the gift of presence in our homes, at the wake or here in the church, but also presence through messages, meals, flowers, and so much more. Your expressions of love and sympathy are truly appreciated. We also want to thank Father Jack Oliveira for his presence with my dad at his bedside on the day of his anointing. My dad loved you so much and would be honored that you are present here today as our principal celebrant. In addition, we thank the other members of the clergy who are here with us in the sanctuary this morning, Father Matthew Gill, pastor of Holy Family parish in East Taunton, Father Jay Maddock, former pastor of Holy Family in East Taunton, Father Henry Arruda, former pastor of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, and newly ordained Deacon Brian Connors. We appreciate your presence very much.
I am often in awe that a man with such a humble background could do so many great things with his life. My father was one of the hardest workers you will ever meet. He took pride in his business skills, and used to say that from an early age, he always knew how to make an honest dollar. He was a man of integrity in all that he did. Just as much as he loved to earn an honest dollar, he hated to part with a dollar that he had worked hard to earn. Seven years ago, before his heart surgery, my father went to the funeral home to pre-plan this day. When the funeral director told him what the cost was to dig open a grave, he quickly responded, “Oh no, I don’t want to pay for that. My brothers can do that for me for free.”
He was creative beyond measure and turned his ideas into realities. He was the ultimate storyteller…stories that we heard repeatedly. In so many of his stories, there was one common thread that wove them all together, and that was the unbreakable thread of family.
He was born in a humble home in Santa Cruz, Lagoa on the island of Sao Miguel. He was delivered into this world by his grandmother Sofia. His Grandmother was the oldest of her generation. His mother was the oldest of her generation. My father was the oldest of his generation. He once told us that because he was the baby for his grandmother’s siblings and his mother’s siblings, he was treated by his grandparents, parents, and aunts and uncles like the baby Jesus of the family.
What I think makes him so exceptional though, is that at an early age when the world seemed to revolve around him, my father still managed to set his sights on greater things. He was not only the consummate dreamer, but the ultimate doer to ensure that his dreams became his realities. Anyone who knew him probably heard him say, and probably heard it often,
“never put off for tomorrow what you can do today.” When he was younger, he had seen a movie and would say that when he saw the United States of America, he knew right away that’s where he wanted to live. He left Portugal and emigrated to Canada, first to Niagara Falls and then finally living and working in Quebec.
My parents continued to write to one another, until one day, they made history in Quebec by being the first two non-Canadian persons to be married in Old Quebec, something that he was very proud of. After their marriage, they moved to New Bedford and began their life of love together. Here, they raised us six children and provided us with an example of what marriage is, a lot of love, and a lot of sacrifice. I have vivid memories of my parents dancing the days away in the home they built. They celebrated 25 years of marriage before my mom was called home to Heaven. You should know that my father had a beautiful voice and loved to sing. At home, if my parents weren’t dancing, you could often hear his singing (although to be honest, I didn’t appreciate its beauty in my youth). The song you just heard Stephen sing so beautifully; “The Lord’s Prayer” was one that my father loved to sing. He sang it to my mother as she lay dying on the night we kept vigil with her, and he specifically asked for it to be sung here this morning. Our childhood was truly one of privilege, not with material things, rather with love and happiness. At the time of my mother’s death, my father was left to raise five children alone, between the ages of seven and twenty-three. Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I’d say my father did an exceptional job.
After the loss of my mother, my father attended a retreat for widowed and divorced Catholics at the Family Life Center in Dartmouth. There he met Eileen Lake, and his life was again changed for the better. Eileen has six children (three boys and three girls) just like my father did. Eileen and her husband Don were married on the 4th of July, just as my parents were married on the 4th of July. There are so many more similarities that are just too many to list here. 32 years of love and friendship have taken them to places in the world that they never dreamed that they would have traveled to. One day, my father, Eileen and I were talking about life, love, and loss. Eileen was speaking so lovingly about her husband Don, and about the day of his death and the effects of his death on her family. My father was telling stories about my mother, her death, and the effects on our family. In that special moment, I saw two people who loved each other so much, while still preserving the love and affection they shared with their first loves, and beautifully honoring their memories. It was a profound moment of love that I will truly never forget.
My father used to say that he was the richest man in the world, not because of money or riches, but rather because of the love of our family. He took great pride in his parents, his siblings, his children, his grandchildren, and his great-grandchildren. Being with family over these last few weeks after my father’s decline shows that truly, he was right. We are blessed beyond measure.
In a special way, that is evidenced today through the presence of several family members who made the journey from Toronto to New Bedford to be with us here today, and in the countless heart-felt tributes that we have received from family members in Venezuela, the Azores, and Canada.
When my father moved here from Quebec, he got the wheels in motion for so much of what you see here today. He learned how the American immigration process worked. He completed the paperwork to bring his father to this country, and together with his father, he was able to bring the rest of the family here. In many ways, my father earned the title of “patriarch.” My father was committed to his family, not just to his wife and children, but to his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, his cousins, and even family members by choice. Family was always his first and his everything. He shared a special love with his parents and his siblings, and when he spoke of his parents and siblings, his whole presence changed with joy.
As I say my goodbyes to my father, there’s one big thing that I never figured out about him. One day in his childhood my father asked his mother, “Mamá, do you love Jesus?” To which she replied, “Oh, of course I do, Mariano.” He followed up with the question, “do you want to go see Jesus?” To which my grandmother responded, “oh no, Mariano, I don’t want to go to Jesus yet.” To which he retorted, “Well then you must not love Jesus all that much.” I still wonder if my father thrived in the art of debate, or if he just liked to push people’s buttons.
Today we take our father to his final place of rest. We pray for God’s love and mercy on his soul. We pray that he is reunited in Heaven with those who have gone before him, and that the banquet up above is bigger and better than any of my father’s annual summer reunions and parties that he loved to throw, and we loved to attend.
In the Jewish tradition, sons are instructed to pray the Mourner’s Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, for up to eleven months after the death of their father. They do so together in community. The prayer never mentions death or dying, but instead proclaims the greatness of God. By reciting it, mourners show that even as their faith is being tested by their loss, they are affirming God’s greatness, and they are affirming the importance of their faith family.
And in that spirit, today I praise God for the gift of my father. I thank God for sending us the perfect example of a hard worker. I thank God for his dedication to family. I praise God for my father’s love for my mother and hers for him, as well as my father’s love for Eileen, and her love for him. I thank God for my father’s commitment in all he did. I thank God for blessing us with family and friends to sustain us in challenging times. I thank God for all of the love and care that has surrounded us in this journey, and for each person here today sharing our loss.
I will miss you so much, Papá. You will live on in the stories that you have left us, and in the beautiful family that you have worked so hard to create, cultivate, support, and strengthen.
May God have mercy on his soul and lead him to everlasting life. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.
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