Thank you for being here today to honor and celebrate the life of our dad. [pause] Julie, Nikki, Paul, and I are grateful that we could spend the last few days of Dad’s life with him. His mind was failing, but his body was still in typical fighting form. It was a testament to a lifetime of drive and boundless energy—carrying him right up until the very end.

He had every reason to want to stay here with us. At almost 89, the years Dad spent living with Nikki and Paul’s family were among the most meaningful of his later life. He filled his days reading and cooking. He listened closely to every conversation in the house—even the whispered ones. And he loved sitting on the porch, taking in the lake and all its glory. He was surrounded by beautiful creatures outside, and inside, too.

His devoted furry friends were constant companions. They followed him everywhere—even to the bathroom—just to be sure their friend was okay. [beat] Dad didn’t mind. The busyness of home matched what had always been his lifelong focus: purpose and motion.

That purpose—so much a part of who he was—shaped the way he moved through life long before retirement.

It was ingrained early on: as a boy, he spent countless hours alongside his father. As a 6-year-old, he could often be seen atop a large tractor barely able to see over the wheel but playing his part in helping to run their potato farm in Caribou, Maine.

As kids, his endless energy amazed us. It was hard to keep up with it. He was out the door before we were even awake. He performed complicated surgeries at three different hospitals, checked on patients after operations, and built his private practice in Providence. His sense of responsibility—and his accessibility to patients—was a true 24/7 commitment. He never seemed to tire of it. He chose the exact profession that suited him: a job that was never quite done. And that’s how he wanted it.

What stands out to us now is not only how hard he worked, but how personal his work was to him. His patients were never just names on a chart. He showed up—again and again—because he believed people deserved that level of care.

With that intensity came an incredible focus. Multitasking wasn’t one of Dad’s strong suits, and that focus sometimes infuriated our Mom—especially when everyone needed his attention at once. Interrupting Dad at work, particularly during surgery, was not encouraged. But once in a while, there were emergencies at home too. [pause] One afternoon, our small pony followed Nikki right into our family room, to our mother’s shock. Mom did what she always did in a crisis—she called Dad. The hospital transferred her call—on the overhead speaker—into the operating room. Mom anxiously explained the situation, awaiting instructions. [beat] Dad’s immediate response was, “Give the pony a beer and turn on the TV.” [beat] Mom’s reply—mostly expletives—became legendary in the surgical suite for years to come.

Once his workday ended, Dad launched straight into projects, always with a running list of “just one more thing” to tackle. Why pay someone to come in and help when he had a built-in team at his disposal? That’s where we came in—his right-hand crew.

One of our springtime jobs was clearing the gutters along the roofline of our tall, two-story home. There we were, teetering at the edge of the roof, digging out winter’s leaves and mud. As we climbed the ladder, Dad would reassure us, “I’ve got the ladder—don’t worry.” [beat] And sure enough, it was normal to glance down and realize no one was holding it—Dad had wandered off into the garage, already on to the next thing.

Because Dad was so devoted to his practice, the time he carved out away from work—ski trips and long road trips down to Florida—felt especially meaningful. He and Mom shared a close friendship with Lee and Paul Listro, who became our second family from the beginning. Auntie Lee—our family historian, who passed away last year—shared with us another side of him through her eyes: his humor, his love of a good story, and his instinct to step in whenever someone had a health concern. Even off the clock, he never really stopped being a doctor.

In retirement, Dad stayed active. He was boating and fishing often, captain’s license in hand. In the mornings and evenings, he tinkered with the engine, determined to fix it himself rather than call in a professional. He also kept a foot in the medical world, joining weekly conversations about new surgical advancements because medicine still mattered to him. And he continued his love of cooking collecting the latest tools, never repeating a recipe twice, and keeping up with the latest trends in his favorite gourmet magazines.

In his own way, Dad taught us a lot: nothing in life is free, hard work is a path to achievement, and there’s real satisfaction at the end of a day well spent. And if you were part of his world—you always felt that he expected your best, because he was always going to give his. Those are the lessons we’ll carry forward.

A few days before he passed, our dad shared some of his own regrets—an honest self-reflection. [slowly] His final lesson was to let go of the things that keep us from meaningful relationships with the people we love. [pause] Time is precious. Don’t spend it holding onto old grievances. [pause] Time was always something our dad made the most of—and wanted more of.

May we hold these lessons and his memory in our hearts always. [pause] May God be with him and care for our Mom and all of our loved ones. [pause] And for as long as time allows us, may we always hold peace, love, and forgiveness in our hearts.