The eulogies

For those of you who were not able to attend the funeral I wanted to post the eulogies that Mike, Marty, and Annal gave. Such tributes and so well delivered under the circumstances. I have not been able to read through them yet (thank goodness for "cut and paste"), but know they will be here to read later, probably over and over again. We had everyone...Jesi, AJ, Annal, and Marty, along with Beth, Jesi's sister, and Amanda (our Jessica's friend), over for dinner last night before our Jessica leaves to return to LA and we all enjoyed ourselves. We will continue to remember John and get support from each other. Yesterday was a good day.

At the funeral Steve got up with Mike and told a few family stories about John. Steve introduced Mike, Marty, and Annal and their words follow:

Mike's words:
I know my brother left lots of things undone that he never got a chance to start. I promise I will continue to fulfill his dreams. This is a small way to say thank you for everything he did for me.

Marty's words:
For those of you who do not know me, my name is Marty Stough and I am proud to say that John Stanford was my best friend. John and I attended St. Francis de Sales high school together and throughout high school and for the rest of his life, John and I shared so many wonderful times together. We also went through our share of tough times, but we were always there for each other. He was the best friend a person could have, and I would like to share some of the things I will miss about my friend John. I have chosen these memories from a list that is far too long to read here today.

Knowing John was not the most sentimental of people, even though he did have his moments. I tried to think of the lighter side of his life and events we shared as friends. And John I apologize if some are to sappy for you.

I will miss how smart you were, and how when we were lab partners you would do all the work and I would get all the credit.

I will miss you and me always wanting to be partners in euchre even though we would not really win all that much. Thanks for all the times you called it up on Queen nine four suited.

I will miss watching college football and making fun of the announcers if they said something stupid. Like clockwork every week John would utter "I hate that Bob Davies" I will miss the breakfast of champions we had every Saturday which consisted of doughnuts, chicken wings and beer. And the way you ran to the college football encyclopedia to find the answer to the aflac trivia question of the week.

I will miss the way John would be so brutally honest no matter how much it would hurt. His mom always said he was little arrogant. I always told him he was a word that started with an A but it wasn’t arrogant. I will miss the gigantic smile that you had on your face every time I called you that A- word.

I will miss performing a duet to the song "These Eyes" by the guess who, every time we listened to it. You never lost your cool when I would get pump faked and start the chorus two measures to early.

I will miss the heated arguments about very important issues like whether it was possible that in order to save the future the main character in the movie THE TERMINATOR could send his dad back in time to meet his mom so he could be born in order to save the future, so he could send his dad back to meet his mom so he could be born to save the future. And on and on we went.

I will miss the deep philosophical discussions and trying to solve mankind’s greatest mysteries like bud or bud light? Or ranch vs. bleu cheese?

I will miss playing football on playstation all summer long and you getting stuck with Illinois, if only Illinois had you as a coach, the buckeyes probably wouldn’t have lost to them this year.

I will miss the way you loved to look up a the stars at night and talk about the universe, and how you would try to explain astrological events to me such as eclipses and black holes, even though I would never grasp these concepts you were such a great friend you did not mind answering the same questions over and over again every time we looked up into the night sky.

I don’t miss you beating me in gin all the time, when I finally beat you after what seemed like a thousand tries, you did not care when I rubbed it in, and you weren’t disappointed when I told you I wasn’t going to play gin against you ever again. Probably because you knew that you could take me down in cribbage any day as well.

I will miss being in awe of your ability to eat. 147 chili dogs in 85 days will be a record that you said will stand forever. But from the looks of it you may have competition when A.J. gets older.

I will miss the free t-shirts that you always wore, from battle for blood to St. Francis basketball camp circa 1995 that you wore up to 2005. Although many of them were 2 sizes to small, I must say the really did highlight your 6 pack abs.

I will miss the love you shared for your family, and I will never forget when you told me that you loved Jessica and you wanted to be with her for the rest of your life, because she was always there for you no matter how sick you were.

I will miss the smile you had on your face every time you talked about A.J. And when times get tough and we are missing you more than ever. We will not lose hope because we know that there is that young boy named Aaron James that will carry on your memory. Every time we look into those beautiful eyes we will see you staring back at us. Every time he smiles you will be smiling back at us. And every time he laughs, you will be laughing with us. And eventually, when he is old enough, and with his mother’s permission, A.J. will be able to come over and share a coors’ pop with his uncle Mar-Mar, and he will get to hear all the great stories of his father and it will be as if you had never left.

John I would like to say thank you for being my friend. Thank you for putting up with me and being there when I needed you most. In a world of conformity, you were truly one of a kind. I will never forget you john. And even though you knew I was never comfortable sharing my emotions and my feelings with you or with anyone for that matter. I have no problem saying these three little words in front of everyone. – I Love you.

In closing, if I was to write a book about John Stanford’s life, I would envision that last line of the book would probably read something like this "before ending his journey on earth, John stood in front of his family and friends and proclaimed loudly from the top of the horseshoe, "Do not worry I will be with you always and I will love you forever. Good Luck and Go Bucks."

Annal's words.
Before I begin, I just want to say something regarding Mr. Stanford’s comment, about how John used to root for Michigan before he became an Ohio State fan. To me, his conversion was a lot like Amazing Grace: "I once was blind, but now I see."

John and I met as freshmen roommates at Ohio State and I’ve been fortunate to have him as a brother ever since. To give you a better picture of the man I knew John to be, I just have a few stories I want to share.
Before we met as college roommates, John told me during a couple phone and instant messenger conversations that he was 6’4, played football and tennis in high school, and that he worked as a lifeguard at the pool. So before I met John, I had this mental image . . . that he was David Hasselhoff from Baywatch. When I walked into my dorm room for the first time, I saw this balding figure who looked more like David Hasselhoff’s dad. When I first met John, I actually thought he was John’s father.

The thing about John is he might have looked older, but he was a kid at heart. My favorite memories of him are when the two of us would play a hockey video game on his PlayStation 2 for hours on end. We’d have music blaring in the background like Aerosmith, Metallica, Stone Temple Pilots, and (looking up) -- sorry I’m about to reveal to everyone this big guy – Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys.

Despite his occasional lapse in musical taste, he had so many good qualities.
John was the smartest man I’ve ever met in my entire life. He got a perfect score on the SAT math – twice. Of course, John was also the laziest man I’ve ever met in my entire life. I was trying to think of ways to describe his intellect, and this is what I came up with. Imagine a guy whose brain is like a super-powered super-computer with a nine-trillion gigahertz Pentium processor. Now imagine that powerful computer . . . constantly on screensaver.

I have so many other wonderful memories of him.

I remember how he would take great pains to schedule his classes close to our apartment so he wouldn’t have to walk far, and then how he’d always end up skipping class anyway. I remember how he used to skip these classes to watch awful reality TV dating shows like Elimidate and the Fifth Wheel.

I remember how for Valentine’s Day he used to get Jess a rose in a Heineken bottle, and how he sincerely thought he was being classy. I remember for Christmas he’d write her funny poems and spend hours getting the verses and rhyming just right.

I remember how we used to talk late into the night, and joke that for us college was like one big slumber party. I remember how we’d shut up in silence after describing our marathon chat sessions as slumber parties, because that was un-manly.

I remember how we went to Taco Bell and proceeded to eat twenty-five dollars worth of food. I remember the disgusted faces of all the people I’ve ever told that story to.

I remember him telling me to clean more, and me telling him to shower more.

And most of all, I remember John’s unique outlook on life, which I think is demonstrated by the following little story.
During a summer break from college one year, John went to Cedar Point with a group of friends. The place was jam-packed with people, the lines were long, and the heat was unbearable. To make matters worse, halfway through the day it started to rain. Everyone in the group got upset, except John, who got a huge smile on his face. Everyone asked him what he was smiling about, and John just said, "This is great. It's pouring so people are gonna leave the park and the lines will go really quick!"

I think that speaks volumes about how John viewed the world. Because John’s had a ton of rain in his life. More rain than anyone deserves. But he always saw the bright side.

And I miss him so much.

The last thing I want to say isn’t a story, but just some thoughts I had.

Mrs. Stanford made a touching blog about John's battles with melanoma. And on that blog, she posted an Arabian proverb that goes: "He who has hope, has everything." I’m going to use a different quote with similar meaning. John loved the 80’s rock band Journey. And Journey composed a song that is entirely about hope. One of the lyrics goes: "Don't stop believing/ Hold on to that feeling/ Streetlights, people/ Don't stop believing."
I think right now it's easy to stop believing. It’s easy to feel that there’s no hope left. But I have to remind myself that hope is out there. And to me, a great part of that hope comes from a little kid named Aaron James Stanford.
I’m sure most of you know that A.J. is John’s eighteen month old son. Marty and I got together after John passed away and we wrote a letter to A.J. And even though he’s not old enough to understand it yet, we still want to share with you the letter we wrote to him.
So Marty, if you could come up to the podium.

[Marty comes up to the podium. The two of us take turns reading paragraphs.]

Dear A.J.,
This is really hard. Your father isn't going to be around anymore. He was there at your first birthday. But he's not going to be there at your second. Or your third. Or any other birthday for that matter. And that makes the two of us heartbroken.

We wish you could have known him better. Here’s how we’d describe him. In your life, you will find that there are good men, there are great men, and then there are the best of men. Your father was the best of men. And his loss has left this big void in all of us, because we loved him so much.
But A.J., take some advice from Steve Perry and Journey: don’t stop believing. Don’t stop believing. After all, you have an angel looking out for you and her name is Jess. I would call her Mom, though, and not Jess – unless you want to get sent to your room.

We’ve known your mother for years now. She is kind. She is loving. She is grace. And just like you, she is a gift from God.

And in addition to that angel you call Mom, you have a big family that loves you dearly. You have wonderful grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, family and friends.

And all of us – all of us – have made a pact. That we will love you, care for you, and be there for you. Now and for the rest of your life.

But even with all of us looking out for you, you’ll still feel this incredible emptiness from not having your father around. We have a secret, though. Anytime you feel empty, look to the skies and say, "I love you."
After you say, "I love you" you’re going to hear a voice reply back to you. It may not be very loud. In fact, the voice may be so soft that you think you don’t hear anything. Trust me, it exists.
Wait for it…wait for it…There! Right there! Did you hear that? It’s the voice of a man. The man is saying, "A.J., I love you, too. You are my son. I am so unbelievably proud of you."

A.J., let that voice guide you.

Let it comfort you.

Let it give you hope

Let it lift you up.

Let it bring you joy.

Let it calm you.

Let it carry you.

Let it encourage you.

Let it inspire you.

Let it remind you

That no matter what---
Your father is always with you.