Eulogy for John Patrick Seaton
My Dad, Mum and Laura-Anne, Christmas 2002
Throughout the millennia it has been the solemn job of sons and daughters to lay their fathers to rest. It is a job that every person, should they live so long, is obliged to do. Today Tony, Robert, Paul and I are gathered with you to lay our father, John Seaton, to rest.
While his death was sudden, it wasn't surprising. We knew that the day would come when we would be gathered here in this Church. He died in a way that he would have chosen, at home, sipping a Bailey's, preparing dinner with my mother, after being about his usual Sunday routine - attending Mass, shopping, walking his dog Georgia. Most important he was with my mother; fully honoring his commitment to her as death did them part. He left quickly, with no time for goodbyes. But we all made it there on Sunday night to see him off.
As I struggled to find words about my father, I found that I could do no better than to borrow the words from someone who probably knew my dad better than anyone else, at least over the past few years: His five-year old granddaughter Laura-Anne.
On Monday night, while we were having a family meeting to discuss the arrangements for today, Laura-Anne pulled a footstool into the middle of the circle, got up on it, and said in a clear and unquivering voice: "Listen everybody! Try and remember Papa's love for everyone."
My father was a quiet hero. He spent his entire life helping other people. He had a spirit of generosity that is very rare.
I recall my first real experience with the death of someone I knew. I was a young boy at the time, maybe 10. My father had befriended Mr. McDougall, a man he encountered while volunteering for the St. Vincent de Paul Society. Mr. McDougall was a person who had fallen on hard times and lived the down-and-out lifestyle of many of the people you encounter on Parkdale's Queen Street. My father helped Mr. McDougall back to a life of dignity. Mr. McDougall would often stop by the house, especially when doing the annual registration for the St. Vincent de Paul Society summer camp for children, a job that my father had recruited him to do. When Mr. McDougall died, my father found and brokered a peace with Mr. McDougall's family so that he was laid to rest with the dignity deserving of someone's father. Mr. McDougall was one of many many people whose lives were touched by my father's kindness and generosity.
For his sons and grandchildren my father had very high expectations. But they weren't of the usual sort. He didn't expect good grades, athletic prowess or success in business, though he was always proud of our achievements. No, he expected us to be honest, to always act with integrity, and to be generous to others.
My father had a special relationship with each of us here today. Husband, brother, father, grandfather, father-in-law, brother-in-law, uncle, friend, colleague. Even those of you who didn't know him, who are here because you are friends of my mother, my brothers or myself… any goodness that you see in us is a reflection of his goodness. Any love we express has echoes of his love.
Going back to Laura-Anne's remarks, she captured my father's legacy with a clarity and simplicity that only a five year old can achieve. Lying right now before us is a man who loved us all very very much.