love lives on

I got these thank-you notes today that read, "Love lives on, in little kindnesses and gentle words." We've be on the receiving end of so many kindnesses -- big and small -- and heard a book full of gentle words.

"People are so nice."

Dad would often say that. There were about 500 friends and family members that came to to say goodbye to Bill on Thursday and Friday, despite inclement weather. Some I knew well, some were familiar names or faces, some I met for the first time. One quiet man walked up, shook my hand and expressed his sympathies. "So sorry, I don't recognize you," I said.

"I'm Elliot. I did your Dad's lawn care." Elliot said my Dad was a favorite customer. Elliot would arrive for work and Dad would take him to the barn to show his latest toy or talk about cars. "Before I knew it, an hour would go by. Your Dad was such a friendly guy."

Dad's dental hygienist came and expressed similar sentiments. As did his church youth leader from 50+ years ago, the secretary at his insurance agent's office, bus drivers he knew when he was on the school board. So many times I heard, "Your Dad was so much fun." or "We had good times together." or "He enjoyed his life and helped me enjoy mine." One of his cousins said it was my Dad that made her finally decide to buy a red convertible. Not surprising!

A large contingent came from Lorain Products (or Emerson as it's now called, after numerous name changes). Dad took a buyout from his company just in time, right before a wave of layoffs. Morale dipped as more people lost jobs -- jobs that are few and far between in northern Ohio. But even after Dad left, he maintained friendships, visiting the company regularly, taking chocolates for the ladies on Valentine's Day. His Lorain friend Kathy showed up at the visitation and recalled how he even brought candy to her house after she retired. So many people from that company expressed how much it meant to work with my Dad. He was not only dedicated and reliable and dependable. One man told me, "Work was tough at Lorain sometimes. There was a lot of pressure. But your Dad ... He gave us a lot of joy."

The same was said by his friends from Firelands school board.

Bob Plow, one of Dad's longtime friends and colleagues from Lorain, told a story about how he and my Dad took a trip in one of Bob's tiny airplanes. My Dad was on the school board at the time, and they were flying over an area where the district wanted to build a new school. My Dad wanted aerial photos to promote the project. Shortly after take-off, Dad whipped out his briefcase, opened it up, and took out Cokes and peanuts, saying, "We have now reached our cruising altitude. You are permitted to unfasten your seat belts and move about the cabin. Enjoy your flight!" That story struck me. Wherever he was, my Dad shared joy and humor. He packed it in to his full life.

As my Aunt Marj said, "Your Dad always gave 110 percent. He lived more in 65 years than most of us will if we live much longer than that."

Another friend to pay respects was David Sinclair, longtime Lorain colleague (who incidentally accompanied my Dad on a business trip to Germany to visit me while I studied in Europe. Several friends from that time recently recalled how much fun we had with Dad.) David wanted me to know that my Dad, although known as a company clown, was very well-respected at Lorain Products. "When we wanted to get something done, we'd let people know that if they didn't make the grade, we'd send Beecheler their way." Just hearing Dad's name would whip people into shape.

As painful and gut-wrenching as it was to see my Father in a casket, to see my children and my sister uncontrollably crying, to see Linda's desperate tears and to be myself convulsing with a deep anger and sorrow ... the funeral services were uplifting at times. Just knowing how many people loved Dad, were influenced by him and will miss him -- that meant something to us all.

And I realized how much I take after my Dad, how much I also love people.

My dear high school friends and their parents came to the services, brought over meals and reminisced about times with Bill, one friend saying how my house was her second home. My friends Kim and Judy ... I've known them since kindergarten. They were there when my Mom died and again for Dad. Same goes for many of Heather's high school friends. (One of Heather's friends remembered dancing around our kitchen with Bill!)

Our large family of Borns and Beechelers. My aunts Donna and Marj and Renea and my oodles and oodles of cousins. (Thanks, Jared, for plowing Dad's driveway multiple times last week!) They loved Dad. My Uncle Bill reminded me how when my mom first started dating Dad -- who came from a large town -- the farm boys called him "City." He took the teasing in stride and learned to fix every piece of equipment on that farm. Uncle Bill said one day their granary burned down. The first thing my Grandpa -- "Pa" -- said, was, "We need to call Bill Beecheler at work and get him down here." Uncle Bill thought Dad would never be able to get away from his demanding job at Lorain Products. And he was skeptical that my Dad could help. The electric system had burned to ashes. But, of course, my Dad left work and worked all night on that granary. "It was unbelievable, but your Dad re-built that whole electric system. He flipped a switch, and it worked. He was a genius."

For Dad, fixing stuff was fulfilling, and his way of showing he cared for all his many people.

"People are so nice," he'd say.

I can't neglect to mention four of the most important people in my life: Alli, Jen, Kelly and Janel. I met these women in 1990 in a freshman dorm at Miami University. Over the years, we've shared births and marriages and deaths. We've traveled together, danced together, cried and laughed uncontrollably, shared inside jokes. We're sisters. Well, in the most adverse winter weather, these friends drove in from Chicago, Michigan and southern Ohio to be there for me on the day of Dad's funeral. (They all left busy lives behind, including Janel leaving a child with leukemia and Alli leaving a new baby.) They looked so lovely, and I can't express how good it felt to hug them. (And thanks, too, to my college friend Kate who has provided so many comforting words and such nurturing support.)

People.

Upon arriving back in Madison, I faced more good people. My dear friend Shelley rallied our neighborhood to be there for us. Aside from sending flowers, they all donated to hospice in my Dad's name, left a generous landscaping gift certificate for us to plant a garden in memory of Dad, and now they are taking turns providing meals for our family of four. Humbling. Oh, and Shelley and Amy CLEANED MY HOUSE while we were away. Incredible.

So I feel an overwhelming sense that I carry on my Dad's gratitude for his friends and family. His presence is missed in such a large way. This vacancy will not be filled. But his love lives on in so many people -- including me.