Eulogizing My Father

There is an architecture to our sorrow, a heavy, physical weight that settles into the very bone. It does not ask for your permission; it simply demands your endurance. It has been a few months since I stood and delivered these words for my father—a season spent wandering in the valley of the shadow, trying to gather the necessary breath to release this tribute out into the world. I could not put these pages before you until the Lord saw fit to steady my hands. Grief is a brutal thief, and I have had to sit in the quiet with the ghost of his absence before I could speak on it again.

Every single day, before the world wakes, I go down on my knees. I pray to the Almighty for a strength I do not naturally possess. I ask the Lord for the understanding that escapes me, and for a peace to quiet the restless aching in my spirit. What follows is the eulogy I spoke over him. It is a brief capture of his personality, a testament to the man, and a humble offering from a son still learning how to walk forward in the light of his memory.

Opening Prayer

Gracious and eternal God, order my steps in these days. Remind me what you require of me, to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before thee, and never to bow to the injustices of this world. Whenever you call men and women to declare your word, you take the risk of putting treasure in trash, treasure into earthen vessels. That the excellency of the power might be of thee and not of us; so, hide us behind the cross, cover us in your blood, fill us with your spirit.

In this space, surrounded by the family and friends who loved him best, I humbly ask for a moment of grace. Father Grant me, the strength to stand here and speak truth and comfort into the pain that we share.

Father, we pray for our family. We pray for strength where we feel fractured, wisdom where we are confused, and discernment to see the path forward in dad’s absence. And we offer up this prayer of intercession: that if there was any love left unsaid, any kindness left undone, may it be laid upon our collective hearts now, to complete his work in this world.

Let the words of my mouth, the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, Oh Lord, our strength, and our redeemer. Amen.

We didn’t come here today to just be sad—we came to give God thanks! Because the Word gives us an assurance, a certain hope. 2 Corinthians 5:8 reminds us: “To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.” So, this ain’t goodbye .

My daddy just crossed over; and I believe he’s resting now—no pain, no tears, no struggle, no worry—just peace.

And yet, even with that assurance, he had a wonderful, human perspective. I can hear his voice now, that chuckle in his tone, whenever the topic of the passin’ on came up. He’d simply say "Son, Everybody wants to meet Jesus, but don't nobody wanna meet him right now!".  He understood the preciousness and significance of every single day he was given.

LEGACY

Now before I talk too much about my daddy, I gotta honor where he came from.

See, my Granddaddy Sherman—that man was a praying man. He loved the Word. He prayed the kind of prayers that didn’t just echo, they landed. They sat down in your spirit and stayed a while, covering generations. They covered Daddy. They covered me.

Now my father, the son of Sherman and Martha Dean, came into this world as the final boy, of a clan of sixteen children. Sixteen souls shaped by two parents. And those children, my aunties and my uncles, they all love the Lord, but they had to wrestle with something too. That was Big Momma! They might’ve loved Jesus, but they feared Big Momma. And that kind of balance—that devotion and that discipline—that's what made my daddy the man he was. Steady. Humble. Rooted in something real. Despite any challenges that he faced in life; he had a foundation that served him well.

Let me remind you that this is a son’s perspective, but my daddy was cool, Calm, and Collected. He didn’t always say much, but when he did (in his serious and sober tone)—it meant something. He didn’t let much shake him, not even when life got rough. He was steady, y’all—like a low hum that never wavered; I think that everyone knew what they could expect from Lemar. He was that kind of man who didn’t have to raise his voice to make his point.

MUSIC

Now my daddy loved his music. Sam Cooke, Al Green, Otis Redding, The Temptations, Otis Clay. And if the song had some praise in it? That was the sweet spot! It is my belief that music was his refuge. His peace. His prayer. I can still see him—eyes half closed, tapping his chest, rocking back and forth in rhythm with something deeper than the song itself.

He came from a sangin’ family, too. Those brothers and sisters could sing the devil smooth out of a room! You’d be over at Aunt Earlie’s or Uncle Deano’s, and somebody’d start moanin’ somethin’…..and like a well-oiled machine a song would come together…. And maaaan, heaven would come right down to earth in that living room. Transform that living room or that kitchen into holy ground.

And every now and then, Daddy’d shoot me that side-eye—and I knew what that meant: Go get me something to drink. Dad would have his leg crossed, a drink in his hand and the pinky with a ring on it, out….. contributing often times quietly to whatever the song was.

Daddy wasn't a man of many words, but he showed his love. I cant tell you how many times in conversation Dad would ask me: “Jr., you need something for that road? Ya daddy’s got you.” That was love, y'all. Quiet. Steady. Real.

He’d always tell the story about how him and momma brought me home from the hospital on Christmas Day—to my mother’s surprise he had wrapped me up and put me under the tree—seeding an argument that would have them both yelling the same thing: “GIVE ME MY BABY”. That was Daddy’s joy—simple and full.

The Village (Dean Family)

The story of my father’s life, especially its final chapter, is a powerful reflection on the strength of The Village.

When life got challenging, when his health began to fail, a beautiful, undeniable thing happened. His siblings stepped forward and showed us all what true familial love looks like.

Uncle Deano, thank you for the years of unwavering support and that rare, precious gift of truly unfiltered love.

Aunt Peggy, your foresight and determination got my dad to Louisville, placing him closer to family and securing better healthcare. You didn’t just hope; you acted.

Aunt Sand, who opened her door and her heart, providing a shelter, care, and food—the simple, necessary sustenance of love.

Uncle Willard, thank you for your persistent presence in his corner, and all the phone calls to me to tell me the things that he wouldn’t…always wanting the best for your little brother.

Aunt Billye, thank you for standing in the gap, for advocating with your siblings, and for being that final, comforting face in the moment when he finally finished his race.

And look, if I didn't call your name just now, please know this: your actions, your thoughts, and your quiet contributions are seen. Nicki, Tonya, Korey, Shiela …my cousins…we are all locked in. We often overlook the value of simple concern. But a simple thought, a quick prayer, a phone call to check in—that can change someone's day, their attitude, and their perspective. There was no doubt that Daddy knew he was loved. It’s further confirmation that the collective, quiet work of the Dean family is always greater than any individual effort.

This is it. This is the truth we have to carry forward. This is what family does. You don't have to talk every single day. You don’t even have to like each other all the time. But you show up when life becomes challenging. You demonstrate a familial love; a covenant that surpasses a friendly gesture. It is a promise rooted in shared blood, shared history, and the love instilled in this family by Sherman and Martha Dean all those years ago.

The Finished Course

Now I won’t lie to you—the ache of dad’s death runs deep. Sometimes I still reach for the phone to call him… and then I remember. But even in that hurt, I hold on to the Word. 2 Timothy 4:7–8 says: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.”

And I believe Daddy did just that. He fought his fight. He ran his race. He kept his faith. And now he’s resting—sitting on the other side, tapping his hand on his chest to some soul filled song, waiting for the rest of us to come on through.

So, until that day comes, I’ll keep my eyes on the Cross, and my heart tuned to those same songs that carried him through.

He has passed from labor to reward. He is now in the presence of the Almighty.

Daddy’s home now. No more pain. No more struggle. Just peace. Just music. Just home.

And if the ultimate testimony of a life well-lived is that you were seen that you were known, and that you were cherished... then my daddy’s life was a complete success. Because, above all things, he was loved.

And I thank God… for the time He gave us with him.

Amen; Amen again.