Eulogy

This is the tribute I wrote for my father. I'm putting it here as an important part of family history.

Today I hope to represent what dad meant to us as family so I’d like to start by talking about what we saw of him as a husband. 

Dad wasn’t a man to make grand gestures or dramatic statements but he showed his love by being consistent and reliable, quietly cherishing his “dear girl” as he spoke of her. His favourite place in the world was with mum and the way he proposed all those years ago was to say he would like to come home to her every day. He regularly expressed his deep gratitude for Mum leaving her home in new zealand to be here with him and his sense of great fortune in having married somebody so capable, hardworking and financially savvy. In dad’s retirement, which ended up to be almost 30 years long, he was never far from Mum, assisting her with shopping, wrangling grand children, buying her coffees, collecting prescriptions and perhaps the sweetest was in these last months while his mind was quietly deserting him but he made so much effort every day to take small gifts to mum in hospital: a newspaper, a crossword, a sandwich, ginger beer, cakes and bananas at the perfect stage of ripeness.

As a father, Dad tried hard to teach us so many things, Anna talks of him spending Fridays at her place teaching her to change tap washers, change car oil and change a wheel. I wasn’t such a good student but I love that he didn’t limit us girls to traditionally female roles and skills. Dad taught Lorin and Anna (as well as many others) to play brass instruments and he risked his life with learner drivers. Dad taught for understanding, not just for repetition of steps and he also tried to give us an appreciation of a range of experiences; taking us bushwalking, to concerts, to museums, to bicycle racing at Tempe velodrome, football games and cricket matches and the movies. 

Dad wasn’t a great movie watcher but you could bet your bottom dollar he would enjoy anything Australian or with dogs: he first took me to see Benji and Mary Poppins and later thoroughly enjoyed Red Dog, last Cab to Darwin, The Castle and Croc Dundee.

Dad loved a joke, the worse they were the better he loved them and he loved a chat, there wasn’t a neighbour or local shop assistant who didn’t know him and with all of these people, he tried to contribute to their lives with a word of encouragement, a listening ear or a small gift. It wasn’t too long ago that dad told me how much pleasure he took from giving people small tokens of his regard and affection.

Dad recognised people’s strengths and hoped to help them to develop into the best version of themselves, I wont forget the many months he spent at Tafe learning welding with my then husband in an effort to capitalise on Kent's great gift for making and fixing.

Dad had a great sense of curiosity and would make an effort to follow up on any idle wondering he or his companion of the moment might do, in earlier years referencing his enormous Macquarie Dictionary or the street directory or a relevant book and later using google many times a day.

Dad had a great appreciation for nature and thought the perfect finishing touch for a home and family was a pet, preferably a dog but really anything to love. With every pet we ever farewelled, dads heart was broken and it took him a long time to recover but eventually there would be another to steal his heart. Even at the end of his life, when he couldn’t remember her name he would ask about my dog Milly and reminisce with mum about young Heidi who we farewelled nearly 40 years ago.

I remember his great joy when he was in a church service and a magpie high in the rafters warbled throughout the service, he thought it was just magical and his love for these small moments of joy have obviously touched us all as  Anna, Eliana and I all noticed birds in our environment and thought of him just a day or two after he died.

I’d like to read a little tribute I wrote last fathers day:

A photo recently arrived from dad without explanation. It was dad standing with a pallet of huge red apples

My response: "Have you taken up apple growing, Dad?"

He phoned to explain that these were the biggest apples he ever saw, at least 50% bigger than any other. Dad was excited to share this small wonder and the recipient list for the message was long.

For my whole life I can remember Dad calling to Mum "Have you got a minute?" and grumbling, mum would leave her chores to see what it was that was delighting Dad: a bird, a lizard, a flower, a sassy child, a spider web, a rainbow, a leaf

"Glimmers" is a new buzz word but Dad has been appreciating the little things for decades.

We can’t talk of John Jurd without mentioning his love for music and especially for brass bands. Dad loved the music, loved to hear a technically challenging piece or listen to a particularly mellow sound. Music was his favourite form of expression and what he  could not say was said in  his musical choices. He loved to play or to listen, loved to serve by providing live music at countless church services, open air meetings, hospital visits, work Christmas parties and Anzac Day events and he loved he the sense of community he found in banding.

Dad always spoke well of his friends in the bands he played in, he also spoke well of his workmates, often mentioning how blessed he was to spend so much time with so many good people. If you shared time with Dad, he was delighted to know you and grateful for your place in his life.

Like his love for us, Dads love for Jesus was not often talked of but evident in his service, his quiet encouragement and his faithfulness.

In his last months there were a few moments that impressed on me just how much his faith was part of his life:

When I was desperately trying to fight red tape to take mum from hospital to Caitlin's wedding, there was a day I was beside myself with frustration. Dad was upset at his inability to help or even to really understand but as I drove and ranted, he prayed. When I didn’t settle down, he prayed again.

When he was suffering horrible delusions he broke away from the conversation I was trying to distract him with and prayed “God, why am I here?” He didn’t ask for relief, he didn’t complain, just acknowledged the sovereignty of his God.

At the end of his life, Dad lost his inhibition and would say anything. At one point he made an accurate but unflattering observation about someone and immediately said “maybe I have jealousy in my heart’ Surely demonstrating a lifetime of self reflection.

Dad started as a humble kid from the bush and  became someone much bigger, embodying all the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

I’m sure we all look forward to seeing him again in heaven.