Eulogy by Andrew McKeough for Marylou McKeough
EXECUTIVE OFFICE
Office of the Press Secretary
For Immediate Release | November 18, 2023
Eulogy by Andrew McKeough for Marylou McKeough
Saint Isaac Jogues Roman Catholic Church
Wayne, Pennsylvania
11:28 A.M. EST
MR. McKEOUGH: Good morning family, friends, clergy, neighbors, relatives and parishioners. Thank you. Just thank you for being here today. Having you all here means the world to Dad and me. Former President George W. Bush eulogized his father by saying that, “the idea is to die young as late as possible.” My mother truly defined that sentence. For an eighty year old, she looked no older than sixty-four. Okay. Maybe sixty-five. Sorry Mom, but it WAS a very good sixty-five.
It also just so happens that November 18th is an incredibly important date to our family. On this day, twenty-six years ago, Marylou and Charlie McKeough entered an orphanage in Irkutsk, Russia to pick up their adoptive baby. A little baby boy named Kirill, you may know him as Andrew.
Writing this eulogy, I was immediately reminded of a poem that Fr. Moerman introduced me to back in my alter server days and which may sound familiar if you were at my Uncle Jimmy’s funeral. I just think it is so relevant in moments like these. That being said, here is The Dash by Linda Ellis:
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end
He noted that first came her date of her birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not how much we own;
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
My mother’s dash is a legacy of humbleness and wonderment at the same time. Many of you don’t know this, but my mother is the only person who could be connected to John F. Kennedy, Queen Elizabeth, Frank Sinatra and the spy who handed the atomic bomb secrets over to the Russians from the Rosenberg’s in a single sentence. That’s definitely some party to keep and I kid you not about it. If you have any questions about that sentence, talk to me after Mass today and we can have story time.
I was hesitant to mention that my mother lived a sometimes tragic life. Losing her father to lung cancer when she was only eighteen and then her brother, Steven, to leukemia at the age of nineteen, only to learn that - in 2016 - the love of her life was going to start battling multiple myeloma. The strength of this woman was truly inspirational.
At Villanova - and those Wildcats in the congregation today will know this well - we are assigned an essay in our freshman year with the sole question of “what is a life well lived?” My response to this prompt was The Dash poem. My mother - through her dash - lived a life that truly defined that question. She was an accomplished tennis player, skier and fashionista, but more importantly, my mom was a wife to her loving husband, with whom she shared thirty-two years of her life. She truly proved the fact that there is a soulmate waiting out there for you (and thank you Aunt Joan for introducing them). Then, if that somehow wasn’t enough, she spent twenty-six years raising a son who could only hope to be half the person she was (and not ever hope to be half the tennis player, skier or fashionista).
Mommy, I’ve loved you since you first held me. You taught me what it means to be a loving son who cares about his family and friends more than anything in the world. You taught me how to love. No words will ever be able to fully encapsulate you in this final goodbye; but I’ll leave you with a few final words at least: thank you mama, for everything. I promise to keep the vows you made to daddy thirty-two years ago and I will always, always smile knowing that you are watching over daddy and me.
So to everyone who has their mother still. Who hasn’t faced this moment yet. Next time you see her, hug her. Tell her you love her. Do it for me because I can’t anymore and because they deserve it.
END
11:34 A.M. EST