Larry James

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My Dad passed away on May 28th. Grief has become my new bed fellow. He grips me at night, repeating scenes of horrifying sadness, whispering memories of words said and unsaid during the final moments of my father’s life. He urges me to live each day to the fullest. He tells me there is no time for sleep. There is only time to reach into this crazy human existence and grab onto anything and everything that will bring me joy, or, at minimum, numb the intensity of his presence. He forces me to live in a way where I push myself to feel more alive than I did before he came along. Life must be something other than wandering around wearing this heavy cloak of sadness. I must go fully into the moment, this VERY moment, and truly live it.

I know now, three months later, that grief will be with me for a long time. I cannot attach deadlines or make a goal sheet of how I will slowly ween myself from him. There are no rules to anything now. Everything that made sense before no longer does.

I am humbled in a way I never imagined, and for that, I am grateful.

Some of you that are reading this did not know my father. Many of you heard me read this eulogy at his funeral. I guess I just want to throw it out there, to see the words here on this site I have ignored for most of this year. Sending peace, love and comfort into your heart. Let your light shine, beautiful humans. Life is short and long, mysterious and bold…..LIVE IT.

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Eulogy for Larry James Yoh

My dad has never been perfect, but he has been perfect for me. If there is one word that describes my dad in all aspects of his life it is devotion. He lived his life as a devoted husband, father and employee. When I think about devotion, I see it as the epitome of love. My dad wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, and honestly, most men aren’t, but he was devoted to his family and his work. Other than going out on a wrecker call, he was there every night to say, “Good night. Love you. See you in the morning.” each time I began my trudge up the stairs to bed when I was growing up. And I mean EVERY NIGHT, without fail. Even on those nights when I was upset with him and stomped up the stairs as loudly as I could.

He was both unbelievably strong and unbelievably humble. A man who believed in honesty above ego. The value of hard work never had to be explained to him.

Those of you who know him, know that he was on the shy side. He tended to be pretty quiet, but I think anyone with three girls and a wife at home would probably act the same.

He wasn’t one to toot his own horn, but he would raise his hand for anyone in need. Many of you in this room benefited from his expertise with car repair, construction and really just about anything needing muscle and WD40. He probably didn’t say much when he was with you. He tended to be focused on getting the job at hand done, but the finished, perfect fruit of his labor was his greatest expression of his love and caring for each of you. When I was growing up, if my dad wasn’t moving, he was sleeping. And he didn’t sleep much.

He wasn’t always hugs and kisses, but he was always, ALWAYS there. Though he challenged me to grow in the direction he wanted me to, he loved me during those times that I didn’t.

He and my mom created a family that gave me my best friends. I don’t know how one could ever say an appropriate thank you for that, but thank you mom and dad for that gift. Having Troy, Denise and Josie in my life has blessed me many times over.

Ted Hughes said:

“The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated. And the only thing people regret is that they didn’t live boldly enough, that they didn’t invest enough heart, didn’t love enough. Nothing else really counts at all.”

Well, you did it, Dad. You invested your heart and you lived a bold life. I hope you can feel the love here that has been created from your devotion and caring.

My dad would often say “Keep the Faith.” And I say that to all of you now. You never know what is coming down the pike, what challenges you might face, but like Larry did: excercise humility, embrace devotion and keep the faith.

And, if all else fails, spray it down with WD40.

Good night, Dad. I love you. I’ll see you on the other side. Until then, I’ll be sure to check the oil.

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4 responses to “Larry James

  1. nicely written and shared my friend. I understand your state of being so well. It has been 3 1/2 years since Craig passed and not a day goes by I do not think deeply of him. I never knew when the overwhelming grief would end – the one where I could cry and not stop all day long. But at some point – that did stop. Although, still, if I think too deeply – tears well up. When Craig passed he gave me an endless gift – the gift of pride. I find myself reflecting on my actions and choices in life now: what would Craig do? and would Craig be proud of me if I make this choice?

    what an honor I have been bestowed for I did not know this feeling before he passed. He is with me now more than ever.

    peace and strength as you move along your days Kaci. Love and miss you dearly.

    candace

  2. Awesome. Amen.

  3. It was such a privilege and honor to spend the last few days of your dads life with your family. The love in your family was beyond what one can imagine. Thanks you for sharing your family and your life with me, it was an honor to minister beside of you. Marcia

  4. Beautifully said!!

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