The Andie Summers Show

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The hardest thing I’ve ver had to do is say goodbye to my Poppo. There is something special between a father and his little girl, and I feel so blessed to have been raised by such a strong, emotional, loving man.

I definitely inherited his emotion. My father would write the most beautiful blessings for each holiday dinner. And he would never get through them without tearing up. I didn’t understand it when I was younger, but I have to say, now that I cry at the drop of a hat, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Below is an excerpt of the eulogy I wrote for my father’s funeral several years ago. I did my best to read it on the air leading up to Father’s Day this year. It’s probably worth a listen … as long as you have some tissues. And don’t miss the photos at the end. He’s worth it.

My dad was a tough nut, but those who cracked his shell were better people for it. 

He loved his girls and the grandchildren we brought him. He loved his God and the Corps. But most of all he loved, respected, and admired his wife.

I’m so amazed my parents, two very different people, sayid faithfully together for 55 years of marriage, but it’s obvious what drew them to each other. Mom’s radiant beauty and Dad – tall, dark and handsome. Her motivation and social skills – his work ethic and pride. They were truly the all-American couple. 

My dad was a man of few words, but he got his point across better than most. He spoke through his actions and his expressions. My dad could speak a thousand words without ever opening his mouth. I’ll miss the look he gave me when I was on the wrong track. And the kindness in his eyes when I was hurting. I’ll miss his hugs, his, his smile, and the way his nose poked me when he kissed me on the cheek. But I think what I’ll miss the most is his laugh. He had a great laugh – the way his voice would go up a few octaves when he would try to talk when he was belly-laughing. 

While going through my dad’s things getting ready for his funeral, I found a box of photos, letters, and certificates from the Marines.  I found a poem, in his handwriting, not only once but twice among his things, so I thought I would close with the ending … 

When we reach the Pearly Gates we’ll hear St. Peter yell, “Fall out you guys from Camp Lejeune! You’ve spent your time in Hell.”

80-years, Poppo. I’d say you spent them well.