Opening thoughts

I thank St. Bartholomew Church and the Paletta family for the honor of delivering a recent eulogy for my Uncle Jim. Earlier that day, I had a bit of a warning from God that my presentation of this man might not be easy. This is partly because summarizing a person's life in a few minutes is impossible for anyone. We can never truly do justice to their story. All we can do is try our best, seek forgiveness from the departed, and hope they are content with our tribute.

The highlight of my day was conversing with Angie and listening to her heartfelt tales about her grandparents. It was a more meaningful tribute than anyone could have orchestrated. We all do this, starting with the viewing and ending with the breaking of bread and sharing smiles after the cemetery.   

This tradition of bidding farewell to the ones we love dates back to Ancient Egypt, the Greeks, and the Romans, and it has been preserved by Judaism and Christianity. We attempt to honor the deceased and acknowledge the inability to fully ease our grief.

I found myself alone at a coffee shop on the morning of a burial mass, overthinking and jotting notes. While revising my thoughts, I unexpectedly began to cry, wiping my eyes with a napkin as people moved away from my area.

Summarizing who Jim was to me wasn't the problem. I always liked spending time with him; he was a comforting presence. However, here it was—an overwhelming surge of emotions much larger than expected. It was intense and uncontrollable. I felt that I might not have been the right person to deliver the eulogy 45 minutes before I had to be at the church.

Suddenly, I had the urge to contact Debbie to see if there was someone else who could do it, but of course, that was the last thing my cousin needed. What she truly needed was for me to fulfill the promise I made. What was sinking in was the deepness of our loss of both Angie and Jim; suddenly, it just seemed too much.

Then it rapidly dawns on me that I just thought Jim was going to soldier on without his life partner as he was battling severe illnesses. I also knew that my situation was not comparable to others who faced this day. Jim was not my father. He was not my grandfather. There were so many more with wounds far greater than mine, so many more with larger holes in their hearts that morning. So why the emotions? It was not the loss of an uncle that was gripping me. It was the loss of a noble person that deeply affected me. His character was what I mourned, and that was the root of my tears.

Below is a copy of the eulogy of Jim Paletta. I’m sure it is a mixture of what I said and wanted to say since these things never go as planned.

 

The Eulogy of Jim Paletta

Please indulge me for a few seconds. Close your eyes and try to recall a memory of Jim smiling. Once you see that picture, imagine taking out your phone or a camera to take a snapshot. Now, you can open your eyes and know you have that mental picture of Jim’s smile when needed.

Jim had an honest smile. It was natural and could change your attitude. It’s amazing how an honest smile can change someone else’s mental state.   

I feel certain that Jim is smiling at us right now. We should look around and see Jim’s impact on our lives. We are proof of what God allowed Jim to magnetize in his life. How is it possible for one person to bring so many people together?

It is because great things are not measured by size, and an honest person is great.

Most love the story of the boy who defeats the giant named Goliath. It seems unlikely that a shepherd could kill a warrior. Yet, if a man turns his work into a craft, we see an enemy defeated and proof of honor. 

When I worked for my uncle, I saw proof of honor. We can look at some mental snapshots and see the qualities of a great man. For starters, Jim was strong. Jim was a good businessman—so good that car dealers fed him car after car for repair. His hard work and skill kept his family thriving.

As a side note, Jim had to be a saint for putting up with me, but he did it with a smile, and I got to see first-hand pictures of his craft. These inspired and motivated me and now serve as proof of an honorable life.

A good shepherd must constantly be on guard and develop skills. The skills that protect the flock that feeds the community. You can’t let a flock wander, and you must become very accurate with a slingshot to ward off threats. Big threats. Like lionesses that weigh close to 350 pounds that hunt in groups and are motivated to get food for their cubs. A less-than-good shepherd could lose a sheep and their life.

Providing properly is a noble use of a person’s life and does not always get the credit it deserves. Jim provided for his own. He was a good shepherd. He became excellent with his brand of slingshot. This would show when Jim was working on a classic or unique car. He would start explaining what type of car it was to this clueless kid who was lost in the explanation. Then I would see his smile, and I would get it. I would then get to see his work become art. I’d see a man with love for his craft. Those were truly great picture moments.

A good shepherd learns the warning signs. They know a flock's behavior. They are aware when other wildlife suddenly becomes quiet. They learn how lions camouflage in the terrain, and they are hyper-aware during times when predators are most likely to attack. Without such skills, David could not have defeated Goliath.

Likewise, many skills go into being a good man, and Jim was up for the task. He treated people with respect. He treated me like family. Jim allowed me to feel like I was someone. He came to my house when we needed help. He was always a gracious host.

He made a family, raised a family, and loved his family. He found a beauty, married her, and loved her. FYI, I keep a mental picture of Jim and Angie smiling together.   

What medal should go to a provider and father? What honor equals the worth of a mentor, a grandfather, or a husband? The number of awards for Jim would be hard to count. That is because being an honest and good man is not a small accomplishment. It is an immeasurable achievement.

Trinkets and prizes fall short of honoring a person who lived his life with his family in mind. People like Jim live beyond their breath because they are of an ancient noble breed. They survive “The test of time,” and we should preserve them with the pictures we keep.

People like David and Jim do not fear life. They live it. David wore no armor because he viewed Goliath as a sitting duck. After all, he routinely chased away huge killer cats that could run up to 50 miles per hour. The frail boy fought at a distance. He reloaded his weapon with unlimited stones from the ground. The proof of David’s full life was seen in the result of a stunning blow to the giant and using the brute’s own sword to finish the job.  

The picture of Jim’s full life is in this church right now. Look at each other and take a mental picture. We are the proof of nobility and greatness. We are a movie frame of a man’s life and love—a life lived well.

I feel all I have said is true. Just as true is our confidence that he is now standing next to the love of his life, and Angie and Jim are smiling at us.

Now, that’s a mental picture worth keeping.

Closing Thoughts

As I close this blog, I can envision my Aunt Angie saying, “Not for nothing, Joe, but you broke down like a little girl up there. Very true. I did, and I think it probably detracted from some of what I wanted to say. I can tell you that I did my best.  

In closing, there is no way to encapsulate this honorable man. I have no emotional healing for anyone, and certainly not for myself. I do have reflections and lessons learned from my uncle, and I learned many more from the people who gathered together to say goodbye.

 

Peace, Joe Pikul