To give a little background prior to reading: The Fleming Family was comprised of Tooke and Kathleen and their three children, Tim (my dad), Todd, and Tammi. Dad’s mom, Kathleen, passed away suddenly in 1980 from a brain aneurysm. Eight years later, his father experienced a stroke that resulted in a serious fall and a broken neck. Due to paralysis he spent the next few years between the VA hospital and then a nursing home. During this time, my dad made the difficult decision to move his own family (my mom, Mallory, and I) from Texas to Virginia for a job opportunity. In 1993, his dad passed away unexpectedly while being transferred to the VA hospital for a check up when the ambulance driver fell asleep at the wheel.
All this to say, my dad and his siblings experienced major losses and tragedies early in their lives. But how they’ve handled these tragedies has been the greatest example. I’ll let my dad’s words take over for now. What amazes me is how much his wisdom and strength live on. I would urge you to read until the end; it is a pretty powerful testimony.
My Eulogy to Archie C. “Tooke” Fleming, Jr.
Children are one of life’s most precious gifts. While I know that Dad loved Tammi, Todd, and me with all his heart, there was something special about his granddaughters. The pure joy it brought to me to be able to witness, and the obvious joy that it brought to Dad as well as the girls were at times, simply overwhelming. Over the past four years, wen we couldn’t be with him in person, he would love for us to call, just to tell him the latest thing the girls had done or what they had said. It always gave him the biggest smile! It meant so much, to each of us, that we could share the experience with each other, big or small.
I always enjoyed asking Dad for advice. It didn’t matter whether it was about cooking, “the Medic’s” remedies, politics, work, or the girls, I just enjoyed asking him. The answers at times were irrelevant, because we would be looking for the chance to get in the latest quip or joke about the subject, but Dad always had an answer for me. I can truly say today that my confidence and my strength are a mere reflection of what I saw in my Dad. Somehow, over the last couple of days, I can just see him looking down smiling at me, as I try to begin to answer the myriad of questions from Mallory and Megan, just as he was there for me.
For Megan, it began with “Daddy, why did your Mommy and Daddy both have to die?” to be followed later with “Daddy, was PaPa just old and it was just time for him to die?” For Mallory it was “Daddy, will PaPa’s neck be all better in heaven?” With me, among man others, it was “Who’s going to help me with the fatherly advice for these girls?” Well Dad, just for the record, I am still going to be looking to you for advice... just keep your good ear turned my way.
As I reflect back, and attempt to put things into perspective, it occurs to me that Tammi, Todd, and I have been exposed to some incredible experiences. While I am not a philosopher, it is becoming more and more clear that these experiences have brought with them, very difficult yet powerful lessons.
In 1980, when Mom died, I think we began to learn something of the meaning of death. The flood of emotions associated with the shock, the pain, the grief, the emptiness and the seemingly insensitive reality that the rest of life goes on. It was all so vivid, so draining. We did not know, nor could we know then, but I think each of us has come to realize that this was only a prepatory event. We would come to experience death, and attempt to deal with the loss, several more times with both family and friends over the next thirteen years.
But there is a contrasting side to death and in 1989, when Dad suffered his accident, I think we really began to learn more of the meaning of life. Witnessing Dad’s courage and will to fight gave us a new strength. Seeing his pain and suffering gave us a deeper compassion. It was then that we began to come to know Dad as an adult, rather than a father. I also think it was then that we came to know and love each other more completely. We not only could but would tell each other that we loved each other. We would not take for granted nor would we miss an opportunity to tell Dad as well as each other how we felt. It is hard to explain, much less understand, that in some ways we had lost so much; yet how much more we had gained.
Dad was a man of very few words, but full of action. At Christmas, Dad would spend hours upon hours shelling pecans to give away in his Christmas coffee cans. I can remember how he would go before and after work if someone needed a haircut at the hospital or even at the funeral home. Many of you know what a good cook Dad was. But it wasn’t enough for him to cook a great meal for us. I remember how he would always cook extra, just so he could send food back with each of us. Yet one of the most impressive actions that I will remember is how diligently he visited the sick. I will remember my Dad as a man of commitment and a man of action. A friend recently reminded me that fruit never falls far from the tree. I certainly hope that the seeds of his fruit will not only be evident but will flourish abundantly in each of us, his children.
I’m not sure that I can answer Megan’s question today, but I am so glad that she asked. Candidly, it is so hard for me not to be selfish and not to ask why did I have to lose my Dad...my friend... like this. But I do know that I must rely on faith and prayer, and I must also teach my children to do the same. Dad, my friend, we will miss you terribly! As I always have, I will summon my strength from the lessons that you have taught me. Thank you for those lessons!
In closing, I have to thank Mallory for her question about PaPa’s neck. It let me to Luke 5:23-24 “Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins... He said to the paralyzed man, ‘I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home.” Dad, I’ll see you and mom there someday. I love you!
Timothy Tooke Fleming
September 1, 1993