My father was a planner. A few weeks ago, he asked me to read a eulogy at his funeral. For several days I searched for something appropriate, liking and then discarding several pieces each time I found something better. Eventually I found a poem I thought was perfect. I took it and read it to him, and he loved it. Then, just before I left that day, Dad called me over and said -- in what ended up being the last words he ever spoke to me -- that he really liked the poem but wanted me to read something I'd written myself.

Reading the poem would have been easier. But this is what I came up with and read at his funeral on June 16, 2023:

In late July, my parents would have celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. I mention this, not just because it's an incredibly high number, but because it demonstrates a simple truth about my father. He was, for his entire adult life, focused solely on the welfare and happiness of his wife, his children and his grandchildren. Dad always made sure his family had what we needed.

There are many ways to describe my father: hard worker, eagle-eyed editor, devout Catholic, haircut enthusiast, fair to middling golfer, good neighbor and, as I recently heard, the unofficial mayor of Farm Lane. He was a role model, teacher and mentor. He was a minor Scottish lord. He was bad with computers. He was my hero, and the first person I usually turned to for advice.

My Dad told bad jokes, like me, and he listened to good music, like mine. He loved humpback whales and other people's dogs. He enjoyed good Scotch but didn't like drinking water. He was vexed by weeds and sticks in his lawn. He liked sharing his knowledge of Gettysburg history. He loved hawks and hated squirrels. He really enjoyed people, unless they annoyed him. He liked striding around town in an Irish cap or Barnstormers hat, clutching a custom-made Irish walking stick he named Liam, and he always had a good word for folks he saw along the way. He liked to buy suits, and in fact when I bought this one I asked him to come along and help me pick it out. When I chose this particular black suit, he said, "Now you have something to wear to my funeral."

He took care of the people around him, but he wasn't very good at letting people take care of him. He was a victim of cancer. He faced it with great courage but he was unable to beat the disease.

To be honest, I didn't know Dad very well when I was a kid. He worked long, late hours so I usually only saw him on weekends, plus those occasions when I spoke timidly with him on the phone because I'd been extra bad. We got better acquainted once we started working together at the newspaper; I was a little surprised how much I enjoyed seeing him almost daily in the office. I still remember the first drink we shared one night after work. We became friends, and he was my constant cheerleader in everything I did. We traveled together to faraway places. When I started a band, he became my biggest fan.

He taught me through example how to be a good husband and father. He lived his faith with every breath, and he demonstrated every day how to live a selfless life. I doubt he saw his accomplishments as exceptional, but he did one of the most extraordinary things a person can do: He cared about and provided for his family. He dedicated his life to that purpose, and he left his mark on everyone he met. His was a life well lived, and he earned many times over the love of his family and the respect of those who knew him.

I think the words he would most like to be remembered by are: Husband. Father. Grandpa. Those titles meant the world to him. And he excelled in those vocations to the very end.

I am proud, so very proud to be his son. Thank you, Dad, for everything.

Just for anyone who is curious, this is the poem I very nearly read at Dad's funeral. Although, in the end, I am glad I wrote my own eulogy, I do think this represents Dad very well.

I'm Free by Anne Lindgren Davison

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all...
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.

And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss...
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life's been full, I've savored much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief --
Don't shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.

There you go. This is my first Father's Day without a father to share it with. It hurts. And I miss him, even though he's been gone for less than a week. A week ago, knowing the end was near, I was spending much of my time with Mom, helping to take care of Dad at home, where he had chosen to die. I talked with him, even after he stopped responding. I played music for him on my violin. I bathed his face with cool cloths. I held his hand. And, very near the end, I put his walking stick Liam in his right hand, his rosary in his left. I was with him when he died, and I still can't quite comprehend that it really happened. I miss you, Dad. I love you. And I hope you know how grateful I am for the years we shared.

William J. Knapp, 85, of Landisville, died at home on June 13, 2023, after a yearlong battle with cancer.
He was married for 64 years to Patricia Fridinger Knapp.
Knapp retired in 1997 as the wire editor for the Intelligencer Journal, where he worked for more than 20 years. He previously was employed by the credit and Pulsar divisions of Hamilton Watch, Lancaster, and SLC, Blue Ball.
He was a charter member of St. Leo the Great Catholic Church since 1964. He was active for many years in the Hempfield Jaycees, in the local Republican Party in the 1960s and '70s, and as a Little League coach and umpire for the Hempfield Youth Association. An avid golfer, he was a familiar face at the former Indian Springs golf course.
Knapp graduated in 1955 from Lancaster Catholic High School and earned a liberal arts degree from St. Vincent College in 1959.
Born in Lancaster and raised in Columbia, he was the son of the late William C. and Mary Storm Knapp. He was preceded in death by a son, John V., a brother, Robert C., and a sister, Mary T.
Surviving besides his wife are two sons, William M. of Lititz and Thomas A., husband of Michelle Perry, of York; a daughter-in-law, Donna H. of Washington Boro; eight grandchildren; three great-grandchildren; a brother, James F., husband of Fay Fry, of Washington Boro; a nephew and nieces.