Robert McIntosh Eulogy

Friends and family, thank you so much for being a part of this memorial and celebration of Robert Eugene McIntosh, Sr., and for spending time to reflect here today.  I think I can speak for the family here that your presence is a blessing and a reminder of who Bob was.

Unless you are one of the youngest folks here gathered today, I’m almost certain that this is not your first time gathered for a memorial service.  As was mentioned in the Masonic service last night, passing from this world to the next is something that at some point affects every single one of us. 

This reality causes people to respond in a variety of ways.  Some shell up within themselves and wait things out in isolation, others focus solely on the pursuit of their own pleasures, and still others mourn things that they have not had or done, regretting their missteps.

But then there’s Bob.  Even within the couple years that I got to know Bob as a member of this family, I have seen the impact of a man who looked at this life as an opportunity, and lived every moment with joy.

The first place where this has been evident is being with the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren around you today.  These men and women demonstrate what love, openness and commitment is to each other, and to those around them.  While some of this could be learned by experience, or known intuitively through their genes, I believe that most of this was taught by a man who deeply loved and cherished his family. 

This was evident most clearly in the weeks leading up to Bob’s passing.  Many children and grandchildren spent countless days by Bob’s side, laughing, crying, singing, telling stories (some not repeatable here), and celebrating a man’s life that they deeply admired.  While it’s certain that Bob had successes throughout his career, to me, they pale in comparison to seeing a half a dozen people with many other responsibilities and concerns surround Bob as he passed away last Thursday morning.  That commitment to family and to each other is a victory not easily topped.

Secondly, I’ve seen evidence of Bob’s well-lived life through his extended family along the banks of the Muskingum.  While there are many who would look at the purchase of a 50’ boat as an end unto itself, I believe that boat was simply a means to share his joy with friends.  One of my fondest memories of my new family was my first ride on the boat, and to meet people relaxing and sharing meals and stories together.  It didn’t matter who had the bigger boat or who had the nicest camper.  What mattered is that folks were together, in community, sharing their lives together.  When you have a boat that fits better than 30 people, you’re not intending it for just yourself.  Bob showed again that this world is best lived with friends and family – blood relatives or not – right beside you.  And to feel the generosity of his river lot family in the last few days is a testament to Bob’s impact on them.  Thank you again, for your willingness to help our family.

Maybe some of you here know Bob from the Mustang, or maybe the Lodge, or maybe from dancing at the Lafayette.  Maybe he’s someone who you got to know in a different way, but all of this points to a man who understood that life is not something to hold ransom but to be open and free with.

The writer of Ecclesiastes reflects on this issue.  The narrator of the book speaks of his experiences of life – he had been someone who had amassed great wealth, and had great wisdom, but was trying to understand how this world was to make sense.  Before the passage I’m going to read today, he notes that wealth only leads to heartache and dissatisfaction, but that he noticed:

“…One thing, at least, that is good. It is good for people to eat, drink, and enjoy their work under the sun during the short life God has given them, and to accept their lot in life.  And it is a good thing to receive wealth from God and the good health to enjoy it. To enjoy your work and accept your lot in life—this is indeed a gift from God.  God keeps such people so busy enjoying life that they take no time to brood over the past.” (5:18-20) 

There are very few events in our lives where we are faced with reflecting on our mortality and the way we are living today.  Sitting in a memorial service and thinking about someone close to us forces us – no matter how hard we may try to the contrary – into that moment.  And I believe that by actively working to avoid that time of introspection, we miss out on one final opportunity to honor the person’s life we hold so dearly… so I want to close my time with one final observation.

My wife and I have been here since Saturday, and have spent most of our time at the river with the rest of the family.  During that time, we went through pictures.  And oh my goodness, talk about pictures.  Box upon box upon box of pictures.  I think we probably went through over a thousand separate different pictures, not to mention the scores of letters and telegrams that were stored away by Bob.  What amazed me is that almost every single picture in those boxes had a sentence or a name inscribed somewhere.  Each picture meant something to Bob.  Each one had a story, an event, or something that was part of his life. Measured just simply by volume of photos, it was clear that Bob lived a full and joyous life.

I wonder if we are taking enough time to do that.  Am we living our lives so that each picture we have could tell a story?  Could we amass boxes upon boxes so that when we finally leave this earth, our children and grandchildren can see that we lived a lives so busy that we couldn’t brood over the past?  Services like this one today, and the people we celebrate, are not measured by quantity of people who sign the book out front, or the amount of dignitaries in attendance. 

No, services and people we celebrate are measured by the light in the eyes of each one of us as we remember the people who loved us so deeply and shared so much.  That light is not meant to be hoarded, nor is it meant to be hidden for fear of its escape as each of us wait for it to be extinguished.  Instead, as Bob did, it’s meant to be shared. Even at this moment, Bob lights up a room.

I hope and pray that my life shines even a fraction as much as the light I see here today, and I can think of no more fitting tribute for any of us, than to spread that light by reflecting the same fullness of life as he demonstrated for over 80 years as we leave here today.