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Given by Brother Robert on June 16, 2007 at the Chapel of the Angels Mausoleum, Imperial Cemetery, Pueblo, Colorado
David Carl Edmond
1952-2007
Good afternoon. For those of you who don’t already know me, I am Bob Edmond, David’s big brother. Thanks to all of you for coming today to say good-bye to my kid brother, David.
According to the dictionary, a eulogy is a laudatory speech or written tribute praising someone who has died. If David were here, he would have fun with that definition. He would make fun first of himself and then he would begin questioning all of us closely about how we REALLY felt. He was always curious and irreverent and that would have been his way of understanding himself and the people around him.
My own experience with eulogies is somewhat different than the dictionary version. For me, a eulogy is a shared collection of events and feelings that link surviving friends and family to each other by replacing our grief with the memories we will cling to in the years to come. There is praise, certainly, but there is also humor and just plain story-telling. My daughter, Julie, found a quote when my Mom, Susan, passed away. Julie told us back then that she had read somewhere that 'time remembered is grief forgotten'. So I want to talk about times remembered with Dave so you can begin to forget your grief and let him live in your memory.
David was the beloved, mercurial, smart, complicated, zany kid brother of Carole and me. He was more than 4 years younger than me and more than 6 years younger than Carole. That doesn’t seem like much now, but when you are growing up, that can be like coming from different planets. For those of you who have kid brothers, you know what I mean. For those of you who ARE kid brothers, you may understand David in ways that the rest of us never could.
We heard from some of David’s old friends from junior high and high school. For them, David will be remembered as one of the guys who shared those wild and crazy growing up years and the kind of unrestrained laughter that is a basic building block of nostalgia. I can’t be certain but I think there might have been some underage drinking involved. (smile) I am sorry I missed it although David and I did a fair amount of catching up in the years that followed.
One of my wife’s most vivid recollections of David as a young man occurred when he traveled to the East Coast in 1969 to visit me in school. During that trip, David and I astonished my future wife and mother-in-law when we displayed our eating prowess by eating a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon and a loaf of bread at one breakfast sitting. Well fed, David and I spent 3 days on the roads driving back to Pueblo. He was no longer my “kid” brother…he had a driver’s license.
Many of us in this room share vivid memories of David and his love of cars and driving. (Joey and Dennis?) Some of his friends and cousins spent many hours in the garage at 630 Brown with his prized Barracuda. And then there was the unforgettable speeding ticket. I was awestruck that someone could actually do 70 miles over the speed limit. I had to be resuscitated when I found out that the speed limit that was being exceeded was 70. 140 miles an hour. He will, I hope, always hold the family land speed record. He joined the Air Force shortly after that (in search of jet engines??) I have to admit that I was a little relieved that he would not be driving, at least for a while.
By the time David completed his Air Force service, he was an accomplished young man. In addition to serving his country for 6 years, he had earned bachelors and masters degrees and gained much life experience while starting his career in the mental health profession. For me he had grown into an important confidante and life advisor who offered guidance and objectivity during some tough times in my life. More importantly, David had grown up and entered a profession that provided him with enduring friendships and the kind of intellectual and personal satisfaction that sustained and challenged him as a lifelong learner.
The words of David’s former colleagues and some of the people he has helped through the years will be particularly cherished by those of us who loved him. We heard from many of you in the weeks following his death. Through e-mails and phone calls, you told us about David as a dedicated friend and mental health professional who went out of his way to help those in need. One former co-worker referred to David as one of the “most intelligent clinicians” she had known and someone whose knowledge and courage she respected. Another co-worker talked about Dave’s dedication to and compassion for his clients and about the great respect he showed for his staff. Yet another young woman talked about David as “a fantastic counselor and person whose legacy and knowledge will live on through those he taught and mentored. She went on to say that the mental health profession was a better place with Dave in it.” David was approachable and down to earth with the people who shared his passion for helping other human beings. On behalf of all of us who loved David because he was family, I want to extend our thanks to those of you who came to know and value David because you shared his passion for helping other people.
1952-2007
Good afternoon. For those of you who don’t already know me, I am Bob Edmond, David’s big brother. Thanks to all of you for coming today to say good-bye to my kid brother, David.
According to the dictionary, a eulogy is a laudatory speech or written tribute praising someone who has died. If David were here, he would have fun with that definition. He would make fun first of himself and then he would begin questioning all of us closely about how we REALLY felt. He was always curious and irreverent and that would have been his way of understanding himself and the people around him.
My own experience with eulogies is somewhat different than the dictionary version. For me, a eulogy is a shared collection of events and feelings that link surviving friends and family to each other by replacing our grief with the memories we will cling to in the years to come. There is praise, certainly, but there is also humor and just plain story-telling. My daughter, Julie, found a quote when my Mom, Susan, passed away. Julie told us back then that she had read somewhere that 'time remembered is grief forgotten'. So I want to talk about times remembered with Dave so you can begin to forget your grief and let him live in your memory.
David was the beloved, mercurial, smart, complicated, zany kid brother of Carole and me. He was more than 4 years younger than me and more than 6 years younger than Carole. That doesn’t seem like much now, but when you are growing up, that can be like coming from different planets. For those of you who have kid brothers, you know what I mean. For those of you who ARE kid brothers, you may understand David in ways that the rest of us never could.
We heard from some of David’s old friends from junior high and high school. For them, David will be remembered as one of the guys who shared those wild and crazy growing up years and the kind of unrestrained laughter that is a basic building block of nostalgia. I can’t be certain but I think there might have been some underage drinking involved. (smile) I am sorry I missed it although David and I did a fair amount of catching up in the years that followed.
One of my wife’s most vivid recollections of David as a young man occurred when he traveled to the East Coast in 1969 to visit me in school. During that trip, David and I astonished my future wife and mother-in-law when we displayed our eating prowess by eating a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon and a loaf of bread at one breakfast sitting. Well fed, David and I spent 3 days on the roads driving back to Pueblo. He was no longer my “kid” brother…he had a driver’s license.
Many of us in this room share vivid memories of David and his love of cars and driving. (Joey and Dennis?) Some of his friends and cousins spent many hours in the garage at 630 Brown with his prized Barracuda. And then there was the unforgettable speeding ticket. I was awestruck that someone could actually do 70 miles over the speed limit. I had to be resuscitated when I found out that the speed limit that was being exceeded was 70. 140 miles an hour. He will, I hope, always hold the family land speed record. He joined the Air Force shortly after that (in search of jet engines??) I have to admit that I was a little relieved that he would not be driving, at least for a while.
By the time David completed his Air Force service, he was an accomplished young man. In addition to serving his country for 6 years, he had earned bachelors and masters degrees and gained much life experience while starting his career in the mental health profession. For me he had grown into an important confidante and life advisor who offered guidance and objectivity during some tough times in my life. More importantly, David had grown up and entered a profession that provided him with enduring friendships and the kind of intellectual and personal satisfaction that sustained and challenged him as a lifelong learner.
The words of David’s former colleagues and some of the people he has helped through the years will be particularly cherished by those of us who loved him. We heard from many of you in the weeks following his death. Through e-mails and phone calls, you told us about David as a dedicated friend and mental health professional who went out of his way to help those in need. One former co-worker referred to David as one of the “most intelligent clinicians” she had known and someone whose knowledge and courage she respected. Another co-worker talked about Dave’s dedication to and compassion for his clients and about the great respect he showed for his staff. Yet another young woman talked about David as “a fantastic counselor and person whose legacy and knowledge will live on through those he taught and mentored. She went on to say that the mental health profession was a better place with Dave in it.” David was approachable and down to earth with the people who shared his passion for helping other human beings. On behalf of all of us who loved David because he was family, I want to extend our thanks to those of you who came to know and value David because you shared his passion for helping other people.
Key Lime Pie
For his niece Julie, time remembered definitely includes the Key Lime Pie in Salt Lake story. About 15 years ago, David joined his niece Julie, nephew Ryan and me in Salt Lake City to go skiing. The skiing was great, but what Julie and I remember most was driving around SLC for an hour and a half in search of a key lime pie to satisfy David’s craving. We finally found a place that sold this prized dessert, bought an entire pie, and rushed back to our hotel. In our rush, we forgot to ask for forks but, as anyone who knows us would tell you, the lack of utensils was not a problem for us. David and I ate the entire thing with our fingers. My daughter Julie remains disgusted to this date, but David and I were happy campers.
For Carole and her children and grandchildren, David was the uncle who would come to Chicago to see the sights and hang out with the Palmore family on Colfax Avenue. David had mastered the art of hanging out – he did not require an intinerary or planned outings – he just liked to be with family to watch a football game or debate an issue that intrigued him with his niece, Debbie.
David also loved the outdoors. He was a skier and a biker and an avid fly fisherman. He flew downhill on skis and somehow managed to be the best dressed guy on the slopes. Over the years, he biked with his cousin, Joey, and me in Virginia, and with his friend Anne on Pueblo bike trails. He fished Colorado rivers and streams on his own and with his friend Jim. He was exhilarated and delighted when he had the opportunity to challenge himself physically in the company of his family and close friends. When David did something he did so with great passion. Whether it was fishing, skiing, biking or any other of a number of activities, he participated whole heartedly. He really lived the saying…”if something is worth doing, it is worth doing right.”
For our mother, David was the kid who kept coming back to Pueblo before he permanently settled here. David became a hero to the family, and I hope to himself, when he dedicated himself to caring for our mother when she could no longer care for herself. God bless David for all he did for our mother in her final months.
For Auntie Marie, David’s godmother, he was the nephew who was always welcome in her house for coffee, a meal or a shot of Uncle Joe’s whiskey.
For nieces and nephews Suzie and Rome and Julie and Debbie and Ryan, he was Uncle Dave, an essential element of their summer visits to Pueblo where they got to know each other during their growing up years. He will always be a part of those memories.
For dozens of friends here David touched your lives in ways I never realized until after he was gone and I met many of you for the first time. David felt a strong attachment to the town we grew up in. The outpouring of love and concern the family has received since David’s passing is so very comforting and certainly explains his bonds to this place.
We may never fully understand why David chose to leave us when he did but I hope all of you will keep him in your hearts by remembering the good times he shared with you. He was my kid brother and I loved him.
For his niece Julie, time remembered definitely includes the Key Lime Pie in Salt Lake story. About 15 years ago, David joined his niece Julie, nephew Ryan and me in Salt Lake City to go skiing. The skiing was great, but what Julie and I remember most was driving around SLC for an hour and a half in search of a key lime pie to satisfy David’s craving. We finally found a place that sold this prized dessert, bought an entire pie, and rushed back to our hotel. In our rush, we forgot to ask for forks but, as anyone who knows us would tell you, the lack of utensils was not a problem for us. David and I ate the entire thing with our fingers. My daughter Julie remains disgusted to this date, but David and I were happy campers.
For Carole and her children and grandchildren, David was the uncle who would come to Chicago to see the sights and hang out with the Palmore family on Colfax Avenue. David had mastered the art of hanging out – he did not require an intinerary or planned outings – he just liked to be with family to watch a football game or debate an issue that intrigued him with his niece, Debbie.
David also loved the outdoors. He was a skier and a biker and an avid fly fisherman. He flew downhill on skis and somehow managed to be the best dressed guy on the slopes. Over the years, he biked with his cousin, Joey, and me in Virginia, and with his friend Anne on Pueblo bike trails. He fished Colorado rivers and streams on his own and with his friend Jim. He was exhilarated and delighted when he had the opportunity to challenge himself physically in the company of his family and close friends. When David did something he did so with great passion. Whether it was fishing, skiing, biking or any other of a number of activities, he participated whole heartedly. He really lived the saying…”if something is worth doing, it is worth doing right.”
For our mother, David was the kid who kept coming back to Pueblo before he permanently settled here. David became a hero to the family, and I hope to himself, when he dedicated himself to caring for our mother when she could no longer care for herself. God bless David for all he did for our mother in her final months.
For Auntie Marie, David’s godmother, he was the nephew who was always welcome in her house for coffee, a meal or a shot of Uncle Joe’s whiskey.
For nieces and nephews Suzie and Rome and Julie and Debbie and Ryan, he was Uncle Dave, an essential element of their summer visits to Pueblo where they got to know each other during their growing up years. He will always be a part of those memories.
For dozens of friends here David touched your lives in ways I never realized until after he was gone and I met many of you for the first time. David felt a strong attachment to the town we grew up in. The outpouring of love and concern the family has received since David’s passing is so very comforting and certainly explains his bonds to this place.
We may never fully understand why David chose to leave us when he did but I hope all of you will keep him in your hearts by remembering the good times he shared with you. He was my kid brother and I loved him.
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