In Memoriam

With my mother’s passing at the end of December, both of my parents are now deceased. Her death was expected, as her health had been deteriorating for years due to congestive heart failure. She was 83. Similarly, my father’s death twelve years prior was anticipated due to the progressive nature of COPD. He was 73. 

My brothers granted me the honor to eulogize each as part of their respective memorial services. It’s an endeavor that involves writing and public speaking—two creative tasks in which I have decades of experience. Although the output was the same for each—an 8-minute speech—the processes were very different.

My dad died shortly after Thanksgiving and his funeral was held five days later. I wrote my full first draft in one sitting with minimal subsequent editing, which proved convenient given the myriad of other tasks and preparation needed that week. My mom’s death occurred just before Christmas and my brothers and I decided to delay her funeral until the following Spring due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Thus I had months to plan, prepare and coordinate arrangements, which also proved convenient as I struggled with the content and narrative structure of my mom’s story for nearly two weeks before writing the first draft and then spent another week rewriting until I simply ran out of time—literally, as I made one final major edit and deleted a whole paragraph while seated with my family at the start of the service.

In retrospect, the contrast in writing experiences was emblematic of my parents’ relationship. They were very different in personality, and their marriage was largely an “opposites attract” dynamic full of trials and tribulations. While their marital effectiveness may have wavered, their commitment never did. It was a privilege to write their epilogues and present them to family and friends. And I’m posting them here because it is some of my best writing—or at minimum, writing I am most proud of.

Eulogy for Anthony Joseph Busch presented December 6th, 2010

[ Obituary viewable here ]

There comes a point in life when you begin to see your father as somebody other than your father. I was seven years old when Dad challenged me to a footrace from the mailbox back to the house. I excitedly agreed and took off running. A few steps into my sprint, Dad flew by me. Upon reaching the front door, I continued past Dad, ran up the stairs into the kitchen, and exclaimed to Mom in total amazement, “MOM, MOM…Do you know Dad can RUN! He CAN RUN!”

Today I am privileged and honored to represent my family and share with you a few other amazing things about my Dad.

We’ll start with his wide-ranging and eclectic mix of interests and hobbies, which included woodworking, tall ships, golf and music. Admittedly Dad couldn’t read music, play an instrument, or even carry a tune. But he loved music. His little silver iPod was a constant companion to him over the last few years. And he enjoyed all genres—even Zydeco.

Never heard of Zydeco music? Neither had I. I mentioned this to Dad once and he immediately provided me with a lengthy and detailed account of Zydeco’s evolution and history. And that was a typical exchange with Tony; he enjoyed learning and he liked sharing what he had learned even more. If you were playing Trivial Pursuit, you wanted Tony on your team.

Whatever the endeavor, Dad was very detailed and methodical. Case in point: each year Dad took great pleasure in decorating the Christmas tree, but there was a very defined process to follow: lights first, colored tree balls second, decorative ornaments third, silver garland last and finally, if necessary, fill any gaps with strategically placed candy canes. I’m sure he documented the procedure somewhere; we just haven’t found it yet.

But we will because my Dad was very thorough. Mom and Dad’s tax accountant once told Tony his financial record keeping was “exhaustive.” At times, I think Mom simply found it exhausting.

See, if you asked my Dad what time it was, he might take the opportunity to tell you how to build a watch. A few years ago I asked Dad to document his medical history. A couple of months later an envelope arrived in the mail that contained six pages of family health history, two pages chronicling his work experience and finally a twenty-page first draft of his “life story”.

I asked Dad for the time and he mailed me his watch.

Dad began his career at age 11, working as a golf caddy. Over the next three decades, he would occupy twenty-eight different roles with various businesses and organizations. Among them: bowling pin setter, fry cook, orderly, seed rack salesman, Teletype operator, securities trader, research statistician and construction equipment sales. While I doubt it was a career path he anticipated, it equipped him with a diverse set of skills and talents perfectly suited for his final occupation of resort owner.

In 1983, Mom and Dad purchased Brindley’s Harbor Resort on beautiful Leech Lake in Walker, MN. It proved an ideal setting for my father’s abilities where at any time he would assume the role of Accountant, Salesman, Plumbing and Heating Technician, Fishing Guide and/or Ground Maintenance Supervisor.

Most of all, he was a fantastic Master of Ceremonies. Ice cream social on Sunday. Buffet dinner on Monday. Turtle races on Tuesday. Bingo on Wednesday. Fishing contest on Thursday. Say goodbye to the guests Friday night, and then on Saturday get ready to do it all over again. For fifteen years, Mom and Dad provided hospitality to people from all across the country and I was fortunate to be in the middle of it all.

There are hundreds of stories I could relate, but rather than continuing to tell you about who Dad was, I want to tell you about who he became.

My father struggled with alcoholism for nearly twenty years before arriving to a point where he would accept help. At 32 years old, Dad stood hopelessly in the median of 35W during a February snowstorm. He cried out to God. Minutes later a police car arrived and took him home. The next morning he called a phone number provided to him by my mother and connected with the person would eventually become his AA sponsor.

Dad celebrated 40 years of sobriety last April, a remarkable achievement. But he would be quick to remind us that it was not accomplished on his own, but rather through the grace of God. A cornerstone of the AA program is the Serenity Prayer, which reads:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; And wisdom to know the difference.

These words encapsulate my father’s approach to life. It wasn’t easy. There were numerous tough times, but through the grace of God he endured.

My father had tremendous compassion for individuals who didn’t believe in themselves. On many occasions, my father offered others comfort and hope in the darkest situations. I have come to learn of many, but one individual I knew personally was Bobby McKee. For years while living at the resort, Dad offered Bobby counsel, support and occasional employment. In my father’s words, Bobby was kind, loyal, hard-working and an alcoholic. Bobby struggled to maintain his sobriety and whenever he found himself in a jam, he would call my father. Each time, Dad would answer the call and go to help Bobby.

On one such occasion, I asked Dad why he was going, why did he think this time the result would be any different. Dad told me if he didn’t respond to Bobby’s call, it might be the last time Bobby calls anyone. “Hope and compassion,” Dad said, “that’s what he needs and that’s what I can provide.”

And he did just that. Dad provided hope and compassion to more people than we will ever know, because above all else, Dad became incredibly humble. This last summer, Dad called to inform me he had updated his life story with more recent events and that he was dropping a fresh copy in the mail. In a moment of reflection, Dad commented “Eric, I don’t know how God has done what he has done in my life; I just know he has done it in spite of me.”

Ten years ago, Dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Given six months to live, Dad began making preparations with family, friends and God. But I think God knew he wasn’t ready. There was still room for more personal growth. And so, through a miraculous series of events, Dad found himself at the National Institute of Health in Washington, DC undergoing an experimental procedure. A year later, his cancer was gone.

Since that time, Dad concentrated his efforts on the three roles most important to him: being a child of God; a father to Tim, Paul, Dave and myself; and a husband and best friend to Deanna.

Let me just say, Tony saved his best for last. Which is what made it so hard for us to say goodbye. But my Dad was ready. He died well. He was ready.

In what would be the final version of my father’s memoir, he wrote the following:

I want to make known God’s limitless care, forgiveness, concern, love, gentleness, power, and personal involvement I have experienced in my life. I know those attributes and a host of others exist, are demonstrated, and confirmed, in the infinite number of lives God seeks to be in unity with. As may be noted, the phrase ‘Let Go and Let God’ appears many times herein. I believe it may be that my greatest hurdles and most painful episodes were spawned in my failure to do just that. Let go, and let God. Scratching around trying to control the uncontrollable, developing a malaise of insanity that caused me to think I could and would have to do it all. Let go, and let God. I pray that I may grow, live expectantly with an attitude of gratitude, give openly expressing the joy of His love, and have the privilege of being ‘an instrument of His Peace.

And so today, let us not only remember who Tony was, but let us celebrate who he became: Compassionate. Humble. Loving. And most importantly, one with Christ.