Eulogy for Roy E. Pelletier, given by his children in order of birth

Michelle B. Pelletier:

Dad was proud of his children and let us know that in his actions and love more than his words. He taught us how to shrug off the unimportant things in life and focus on the things that matter, like family. He taught us integrity, morality and most importantly how to laugh at life – its ups and downs and the very irony of life.

I take these qualities with me in my life and pass them to my own child, Natalie, who lit my father's very soul. I know he is with us every day in our hearts and minds and as I look at my child's blue eyes, I look at my father's eyes and smile.

Aimee T. Pelletier:

{Daddy, I sang to you the other day and I have no idea if you heard me. I sang to you because I knew it would matter if you could hear me; I knew it would matter even if you could not hear me. You and Mom taught me, each in your own way, to do the things that might matter, without concern for looking silly, and especially if I might make someone smile in the process. So here goes…}

When I was still small enough for his shoulders to take it, Dad would hoist me up so that I might be able to catch a glimpse of what the world was like from up there. This usually took place on special occasions having to do with bright lights and loud music. I saw Johnny Cash in black and watched fiddlers working magic with the fury of bluegrass fingerwork. And I could feel Dad’s bounce to the rhythm of the lives around us, keeping time with the soundtrack of ferris wheels and merry-go-rounds. From up there, I felt, rather than my usual shy self, confident and curious.

Dad would hold me on his shoulders after he’d held my big sister and before he’d hold my little brother. He sometimes grew tired. Even when he let on, though, that he couldn’t carry us any longer, I am sure that he was far more exhausted than we ever knew. Dad told jokes to cover up that he was sometimes sad and he sang slow songs to remember happy times. I’m not saying that Dad hid his feelings; he just revealed them selectively and creatively.

For example, my meat and potatoes father simply stared at me when, at 17, I announced that I was going to become a vegetarian. I think it must have sunk in that this wasn’t a fad…perhaps after about ten years or so, when he told me, quite proudly, that his favorite sandwich at his favorite sandwich shop was in fact the vegetarian option. Dad didn’t come out and say I love you for who you are, he just did it.

When I think of Dad now, I think of the incredible view that he gave to me while I was perched on his shoulders, the safest and proudest place I could be.

James M. Pelletier:

This isn’t about perfect words; this is about being genuine. I have a feeling that is how Dad would see it. It doesn’t matter if you’re not perfect. It doesn’t matter if you’re best. What matters is what you make of it. Did you get where you’re supposed to go? Did you do it with everyone’s best interests at heart?

I recently found a letter I wrote to my father ten years ago. I let him know that I wanted more, that I wanted to do my best for every good reason I had. I let him know that his encouragement and example made long days of work seem less difficult. Sticking by someone you care about on their worst day is just a worthwhile as sticking by them on their best, if not more worth it, because giving them that encouragement and acceptance won’t be forgotten so easily; it will resurface again and again, especially when it’s needed.

The value of truly giving yourself everyday can never be underestimated. Sometimes it takes the genius of a well-timed joke or an outpouring of music-inspired joy and dance.

Give freely and give often, give to others what comes easily but also what takes great effort.