A Eulogy for Jimmy McCloat
My name is Kevin McCloat. I am Jimmy's little brother
(although nobody's called me a little anything for more years
than I can count.) I have been an advocate for the
developmentally disabled since before I could legally vote, and
worked as a Union Representative for several years. I have
addressed sessions of the legislature, Governors, and rooms
full of angry Union members, but have never had to make an
address that I've found more difficult, so please bear with me.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Matthew 5:8.
I suppose everybody has a favorite bit of scripture, that
happens to be mine.
My brother Jimmy was pure in heart for his whole life,
and I believe with all the pieces of my impure heart that he
does, in fact, see God. And I don't just mean now, that he's
passed on, but that he saw and spoke to God for all the days
of his life.
You see, Jimmy was a very special brother, and an
extraordinary man because he was pure in heart. Jimmy
knew nothing of anger, hatred, prejudice, jealousy, or
deception. Jimmy was a man who was the embodiment of
judging the soul of a man, rather than the look of him. He
had a sixth sense about people, and was never, in my
experience, wrong in his judgments. He could tell intuitively,
better than anybody I ever knew, whether or not somebody
was a good person.
If Jimmy liked you, and he liked most everybody he
encountered, he would never hesitate to offer a smile, a
completely infectious laugh, or a bit of affection. On the rare
occasions he met somebody whom he didn't like, he wouldn't
offer them the time of day, and as I said, his judgments were
never wrong.
But for the vast majority of folks, Jimmy was one of
those rare human beings who would brighten any room he
entered just by his presence. Jimmy touched the hearts of
everybody he ever met who was open to his unique brand of
unconditional love and regard.
Jimmy was also, by far, the toughest man I ever met. As
most of you already know, Jimmy recently succumbed to a
long, hard, battle with pneumonia, but know this: he fought
it until his last breath, and gave it no quarter. But moreover,
his ability to meet each and every day of his life with a smile,
in spite of his disabilities, in spite of all he has been through.
His ability to find magic in life, whether his lifelong belief in
Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, or just finding magic in
everyday life, when he had more reason than most to be
bitter, or to complain, to remain full of love and light, and
life, make him the toughest man I ever knew. If I could be
half as tough, I'd be doing all right.
I'm a recovering alcoholic with 15 years of sobriety one
day at a time, and for those of you who aren't familiar with
the AA program, they have sayings for everything. One of
those sayings talks about how getting sober means learning to
live life on life's terms. And nobody in or out of the rooms
embodied that philosophy more than Jimmy.
Jimmy and I have been close for our whole lives. And
people have often over the years, out of the best of intentions,
commented to me about how hard that must have been, or
what a burden that was. They couldn't be more wrong.
Jimmy was the light of my life, and the light of my parents'
lives. I have learned way more from him over the course of
my life, than I could ever hope to teach him if you gave me a
thousand lifetimes to do it in. Lessons about how not to
sweat the small stuff. Lessons about living life on life's terms.
Lessons about how to trust the soul of a man, rather than the
look of him. Lessons about how not to let your infirmities get
you down. Lessons about how to find joy in life's simplest
things: an ice cream cone, a nap, a walk to look at the
autumn leaves, the summer skies, or the falling snow. And
perhaps most importantly of all, lessons about how when you
love to do it completely, with your whole heart, and never
look back. In spite of all appearances to those well meaning
folks who didn't know Jimmy, he could never have been a
burden. Never in life. Jimmy and I traded fair all the way
down the line. If anything, I came out on top.
Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer.
Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer.
Death is speechless, so hear my speech.
This is Jimmy, who served his family and his friends. Say
true.
May the forgiving glance of Jesus heal his heart. Say please.
May the arms of God raise him from the darkness of this
earth. Say please.
Surround him, Lord, with light.
Fill him, Lord, with strength.
If he is thirsty, give him water in the clearing.
If he is hungry, give him food in the clearing.
May his life on this earth and the pain of his passing become
as a dream to his waking soul, and let his eyes fall upon every
lovely sight; let him find the friends that were lost to him, and
let every one whose name he calls call his in return.
This is Jimmy, who lived well, loved his own, and died as
God would have it.
Each man owes a death. This is Jimmy. Give him peace.
Goodbye, Jimmy.
Rest in peace.
I love you, man.