Maybe it’s because of my Irish roots, but I feel I have the ability to be a professional mourner. When someone close passes away, or even someone I don’t know personally, but whose life story touches my heart, I don’t just cry, I weep — in genuine sorrow — potentially for days. I’d make the ideal guest at an Irish wake, which can last two days or longer. Even if I didn’t know the deceased, seeing other people (particularly men) cry sets off the waterworks.

I’ve often said that I could never recite a eulogy, do a reading, or offer a personal reflection at a funeral. Through the years, I’ve come to realize that I can cry or talk, but not both at the same time.

With my father’s passing, I’ve experienced a sorrow I’ve never felt before. In the five weeks since he died, I’ve kept myself busy from sunup to sundown, doing all the things it takes to plan a funeral, set up the interment of his ashes with military honors, settling his estate, etc. Anything to ward off the tears that are ever on the verge of falling.

To my profound relief, Dad’s funeral went off without a hitch. Multiple people mentioned afterwards what a beautiful Mass it was, how moving and beautifully performed the songs were, how the display tables and the photographs really gave a glimpse of the man my dad was. Our son did the reflection on his grandpa’s life admirably. He had us laughing and crying. I know Grandpa would be proud of him.

If I’d tasked myself with presenting that talk, it would’ve had a more somber tone, reflecting on my experience of having Kieran Purcell as my father for 63 years. Here’s the eulogy I never delivered…

I’ll admit, I was always a daddy’s girl. One of my earliest memories was stepping on Dad’s shoes and dancing with him at the NCO club on the Air Force base where he served during my childhood. Neil Diamond’s song Cracklin’ Rosie always brings me back to those days.

Being in the military wasn’t a financial boon, by any means. Dad would tell me that the best times of his life were (before I was born, go figure!) when he was stationed in New Jersey and would come home from work and give Mom a break from taking care of my brothers, Gordon and Rodney, who were nine months apart in age. He’d take them along the boardwalk on the Jersey shore. It saddened him that he didn’t even have a nickel to buy them an ice cream cone, but he and the boys loved every moment of those late afternoons together (and I’m sure Mom was happy for a break from two rambunctious toddlers).

When Dad was stationed at the Air Force base in Antigo, he took on a second job, tending bar at Riverview Country Club. That’s when his legendary 50-year love affair with golf began. No hole-in-ones, but he got close a couple of times. His best score was 72, scratch golf.

In my eyes, Dad was the big fish in the little pond in that small town. He was charismatic and had the charm, accent, and good looks to give any Kennedy a run for his money. When he wasn’t working, he and Mom would host card parties, he enjoyed grilling and making his amazing from-scratch spaghetti and meatballs on the weekends (while listening to Broadway tunes or Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass), he golfed, he bowled, he lectored at our parish, and he was a loyal and active member of the Antigo Elks lodge.

When he and Mom split up before my junior year of high school, I made the difficult decision to stay with my dad. I felt like I’d have a more stable living situation with him and that I could finally have more time with him.

We had a few months together on our own before we moved from the Air Force base in Minnesota, where he was working, to Wisconsin, for the beginning of his career with the National Weather Service. Six months after we got here, he married my stepmom, Mary. I lived with them for my senior year, and then left home when I went to college.

By that Christmas, I was engaged (to the man whom I just celebrated 44 years of marriage!), so I moved back home again. John and I were married on September 11, 1981. Side note: When my dad had his last hospital stay, he said to me, “I’m glad you fell in love and left college. It turned out great!” It sure did!

On March 8, 1985, I gave Dad and Mary the best gift they could’ve ever asked for — a grandchild! Over the course of the next six years, we added three more children to the brood. Dad was an incredible grandpa. He loved his grandchildren fiercely and gave so much time and attention to them, especially after he retired in 2000.

Living less than two miles from Dad and Mary, we saw them regularly. They watched the kids at times, came to their school programs and sporting events, and were at all the family celebrations. Every Christmas Eve, John and I and the kids arrived at their house after 4:30 Mass concluded and enjoyed finger foods and sweets, and then opened gifts. The running joke with Dad was watching the kids open a gift from him and Mary and telling everyone how much work he’d put into buying that gift, when we all knew that Mary did the shopping and wrapping.

Our lives were busy during the child-raising years and beyond, when John and I were empty-nesters and became grandparents ourselves. Those eight grandchildren, Dad’s great-grandchildren, were the joy of his life. He encouraged the grandkids to call him Elder Grandpa, because their Grandpa Lauer was truly a great grandpa; he thought John deserved that title.

One constant in my life was wanting to have more time with Dad. Several years ago, I joined the Fox Valley Catholic Bible Study group that Dad had belonged to since 1980. That gave us every Friday morning together, a time we cherished.

Two years ago, my wish was truly granted, in an unexpected way, but it turned out to be a blessing. In September of 2023, Dad was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma. He didn’t tell me about the diagnosis until November of that year, after our youngest child was married and our youngest grandchild was born.

I was devastated by the news, but did what I could to support Dad. We spent more time together than I ever could’ve imagined, but the bulk of that was at the cancer center for his checkups, radiation, and immunotherapy appointments. But we also had coffee dates, lunch dates, a night at the PAC watching his favorite Broadway musical, Les Misérables, trips to Ohio to visit the kids and grandkids, and lots of drives in between.

After Dad had his first serious fall in January, and then when Mary passed away in March, our time together ramped up significantly, because he needed help with day-to-day living. I was grateful to be there for him, and he constantly expressed his gratitude to me for anything I did for him. Over that time, I really got to know him on a deeper level and saw a vulnerability in him that I’d never seen before. I heard stories from his growing-up years in the Bronx, his days in the military, school days, what his hopes and dreams had been, and the regrets he had along the way. What inspired me the most was how his faith deepened as he went further along in his cancer journey.

Dad never did get to ring the bell at ThedaCare Cancer Center that would declare to the world that he was cancer-free. But he did accomplish something even bigger than that. His greatest wish was to live long enough that his great-grandchildren would remember him. They do, and they always will. Who could forget someone as memorable as Elder Grandpa Kieran Purcell?

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