Eulogy for Father from Son (Emotional)

We're gathered here today to say goodbye to my father, Robert James Mitchell. Dad. A title that feels both inadequate and perfect. Because he was so much more than just my father—he was my teacher, my hero, my friend. And yet, "Dad" captures everything that mattered most.

I've been trying to find the words to describe what it means to lose him. But the truth is, there are no words big enough. No words that can hold the weight of this loss. My father was the foundation of my life, and now that foundation feels shaken in ways I didn't know were possible.

Dad was born in 1955 in a small town in Ohio. He grew up without much money but with more love than any kid could ask for. He told me once that his own father taught him that wealth isn't measured in dollars—it's measured in the strength of your character and the depth of your relationships. Dad lived that truth every single day.

He met my mom in 1978. He always said it was love at first sight. She says he was persistent. I think they're both right. They built a life together—not a perfect life, but a real one. A life filled with laughter, challenges, compromise, and unwavering partnership. Watching them love each other taught me what commitment really means.

When I was born, Dad became the kind of father every kid deserves but not every kid gets. He showed up. Always. Little League games, school plays, science fairs, college move-in day, my wedding—he was there. Not just physically present, but truly there. Engaged. Interested. Proud.

He taught me how to ride a bike, how to throw a baseball, how to change a tire. But more importantly, he taught me how to be a good man. He taught me to tell the truth even when it's hard. To stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves. To work hard, but never at the expense of the people you love. To say "I'm sorry" when you're wrong and "I love you" before it's too late.

The last few months have been the hardest of my life. Watching him fight this disease with courage and grace—watching him lose strength but never lose his spirit—it broke my heart a thousand times. But even in his final weeks, he was teaching me. Teaching me about dignity. About acceptance. About facing the end with peace rather than fear.

Three days before he passed, I sat beside his bed. He was weak, but he took my hand and he said, "I'm so proud of you. You turned out better than I ever hoped." I told him that was because of him. That everything good in me came from him. He smiled and said, "Then my work here is done."

Dad, your work is done. You built a life of meaning. You loved deeply. You showed up every single day. You made everyone around you better. You were the best father a son could ask for, and I will carry you with me every day for the rest of my life.

To everyone here: thank you for loving my dad. Thank you for the stories, the laughter, the years of friendship. He valued each of you deeply. In his memory, love hard. Show up for people. Be kind. Be present. That's what he would want.

Dad, I love you. I'll miss you every single day. Until we meet again.