Eulogy

Thank you everyone for coming. My name is Nick Stocking. I’m Myron’s number two son – his middle son.

When I think of my father what I think of first is a phrase that I learned while studying psychology as an undergraduate: “unconditional positive regard.” That means always being supportive, whether the person you are supporting deserves it or not. From the day I was born until two weeks ago today when my dad died, I always knew that my father loved me and supported me completely. Although there are literally hundreds of examples I could come up with, I only have ten minutes to speak. I’ll offer one example that I think is especially illustrative.

In 1983 I was a freshman in college. I was an “A” student during my first semester and during the second semester I felt more and more pressure to succeed at a high level. It got to the point where I had a panic attack during an exam and I walked out. It went from bad to worse after that and I ended up withdrawing from every class with two months left in the semester. I was so ashamed, embarrassed and humiliated that I told no one and continued to masquerade as a student for the rest of the semester. The only people I eventually told were my parents.

They could have asked me a lot of questions, like, “Why did you waste our money?” or “Why are you such a nervous Nelly?” But I heard none of that. Both of my parents were completely supportive. I specifically remember my father telling me, “Don’t worry about it Nick. You are a great student, a great person and things will be all right.”

And things were all right. I went back to school the next year and graduated with good enough grades to get into the U of M law school. I was able to do that largely because of the unwavering support of my parents for which I am grateful. This is just one example of the complete and total support that I have received from my father throughout my life. He was always positive, never judgmental.

When I think of my father I think of one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. We spent so much of our time together laughing, both in good times and bad. We laughed a lot even during the worst times -- even while facing death in the hospital. We would both rather laugh than cry. I would like to share a handful of humorous stories involving my father.

I should preface the following stories with a warning that they involve foul language and I hope that I don’t offend anyone. On the other hand, if you were friends with Myron you cannot be easily offended.

I remember back in 1977 when we moved to Minnesota and I was a little adolescent. I had my last fist fight with my younger brother Tim that first year here. Tim was two years younger and a lot smaller so he fought the only way he could: dirty. I remember running to my father after our last fight to rat Tim out for his dirty tactics.

“Dad! Dad! Tim punched me in the balls!”

I just knew Tim was in for a big punishment. But I remember Myron looking at both of us, pausing and then declaring, “Congratulations Tim! It takes tremendous aim to hit Nick in the balls.”

More recently, I remember various funny encounters with hospital staff after Myron was hospitalized due to his first stroke in April. He had a stroke on April 19 and stayed in the hospital until the end of June so there were many encounters. I remember one time a nurse coming in and asking Myron if there is anything that he needed.

“Well yes there is,” replied Myron.

“What is it?

Myron lifted up his arm and enthusiastically shouted out, “Love!”

And I remember Myron insisting that I take him home just a few weeks after his admission for the stroke.

“Dad, I can’t take you home now. You are paralyzed on your left side. You can’t walk. You can’t use your left arm.”

And as I said that, food started dribbling out of Myron’s mouth. For a few weeks after the stroke he couldn’t hold down his food and no one knew why. Several minutes after he ate, food often came dribbling out of the side of his mouth.

“Look at that Dad! I can’t take you home now! You have apple sauce dripping out of the side of your mouth!”

“That’s because I hate fucking apple sauce!!”

I recall another time when an aristocratic nurse entered the room to attend to dad. Myron was very perceptive and immediately asked, “Hey Becky, what exactly is it that your husband does for a living?”

“Now Myron, that’s none of your business!”

Myron was annoyed.

“Yes it is my business! I’m having physical therapy tomorrow and I want your husband to pay for half of it!”

I’d like to conclude the humor portion of my presentation with the following joke. This is Myron’s favorite joke of all-time. He loved it.

Two psychiatrists were having lunch. One asked the other how his day was going.

“Not good at all. I had breakfast with my mother this morning and I’m afraid I made the worst Freudian slip ever.”

“Well, what exactly did you say?”

“Well… I meant to say, ‘Pass the butter…’

“But, instead I said… YOU RUINED MY LIFE YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

And when I think of my father I think of family. He was the ultimate family man. He loved his family more than anything and would do anything for each of us. From the year I was born we went on the best family vacations, year after year: Martha’s Vineyard, Cape Cod, Nantucket, the Virgin Islands, South Carolina. And we were all so happy and had such a good time. We’d play tennis, ride the waves, lay in the sand, cookout on the beach. When I think of my happiest memories in life, I remember these vacations, some of which you see pictured here. And invariably, it was during these times when we were all together at the perfect spot -- like on the beach with the sun setting at Martha’s Vineyard -- that Dad would say, “It doesn’t get any better than this. It just doesn’t get any better than this.”

And he meant it. Those times were undoubtedly the happiest times of his life. And mine.

And when I think of my father I think of friendship. It sounds like a cliché but it’s true: my father was my best friend. We had a lot in common and spent so much of our lives together doing things that we both loved. He taught me how to play tennis when I was ten years-old and we played each other thousands of times, all the way up until last summer. And even though he could never beat me after I reached high school, he always wanted to play, insisting that this time victory would be his. We loved the same sports and spent countless hours watching sporting events on TV. We shared the same politics and talked about current events all of the time. When I wanted to share something in my life, I called Dad. He died two weeks ago today and I have never gone this long without talking to my father. I miss him terribly.

We all remember where we were on 9/11. I was in New Orleans at the airport when the World Trade Center went down. And the first person I called when the world was crumbling was Dad. And after our most recent national disaster – the Sarah Palin debate – Dad was the first person I called. In fact, that was Thursday, October 2, the last night Dad was alive. He and I and Fartun had dinner together that night. He had chicken and a chocolate-covered Haagen Das ice cream for dessert, his favorite. After dinner I went home and watched the so-called, pathetic excuse for a debate. When it was over I immediately called Dad. We both laughed at what a complete joke Sarah Palin is and how horrific it would be if this woman ever became Commander-in-Chief. That was the last time I ever talked to Dad. He died just a few hours later of a stroke while sleeping comfortably in his bed. He looked at peace. His cell phone remained in his hand and his body was still warm when I hugged him for the last time.

In light of the timing of my father’s death, I would like to dedicate the following irrefutable conclusion to the John McCain campaign: Sarah Palin killed Myron Stocking.

Tragically, there were some vary bad times later in Myron’s life. During the mid 90’s he was diagnosed with manic depression. It was a diagnosis he disputed until the day he died. But the facts cannot be disputed: Dad was hospitalized three times before his stroke – twice for manic behavior and once for a suicide attempt. And each time he was hospitalized, it broke my heart.

And then in 1998 my parents got divorced. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But that broke my heart.

But when I think of the bad times I get comfort from the following thoughts.

First, I remember what Dad told me in the early 90’s, before he got sick. We were playing tennis and he was now in his 60’s. The realization that he was getting older and could conceivably die at any time made me nervous. I remember sharing my anxieties with him.

“Dad, you are in your 60’s now. You could die of a heart attack while we are running around out here playing tennis. I don’t know how I would ever handle it if something like that happened.”

His response gave me comfort. And during the bad times that would eventually follow I would think of what he said and again it gave me comfort.

“Nick, I’ve had a great life; a full life. If I die tomorrow I would die a happy man with no regrets.”

I am also comforted by the way my father left us. He hated the hospital and insisted on dying at home and he was able to do that. He came home little more than a 200-pound sack of potatoes in a wheel chair and by all rights, should not have left the hospital at that time. But after several weeks of intensive therapy and 24-hour home care, he walked to his doctor’s appointment the day before he died. And for two weeks leading up to his death, he had reduced the home care to 12 hours and was going to bed by himself. The physical therapists told me it was no less than a miracle that Myron could walk without a cane. And he always told me that he would like to die in his sleep and he got his wish. He died at home in his own bed in his sleep after suffering another stroke. During his last few weeks he was very happy at home with his newly won independence. He died on his own terms at his own home with his dignity intact and I get comfort from these facts.

I feel like I won the lottery when I was born into this family, with parents and brothers that I love so much. And yes, there were some very tragic times in the end for my father and the family. But for over 30 years I could not have been happier with my family. We were all so happy. And, in keeping with the lottery analogy, we suffered some huge losses in recent years and it was excruciatingly painful. But when Dad died two weeks ago I still felt rich. I am rich.

I would like to thank my mother for remaining a good friend to Myron even after the divorce. I would like to thank my brothers for their unwavering support of Dad, both of whom have flied back repeatedly to Minnesota from Vietnam and Iraq since Dad’s first stroke in April. I would also like to thank Yasmin and Fartun for the love and great care they gave my father during the last several months of his life. I would also like to thank Elizabeth – Dad’s personal helper who he cared about deeply – for the great support she gave my father for the past few years.

And lastly, I would like to say one last thing to my father.

“Dad, for 44 years you were my father. It just doesn’t get any better than that.”