Mark Dwight Garlow

I thought I'd share the Eulogy I wrote and read at my dad's funeral - for anyone who missed the service and wants to hear it. Thank you all so much for your support. Eulogy for My Dad - October 16, 2020 Today, I want to tell you about the kind of man my father was.  There's that moment when you realize that your parents are people. That moment happened for me sometime in my mid-late twenties when I stepped back and realized... that at 22, freshly out of college and headed into the AF, my dad opened his arms to my mother and her young son.. less than a year old. A child himself, my dad took on fatherhood and marriage without hesitation. My daddy.. was the kind of man that implicitly taught his kids about integrity, work ethic and responsibility. He did so by modeling it, not demanding it. He was the kind of man that explicitly taught his kids that they could accomplish anything and that they were worthy of love. He's the kind of man that still, up until he passed, told me that the CEO of the company I work for better watch her back. He's the kind of man that made humble children from his constant example of humility. The kind of man that always put others before himself.  He was the kind of man that despite being an introvert like myself, always welcomed others into his home. Since I was a kid, he always welcomed Ryan's friends and my friends into our home with genuine kindness and acceptance. Since living in Florida again, he's opened his home to family and friends across the country to vacation in his waterfront home. He didn't hold it so tightly and scarcely, he shared it - just like he did his love and compassion. He's the kind of man that knew how to have a good time. I've heard stories of moonwalking in cowboy boots. Texas beers in Texas dance halls. Mad Dog margaritas in the Texas Chili Parlor. Countless football tailgates. Roof stomping.  He's the kind of fun-loving, yet cute and impossibly precious man that built a bar in his home garnished with a menu for his guests to order from. He loved to cook so much and loved feeding others. He loved mixing drinks for them or stocking the boat with drinks for them. He's the kind of man that spent his life caring for others and making others feel loved by showing them a good time.  He's also the kind of man that made me fall in love with bookstores. One of my favorite things to do as a kid, and still is as an adult, is to go to the bookstore with my dad. The way we would aimlessly wander separately for hours and then reconvene to share what we found. It is equally my safe place as it was his. Through shared loves like this one, he taught me to be alone with myself.  He's the kind of man that took his middle school daughter to Atlanta to see the Phantom of the Opera, the kind of man that drove his daughter to and from dance practice in blizzards, and the kind of man that I loved going to home depot with - because he was the kind of man that loved fixing my wobbly chairs when he came to visit or my squeaky faucet (both things he did when he came to Austin in June). He's the kind of man I loved geeking out with. We geeked out about classic country music, about tv to binge, about Austin history, and more recently about food since I started cooking more in quarantine. I sent him text photos of all the silly things I would make - and he's the kind of man that cheered me on as if I was making Beef Wellington or chocolate soufflé. He's the kind of man that patiently taught his young daughter about football. To this day, I watch football religiously. Literally - every Sunday. And I do it to feel closer to my father. He's the kind of man that I moved to Austin for. It's only since his passing that I've come to fully realize how much of that decision was based in a desire to feel closer to my dad. He's the kind of man that I wanted to give something to - the opportunity to relive his Texas nostalgia through me --- while I was just living it,  at an attempt to always feel closer and more connected to him.   He's the kind of man that lit up like a Christmas tree in the presence of his grandchildren. He's also the kind of man that lit up when he ate Franklin's brisket. He's the kind of man that my nephews will hear about in stories and that hopefully my kids will hear about in stories. He's the kind of man that I'll measure all my suitors against and the kind of man that I'll weep for on my wedding day. And he's the kind of man that made my brother a great father. He's the kind of man that showed up. The kind of man that didn't dare let me suffer alone through the pain and the struggles I've endured the last few years since our diagnosis. He offered himself without hesitation or condition. He is the kind of man that would have taken all of my pain for me if he could have, I know it. He's the kind of man that raised kids who never had to doubt that they were loved. He's the kind of man that in his final days, unable to communicate, communicated his unending, unconditional love for his children.. simply through his eyes and the squeeze of hand. He's the kind of man that I know would have traded anything in that moment just to be able to tell us how much he loved us. I told him we heard him. But he's the kind of man that deserved so much more.