Found meaning in affirming others even at the end of life. And the following are some of his most unique and inspirational quotes. So one thing he said is that if a big dog doesn't kill you, life will only get better. That was when he was a he used to deliver mail
or paper boy, and he almost got attacked by a dog, and things got better. Any job worth doing is worth doing. Well, okay, it's something that like probably resonates with each of us, but it's something that I know I didn't really think about until I heard it, but it might, but because of compliance, by the way, it might not be worth doing. Well, it might just be worth it to get it over with and get the job done, but if it wasn't for corporate and all that, any job worth doing is worth doing. Well,
some Okay, sometimes you have to buy the fun car and enjoy the ride. But the final thing I thought, which was most unique is you find out who your true friends are and your times of success, which is the exact opposite of how I always looked upon it, because when someone's happy for you, when you tell them you're successful and they're happy for you, that means they're a real friend of yours. So
a lot of times we think the opposite, that we in a time of hardship, we find out who is really there for us. But this is just another perspective, and I thought it was a tremendous respect. What she did is she wrote this book for her father. It's here forever, and,
and, yeah, so,
you know, he pitched a no hitter one summer, and it made it into the papers. So it's
says, like no hitter, some people are more interested in that than that. Was actually the first thing I said. And I was like, Wait a minute. Wow, has American America got to me, like, then, Noah, hit her. He's done such much better things than that.

He would give out his compliments. He loved affirming others. He loved making others feel good. So by most people, to make them feel good, I would give them an affirmation. I would say something good about them, makes them feel good. But with him, that doesn't make him feel good. With him. It's to give him the opportunity to say something good to me, to give him that opportunity when I read a certain poem, and afterwards he said, beautiful. That's what he said, beautiful. He barely spoke, but at the end he spoke, he said, beautiful. That made him feel good, that made him feel better. He's someone who appreciated poetry very much. In fact, him and his daughter, they actually wrote a book on poetry which I did not get to read, and if I could find the poem that I read, you know, he said, beautiful. Here it goes. This was back from April. Sometimes I write the poem myself, but it takes many, many hours. So this is something that just helps me remember, and sometimes it comes off very beautiful. I did it through an app, but he came from humble working hands a shed behind the station sands where he and Bill would laugh and dream by gas lights glow in coffee stream and coffee steam a smorgasbord in genoka, town where plates and hopes were passed around. There a waitress just 16 would change the course of all his dreams. She smiled, and something in him stirred, not just a glance but love conferred by 22 he made her wife, and thus began their woven life. They weathered storms. They tasted grace. They built a home, a sacred place. For 44 full wedded years, with some apart, but always near. She left too soon at 62 but never left the life they grew. He carried on with quiet might, a man who labored, loved and wrote at night. His first job, Master car supply. He built from ground and reached the sky, a marketer with crafted words, a writer whose voice still could be heard, a college grad from Northern halls he once dreamt of command and calls to serve, to lead, to wear the stripe the life re rooted dreams so ripe still In each turn, he chose to give to love, support and gently live. He watched his children grow with pride, their triumphs never left his side. The first one called for joy or pain was always dad through shine and rain, his voice, her rock in storm or thrill, a steadiness no time could still he mourn his brother Tom with tears, the baby brother from younger years, a veteran marked by Warren cruel thread, who bore the cost that courage bled, yet even grief he bore with grace, a steady heart in time and place, his Catholic faith, a silent guide with kindness, walking at his side for all he lacked, he gave his best, a father, friend and soul at rest, who worked and strove with quiet art, who built a world from faithful heart. I believe that's the poem that he said beautiful to
here's another poem, The Ballad of Chuck on Pleasant Street into Kalb town. A boy named Chuck first came around born in the chill of winter's breath to cherry trees and factory steps. The second son in a growing crew with Irish roots and skies so blue he climbed the trees with grandma's grace and sledded down Foundation's face a Hiawatha bike, a Christmas dream, delivered papers in cold and steam through snow and dogs and crazy Macy's lair with cats galore and pungent air, he learned that kindness comes in coats from Brady's hands in heartfelt notes, he saved his Niles, bought his boots and faced the sisters in pursuit from paper routes to baseball fame, a no hitter earned him local acclaim. He pitched with grit beside the garage and dented doors with youthful charge at leaders counter. He served with pride, where truckers from the city would confide. He listened well. He worked with grace and found his rhythm in that place, Turtle lake became his shore, where summers sang in spirit soared with Susie's laugh and bow.
Parade's cheers. He built the life through love and years from college halls to catalog dreams. Chuck chased success through winding streams. He shared his wisdom, lent his hand and taught his daughters how to stand. He lived with humor, heart and light a steady flame in darkest night, and when the winds of change would blow, Chuck stood firm and let love grow not through these pages, Leslie writes of cherry trees and starry nights of board games played at morning start and grandpa's love a work of art. So here's to chuck, whose story sings of simple joys and wondrous things, a legacy of strength and grace forever etched in time and place.
You know, I was there the night before he passed away, and
I found it to be quite amazing. Just the I put the phone on speaker phone and just you know, overheard the conversation between his daughter and him, and the words that she said were just so beautiful. She said, I love you, Dad, you are my best friend. And she said words that would give him permission to leave. And when I was there, before I made that call, he didn't really say anything, but when he heard her speak, he also spoke. I don't know if she heard him speak, but he did speak, and she realized it was time for him to move. And that night, Nurse Nancy in the facility gave me the book that she wrote on him, and I'm thankful that I went through the book. Didn't read word for word, everything, but I read, but I spent hours on that book that night immediately, and it's a good thing that I did, because a mere 12 hours later, maybe 15 hours later, I received a text saying that my father's transitioning were at bedside, and I knew that I had what to say. I had affirming words. I had
it's not like I was a childhood friend, but I read through that whole book. So
it was just like, on one hand, perfect timing, and also I took the job really seriously and and did it right away. Read the book right away. So I had what to say. I had what his inspirational lines are, the inspirational quotes and some in new the wonderful childhood that that he had, which it was like God was protecting him. It's a healthy thing to play ball and just to be born in a neighborhood, or to move into a neighborhood where just there were no baseball fields there in the beginning, but baseball fields popped up. And then I also think there's significance in that no hitter, that no hitter making it into the paper.
And there were some really nice stories in there that I was able to share with the family, just like Knox. Acknowledging that that he meant something to me too. Just whenever we lose someone good in our world, it's a loss really, to the whole world. So
I know we have people grieving right now,
I wanted to share a couple poems. These are poems that a different nursing facility they where I made a memorial service. They asked me to read these poems, and the one who asked me to read it was an activity director, and she's very much in touch with supporting people who are grieving. So
I want to try to now that I'm speaking, I want to try to bring as much support to the family as I possibly can. Here's a poem. It's called, when we lose a loved one, when we lose a loved one, our world just falls apart. We think that we cannot carry on with this broken heart, everything is different. Now you're upset and you're annoyed, your world, it seems as shattered. There's such an awful void. There's got to be a reason, and we have to understand God made us at any time, he'll reach down for our hand. There might not be a warning. We won't know where or when. The only thing we're certain of is that we will meet once again, and that's in our next world. There's another poem. It's called, in the quiet of the dawn. In the quiet of the dawn, memories linger, loved ones gone. Each headstone a whispered name in their echo. Love's flame, fingers trace Calder night's lines in their touch, time interwines. Tears fall in silent speech in their presence. Memories reach visitors calm with flowers and telz in their grief, love prevails each headstone, a bond's embrace in their shadow. Times trace
going to read just one or two more. This is by Joyce Grenfell. You've just walked on ahead of me, and I've got to understand you must release the ones you love.
And let go of their hand. I try and cope the best I can, but I'm missing you so much. If I can only see you and one more feel your touch. Yes, you just walked on ahead of me. Don't worry, I'll be fine, but now and then, I swear I feel your hand slip into mine.
And here's a beautiful one.
This is a poem, okay, I tried to make a total list of all God's gifts to me, but I soon stopped, because I saw it went on endlessly. The gifts he gives are many more than I could ever say. His love as well cannot be bound and guides me every day. I also know that blessings come not just with joy and gain, at times quite unexpectedly, they're part of trial and pain. I need to have an open heart whatever life may bring. Oh, let me magnify the Lord and let my praises ring. I did not write a litany to this I have confessed, but I give thanks to God and know that I am blessed. You.
I just one more. This is a poem written by someone that I knew. All of his family passed away, and he decided to view death, not as death, but as someone that's just being reborn into another world, which is kind of like what many faith traditions believe. Anyways. It was written by Joseph Peterson. This is what he wrote. You can shed tears because they are gone, or you can smile because they lived. You can close your eyes and pray they'll come back. Or you can open your eyes and see all that they left for you. Your heart could be empty because you can't see them, or it could be full of the love you shared. You can turn your back on tomorrow and live in yesterday. Or you could be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday. You could remember only that they are gone. Or you can cherish their memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind be empty and turn away. Or you can do what they would want, smile,

This is the last but in a certain way the main segment. It contains final thoughts, poems and blessing.