This is the eulogy I wrote for my former father-in-law, who died in November 2010 in Dundas, Ontario:
My thanks to the family for giving me this opportunity to speak.
My name is Terry McConnell, I live in Edmonton, Alberta, and I have known Sumio Motomura for 37 years. For 15 of those years, he was my father-in-law -- but through them all, in my heart, he has always been "Dad."
He had barely turned 40 when we first met. I was the fresh-faced kid who was dating his teenage daughter, and I don't think Dad was too impressed with me at first. I do remember what broke the ice, though. One night I was feeling the rather painful effects of a nasty infection and Kim asked Dad if he would take me to the hospital. He paused, thought about it for a few seconds, finally said, "All right," and off we went. I don't remember if we talked much on the drive, but when we arrived at the emergency ward, I discovered I was out of cigarettes -- we were both smokers in those days, much to Mother Edith's continuing dismay -- and I asked him if I could have one. He gave me his pack. A few days later, after I was feeling better, he asked me to meet him in a local pub for a few beers. I think his motivation was to determine my intentions toward his daughter, but he and I had such a good time, I don't even remember if we got around to talking about it.
What I do remember, though, is the gratitude I felt as Dad, Mother, Linda and the boys came to embrace me as as a member of their family. I also remember the sacrifices they made so Kim and I could marry. Dad had been going to school every summer to upgrade his teaching credentials but the summer we tied the knot, he took a job instead to help pay for the wedding. I don't know if I ever did thank him for that.
Dad and I spent a lot of time together in the years that followed and he was an enormously positive influence on me. He made me a better man. He also tried to make me a better golfer -- though sadly, none of his talent for the sport rubbed off on me. He got me interested in curling, too; it's a passion I continue to indulge to this day. we did a gazillion other things together, too: from football games in Detroit to family vacations to embarking on home improvement projects where he was a much better manager than I was a flunkey.
Those projects were but an example of all the things he and Mother did for Kim and I -- far too many things for me to enumerate here. So I was pretty happy about what we could help give them in return -- grandchildren.
I can still hear the delight in Dad's voice the night I called to tell him he was about to become a grandfather for the first time. That fall, on the morning after Shannon was born, he and Mother drove down to the hospital in Chatham so they could make their introductions. Kim had a caesarian -- pretty major surgery -- and she wasn't moving much. So I took Dad down to the maternity ward to show him his new granddaughter. I'll never forget this. He smiled, shook his head, and said only one word: "Fantastic!"
I discovered when Shannon was born that there is such a thing as love at first sight. You could tell Dad felt the same way.
Rare is the circumstance when you can honestly say your father-in-law is also one of your best friends, yet I could say that about Dad in the years we spent together. Everyone in the family will tell you the same thing I'm about to share now. He had this way about him -- a certain generosity of spirit we all admired and wished we could find within ourselves. You knew he was proud of you even though he might never say the words. There was this twinkle in his eye and a certain way of showing confidence in you that helped you find confidence in yourself. It was the way he introduced you to his friends and the way he would always, always make that little extra effort to let you know you were important to him.
Dad was the type of person I have always aspired to be. He was kind and compassionate, considerate and thoughtful, empathetic and slow to anger -- though he certainly faced enough provocation in his life. He certainly loved to Laugh. Most of all, though, I think Dad had a grace about him that we would all do well to emulate.
Few are the men I have loved deeply in this life. My own father comes to mind, my grandfathers, certainly the men my own two sons, Mac and Jamie, have grown to become. But my heart will always hold a special place for Sumio (Monty) Motomura. His was a tender, loving heart. There is a tombstone in Ireland that bears this inscription: "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; Love leaves a memory no one can steal." I find comfort in that. May the dearest man I have ever known be at peace; and for the rest of our days, may we all show the love he so generously shared with us.
