Patrick's Eulogy

Eulogy written by Jennifer Curran

in honor of her nephew, Patrick

Read by David Nash, Jr.

The great philosopher Kafka wrote that, “The meaning of life is that it ends.” He believed that every choice made, every moment shared, every poem, play and piece of art created was done out of our fear or knowledge that everything is finite. Every holiday, birthday or occasion is underscored with a conscious knowledge that they are indeed numbered.

All of us know this, and yet so many of us do nothing about it. We trudge to work, we cross our "t's" and dot our "i's". Oh sure, we have happy lives. And we love and we raise our children and we try to do the right thing. But living like every day is our last? No, most of us don't.

Looking back, I can't help but wonder if somewhere in his brain, Patrick knew his time with us was going to be short. Because he lived. He got it. He did things that most of us would never have done. He did what people say they would LIKE to do. He ran for public office and if that isn't the scariest thing someone could do, then I truly do not know what is. Patrick made waves. He didn't leave a place without having affected everyone in it.

He loved like there never existed a broken heart. He listened to anyone who needed an ear.
Patrick danced, yes he did. I had the honor to cut a rug or two with him... and he danced like he didn’t care that everyone was watching.

Patrick felt compelled to make change. He didn't do it through writing. He didn't do it by saying a whole lot. He just simply got up and did it. He volunteered, he organized. He made the changes others only thought about.

He was, in every sense of the phrase, a family man but his passion for holidays and events were sometimes a bit much. Mutton pie day? He cooked two legs of lamb. We rolled dough and baked pies for twelve hours! And Christmas? He would decorate my parents' house for two days. Clark Griswold had nothing on Pat. As for his Irish heritage? We talked about this one day. It went something like this:

Patrick had gotten a tattoo of a shamrock on this right hand. I asked him why he got it there. He said, like I was insane for not knowing the obvious, "So that everyone who shakes my hand knows I'm Irish!" I replied, "How are you going to tell them you're French Canadian then?" He thought about that for about half a second and said, "I'll get a freaking red maple leaf on my forehead so everyone I don't know will know." And you know something, I have no doubt he would have done just that so he could knock on my door and take off his Celtics hat to show me.

I can't summarize Patrick. I can't tell you every little thing that I want you to know. I can tell you that he was my little brother, not my nephew. I can share with you that during that horrible 7 year old phase where little boys think baths and toothbrushes are icky, I locked him in the bathroom until he was clean one day. We shared a room and it was disgusting. I'd had enough.

I know that he often tagged along uninvited much like I had to my brothers and sisters. He was a snoop and every Christmas he would try to tell me what I was getting... which I hated. I was a better tree climber than him, but he was a faster runner than me. We’ve always been competitive. Recently, we were out one night and we bet each other who could do the splits better. I assumed that my fifteen years of dance would serve me well, but no... the little brat beat me.

I can also say that seeing my sister’s pride as his mother was something I grew up with. It isn't something that happened, or something that was more evident in certain moments or photos... its something that simply was.

This pride was also felt by my parents, Pat’s grandparents. They never missed a basketball game. Grandma would cheer louder than the moms and dads in the stands. She even did the Arsenio "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" And Patrick loved every minute of it. He never bothered pretending he was embarrassed.

If the meaning of life is that it ends, what then can we say about the meaning of A life? The meaning of ours, the meaning of Patrick's? How do we begin to understand anything about Patrick’s passing when it is the pen-ultimate of unfair, unjust and yes, even cruel?

Philosophy aside, we cannot understand. Making sense out of the senseless is not something for us to do. What we can do though is learn; we can take a cue from Patrick.

We can LIVE.