The Eulogy of Daryl Campbell

                                    The Eulogy of Daryl Campbell

                                              By Daryl Campbell



         To start with, I’ve written my own eulogy so the true sense of me can be left in the thoughts of anyone kind enough to show up today.

         I apologize to you all, but I’m going to lie here and rest. I’ll remain silent to your arguments and points of view. At least I’m leaving you with something out of character. My idea is to go out the way I came in, everyone waiting for me to end the struggle, loved ones cursing the length of time it’s taking, and with me being a literal pain in the ass, or ass-area.

         I don’t want someone spouting off about how great I was, how many wonderful things I did, how I could always be counted on, or how my sound opinions opened the eyes of so many others. We all know that people in general become a much greater person upon their death than they were in life, but it’s rarely the case. I am now as I was four or five days ago. It’s still me, though a colder version, and I am, rather I was a dick. You either loved me or you didn’t. If you were close to me at the end, you knew I tolerated you. I only tolerated those that meant something to me. I do not now, and did not before I died, want the accolades that often accompany one’s death. Sorry to be abrasive, but stupidity is unbecoming.

         About me: I enjoyed being alive for the time that I was and would not have traded it for anything. True, some of you may have the impression that I wasn’t happy at all. It simply isn’t true. I can count eight occasions that I was most certainly happy. I stuck to myself for much of my life. I would love to be able to say that I was emotionally crippled, that I lacked any sort of ability to feel love or compassion, but it isn’t true. I would like to say that I wasn’t loved or that nobody gave me a chance, but that would be an insult to both my grandfather, the best man I had ever known, and my grandmother, the fire that burned within me every day of my life. I have to believe that the attitude I expressed so often was a generic trait. Not every aspect of my disposition, but think it over for a second. Yeah, some of you are nodding. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Never being wrong about anything from my father and there is always someone else to blame from my grandmother.

         The only thing I never turned away from was my children. This was always so and I couldn’t have loved them more than I did. They were the most important bits of me and I died loving them all. I only hope today that they always knew it.

         I never suffered from low self esteem, but I held tightly to mediocrity. I strove for the average and consistently underachieved in so many ways. I loved, I hurt, I often cried, I had a thousand regrets, I screwed both family and friends over, I was sorry I failed my first wife, and I wish my love for my second wife could have saved her from herself and the destruction and pain she caused, she was always better than she let herself be. My children are the only people in this world that know who I really was. I've failed them at times, but there was never anything, that I could achieve, I wouldn’t have done for any of them. Last is this, I realize that anyone who was around me, who stayed with me, deserve my respect. I was abrasive, intentionally cruel at times, straight forward to such an extent that it was damaging, I kept everyone at a distance, I pushed and pushed to see if you’d break, and loved the struggle. I was happiest during the struggle. When everything was smooth, I felt as if I would kill myself, or someone else. The last being the more likely of the two.

         I have stated my thoughts on leaving my life. If I haven’t contacted anyone yet to let them know my ideas about the afterlife were incorrect, that there isn’t any sort of consciousness, then I’ll let you know now, without any doubt, “Shove it morons, I was right all along. There 's nothing real out here. Ha, Ha, and Ha!” If I’ve contacted one of you then “I was wrong and you were right. I bet you’re pleased.” If I won the argument and there is only energy and no greater consciousness, I will not have any idea of my victory. Please close your eyes and picture me smiling. Though I’ll remain unaware of this win for all eternity, I’d be pleased to have taken it with me to the grave. If I lost the argument, however, I’ll apologize at this moment for the angry spirit you received the information from, but who the hell wouldn’t be angry upon losing such a long battle?

         Finally, I’ve written ten things I want to make my peace with. Any other questions that may arise about me will be left unanswered.



1) This isn’t actually the first thing on the ‘what is important to me list’, but I have placed it as number one so that if anyone is having problems with emotional comfort or distress over the entertainment being provided, we can get the issues resolved. The clowns were my idea. Nobody else had a say in the matter. The whole crying and being sad thing is a bunch of bull. Have any of you cried since my death? Did your crying change it? No, I’m still in this god damn box! As I've repeatedly told everyone, I know, death's inevitable. Make your peace while you’re still here. You should’ve told me goodbye when you had the chance. I told each of you goodbye at one time or another and, though you mostly took it as a joke, the thought that I never said goodbye and lost someone doesn’t weigh on my mind. I’m gone! Miss me, but quit the damn crying! You’re feeling sorry for your loss, not for how I feel about my death. If your concerns were about my feelings, you have nothing to be choked up about. Now is the time that the clowns should start making balloon animals for everyone, including the children. If you brought children to my funeral, I hope there is a hell for you to burn in. A funeral is not a place for a kid. (Addressed in #3) The clowns were paid for by me through my lawyer. The receipt, in case it’s needed, should be in the chest pocket of the shirt I’m wearing. If you need it, feel free to take it. If I’m not wearing the shirt I requested, I’m pissed, or would be. I chose that shirt, I don’t care about the stain, and if one of you changed it in the best interests of me…You plain suck! It was my choice! My death isn't about any of you.



2) When my first wife and I were dating, there was an incident that I regretted for the rest of my life. It was something I had no way of rectifying and I made the attempt twice to do so. Nobody here, but she and I will know the event and she fails to remember such negative spots on her own aura. If she outlived me and shows up today, that will really suck. We, with another couple, made fun of a little, four year old boy who was a bit behind intellectually, or so it seemed. His name was Lucky and his dad was doing some plumbing work for one of my first wife’s friends. Lucky’s father and mother were so proud of him. All they did was talk him up and, my views at the time, he wasn’t anything special. All four of us ragged on him and them, but they were simple and didn’t realize we were being assholes. They thought the comments were good and we said them with such subtle malice that I should be damned for this act alone. It would be a few years later before I got it. He was SPECIAL, his parents loved him and they had only good things to say about him. This honestly is the biggest regret in my life. It is something that actually hung around my neck every day. It is a personal burden that I am glad never to feel again. Seeing my son for the first time, I knew how wrong I was. My first wife was a very good woman and I always found it odd that this never bothered her.



3) I’ve heard for years that I’m afraid of death, that I can't handle a funeral, and that I needed to be able to make peace with it. Let me get right down to explaining my frustration with everyone’s warped ass thinking on this. I told people, on numerous occasions, that I had no problem with death. You just didn’t listen, presuming you knew what was in my head. I promise you, nobody knew what exactly was in my head. I went to a single funeral in my life. I was in my thirteenth year and it was the wrong thing for me to have done. The last memory I have of my mother is of her in that damn place, in that damn box. Anyway, this last memory shouldn't exist. I should only have the memories of her, not those of what remained of her. Children have absolutely no reason for being at a funeral. Closure hell, it will leave a memory that remains for the rest of their life. Simple fact, I don’t go to funerals because I don’t want that memory. Death is fine with me. I’ve dealt with it. I would yell for death to come and take me in an effort to prove my point, but it’s a little late for that. For all of those who think I’m bothered by death, come over here and take a look, a close look. Does it seem I’m bothered by anything? No, then that clears that up. As far as making peace with it all, I’ve made my peace with it.



4) In regards to the totaling of my grandfather’s delivery van in 1985. I was in possession of the van and, with three other members of the church youth group, stopped at a convenience store. I went in the store with one of the other young men, we’ll call him Terry so he’ll have an alias. While he and I were in the store, his brother and our other friend, let’s pretend their names were Jerry and Robert, drove away in the van, took it to the levy, and proceeded to drive over the hills that sat atop it. The van got stuck and they returned to the store within the hour. As good Christian boys, we reported the van stolen and it was left there until it was discovered by the police three weeks later, flipped down the hills and beat up. The villains responsible were never apprehended and the insurance covered the loss. I’ve been blamed for the destruction of the van many times and, despite my claims of innocence, it has always been presumed I was guilty. I didn’t wreck it. I only of covered for a friend, filed a false police report, and committed insurance fraud, but am innocent of wrecking the van. It feels good to get that off my chest.



5) The burning of the woods in Dickenson. I’m completely guilty of that one. I was home from school and decided to burn the favorite clothing and special pillow of a step sister I didn’t care for. We’ll call her Michelle so she can remain unidentified. I set alternate fires to offset the original and the event got out of hand. Nobody was ever prosecuted for the fires. I’m now willing to take full blame so that anyone else suspected can be freed from suspicion. I do need to burn someone, no pun intended, if he’s still alive and here. Clayton knew I did it from the day it happened. Shows you all what kind of moral fiber he's made of. I say to him now, “Right is right and you should’ve turned me in. You bare this guilt with me.” Oh yes, Richard Rodriguez was blamed by my dad for a garage fire years earlier that he wasn’t guilty of. That was me as well.



6) Explanation for my answer to the stupid question “who would you save if you could only save a certain number”. I have always said that I would save my children in order from youngest to the oldest. A wife or lover would never have made the cut if the number didn’t allow it. I know this to be fact. I would not hesitate in the slightest. My children and I have talked about it and it would always be youngest, Ayradth, to oldest, Jonathan, in order. It would suck, but the whole idea is that you have no choice but to save a specific number. There would be no playing of favorites and I absolutely have no doubt of the order in which they would be saved. Life is life and I don’t think hesitation of any kind would be productive in the event of this stupid ass question coming true. That’s just how it is.



7) I wish to address the issue of cheating. In my life I have successfully cheated on two women. Each was during my dating life and neither of them were one of my wives. At the time, I didn’t regret it. Hey, it was sexual activity and, like any other teen, I was happy to be given the opportunity. The feeling of being okay with it has not held. For whatever reason, I did regret it greatly in my later years. I realize this doesn’t seem like a big deal, but I consider myself to have sound thoughts of what is right to me and what is wrong.



8) I want to explain the burning of the house when I was eight years old. It was speculated that I was trying to smoke a cigarette and accidentally set the house on fire. The fire department found the lighter and the cigarettes in my bedroom. This one has always pissed me off. Mom came into our bedroom and showed Clayton and I a trick where she lit some paper, tossed it into the air, and it vanished. The phone rang and she went to answer it. She left the lighter and her cigarettes on the dresser in her rush for the phone. Clayton also left the room and, in an attempt to duplicate the burning trick, I lit a piece of construction paper and tossed it in the air. It hit the curtains and they caught fire. I opened the other window, climbed out, and entered the house through the front door. The time it took to do this allowed for the fire to get out of hand. I was eight, I was scared, and I knew absolutely nothing about flash paper. So, does everyone see? I made a mistake, but not the mistake it was assumed I made. I’m not haunted that I lit the house. I am haunted that no one ever listened to my version and gave it any credibility and for the ridiculous punishment of sitting in a bathtub nude, lighting matches. Yes, they did burn my fingers and I should never have been punished in that manner for an accident made by an eight year old. I should have been talked to. There it is, plain and simple. Unlike the other two fires mentioned, this was an accident.



9) I never masturbated until I was a junior in high school. The thought it was happening when I was thirteen was a mistake. The fact that my father and that woman, we’ll call her Debbie to protect her identity, made stupid jokes about me doing it was ridiculous. When you do not turn on the cold water to take your bath, your body, including your lower extremities, get red. Is that cleared up now? Is that understood? I have no reason to lie about it. Hell, I am in a box and stiff. How much more embarrassed can I be?



10) These are a few questions that I don’t have the answers to and am hoping that someone alive, and here today, does. If you do, I would appreciate it if you’d come up here at the end and whisper your guilt in my ear. Let’s face facts, I won’t be telling anyone. As kids, we were heading to Pikes Peak and Yellowstone National Park. We left the house sometime after midnight. While the step-van was being loaded, the CB was fiddled with. None of us took the blame and we were spanked right there in the yard on Live Oak. Since it wasn’t me, I’d like to know who, Clayton or Ayradth, messed with the god damn CB? Second, two hundred and thirty one dollars was stolen from me in 1985. The money was in the bathroom drawer at my grandma’s house. Who stole my money, my father or my sister? Last, is there a god? That one, I already have the answer to.



         I bid you all a fond farewell. That was my life and this is my death. I would have liked it very much if the clowns are given some tips. I only paid their entertainment fee.



Cue the music!

         “Save Me” by Queen should be playing because, though I’m not actually naked, I am so far from home.