Make something of your life
Creatively making the most of my dad’s funeral
Everyone deals with loss differently. For me, especially in the immediate aftermath, my feelings seem to be just ‘over there’ — nearby, but hazy and ill-formed. I feel compelled to reach in, sift through, organize, and compost them. And creativity and making are the best tools I’ve found for this.
When my dad died, in August 2024, it was a shock. He’d been sick, but he’d seemed to be improving, and we were staying hopeful.
It was the longest day of my life. I wandered around the house, unsure what to do with myself. I pulled weeds and gardened, texted old friends, packed and got a flight home.
The next two weeks were frenetic, as my mom, siblings and I worked with the funeral home and planned a memorial. I found myself scheming, striving to pay proper tribute to my dad and truly capture him through a series of creative activities, which I will now recount. Perhaps this will help you, when the time comes.
Obituary
In the first few days, we set a date for the funeral and had to put together an obituary. This can hang over families, an arduous task especially for those who do not enjoy writing. I asked to take the lead. I wanted to represent my dad’s unique qualities and create something that was not generic, but undeniably “him.” I got lost in the challenge of it, for a few hours at least. My family gave some input, and we sent it off to print. Here it is, with photos interspersed.
David Scott McCurdy of Cadillac passed away, August 22, 2024 at Munson Healthcare Cadillac Hospital. He was 74. Dave was born September 11, 1949 in Grand Rapids, Michigan to Donald L. and Sally A. (DeVries) McCurdy and they preceded him in death.
Dave graduated from Guilford High School in Rockford, Illinois in 1967. After completing his undergraduate and law degrees at the University of Illinois, Dave moved to Cadillac at age 24 and joined Don Samardich to form Samardich and McCurdy, P.C. It was one of the best decisions he ever made. Don became a lifelong best friend, and Dave helped build their law practice over 48 years.
He ushered it through many iterations, finally retiring in 2023 from McCurdy, Wotila and Porteous. He also co-founded Lakeside Title in 1978, and sold it in 2022.
Dave enjoyed the outdoors over his lifetime: hiking, camping and backpacking, canoeing rivers from the mellow Manistee to the mighty Batchewana, and piloting his pontoon around Lake Mitchell while wearing his signature captain’s hat. An avid skier, Dave could often be found cruising groomers at Caberfae Peaks during the winter months, and he treasured family ski trips to Big Sky, MT. He also enjoyed playing and watching tennis; tennis was a huge part of his social life in his early Cadillac years.
Dave was a voracious reader of news, getting a multitude of newspapers to stay current. He loved to try new restaurants, enjoy good wine, and travel to new and exciting places around the world with his family, friends and book club. An excellent entertainer, Dave and his wife Kathy loved bringing people together for a meal, and he’d always keep your wine glass filled.
He was a friend, advisor, mentor and champion to innumerable people, young and old. In his law practice, he guided many people through the hardest time of their lives. He always knew just what to say, and he navigated difficult situations with grace. He made those around him feel that he was genuinely interested in them and cared about them; he was a people person and energetic ‘hype man’ who found the best in others.
A civic leader, Dave cared deeply about Cadillac and was involved in many boards and committees. Along with serving as the attorney for the city of Cadillac, he served on the Cadillac Area Public Schools Board, the Cadillac City Council, the Cadillac Downtown Development Association board, the Cadillac Area Community Foundation board, the Fifth Third Bank board, Mercy Hospital Cadillac board, and in recent years he loved serving with the ‘geniuses’ on the Munson Healthcare board.
On June 17, 1972 in Rockford, Illinois he married the lovely Katherine D. Slattery and they enjoyed 52 years of marriage.
Kathy survives him along with their children: Katie (Nick Perez) McCurdy of Burlington, Vermont, Brian (Dalton) McCurdy of Bozeman, Montana, Mollie (Oliver) Yee of Rancho Palos Verdes, California; grandchildren: Lola, Juniper, Fiona, Penelope, and Jackson; siblings Bob McCurdy of Nokomis, Florida, Bo McCurdy (Pat) of Cadillac and nieces, Kelly and Megan McCurdy. Dave loved to talk about his kids’ and grandkids’ accomplishments, big or small, and his grandkids loved their ‘Geeka.’
A visitation and celebration of life [was] held Thursday, September 5th, 2024 at Fox Hill Event Center in Cadillac. Dave wanted a short service and a long party.
In lieu of flowers, David suggested that memorial contributions may be made to Munson Cadillac Hospital Foundation, the Cadillac Area Backpack Program, or the Cadillac Area Community Foundation.
Program and bookmarks
Though I don’t consider myself a graphic designer, I decided to design a basic program, plus laminated bookmarks for people to keep, on the recommendation of our local print shop (“People like to have something to take away,” she said.)
My dad had a unique set of values and way of living that I found inspiring, so I wrote these on the back of the program and on the bookmarks: “How to be like Dave.”
Here is the 4-page program:
And here is the bookmark:
Photo boards
I bought two large cork boards, printed out a selection of photos, and pinned them to the boards. We put these on large easels at the funeral.
I also had three larger photos of my dad printed and put on foam backing, and we set these up around the room.
Shrine table with Dave McCurdy objects
We decided to pull together a selection of objects that reminded us of our dad and put them out on a table. My siblings and I brainstormed and came up with the following:
- Black-label chapstick, which he used copiously through the 80’s and 90's
- A legal pad; as an old-school lawyer, he seemed compelled to write only on these tall, yellow lined pads
- A gold pen — always kept in the pocket while at work, for signing documents
- Ski goggles, to represent his love of skiing
- Captain’s hat — always worn while piloting the boat around the lake
- A fuzzy hat he would wear in winter on the coldest days, especially in the 90’s while volunteering at ski races
- A tin of peppermint Altoids — always in his car
- A few stones from Lake Superior
- His law degree, still in mint condition until I accidentally spilled water on it the night before the funeral
- A Wall Street Journal, to represent his love of the news (he consulted many different news sources daily, across the political spectrum)
- A photo of Don, our godfather and his great friend
- Assorted other family photos in frames
Tribute wall
Inspired by my career in human-centered design and experience with meeting facilitation, I thought we might put together a wall installation and invite people to write down ‘what Dave meant to me.’ Funeral-goers were coming from all over the U.S., and we didn’t have time for everyone to speak; so this could be a way for them to tell their story.
I made a basic banner, printed it across multiple pages and taped it together.
Visiting my local office supply and craft stores, I picked up sticky notes of different sizes, plus a wide selection of stickers on the following topics: skiing, wine, outdoors and camping, law, and hearts.
On the day of the funeral we encouraged people to leave a note on the wall as they entered the venue. Many of them did, and the wall filled up.
Afterward, I pulled them all down, stacked them together, and left. The next day I realized we should assemble an album with these notes. We ran out and found a scrapbook with film pages, and my nieces helped me assemble and decorate it, interspersing notes with photos and stickers.
So now we have an album bursting with love and emotion from the people who loved, respected, and were grateful for my dad.
Funeral speech
On the plane the morning after my dad died, I was crying into my mask when I decided to pull out my computer and start writing. I figured I’d need to give a speech at the funeral, so I wrote down the things I would want to say, some of which had been floating around in my mind for the prior few months, through my dad’s illness.
I wrote a draft that was similar to the final version; it flowed out of me. It felt good to extract these thoughts from my brain.
Here is the final version of my speech, which I gave to a crowded room of 500 people. Again, with photos throughout, added here for your benefit.
We are so honored and humbled that you are here, some of you from very far away. Each of you has a special story about my dad. We want to encourage you to add a note to his tribute wall in the lobby.
I want to share a tiny slice of my story.
In some ways, I’ve been preparing for this moment since I was 8. My dad, with his fearless and perhaps foolish friends, took a yearly trip to risk their lives on the Batchawana River, north of the U.P. in Canada. They went in the spring, when high waters and black flies guaranteed high adrenaline and a true sense of man vs. nature.
Each year, I set my alarm clock for 4:50am so that I could say goodbye before my dad took off for the Soo at 5am. I’d run out to the kitchen to give him a hug, and he’d be out there in river shorts and a colorful hat, getting ready to take off in the family van. I was always afraid it would be the last time I would see him. Given what I now know about these trips, I was right to worry. He had his life saved once or twice on that river, but he always came back — once with a basically inside-out, duct-taped canoe, which we kids inspected where it lay on our driveway.
My dad was adventuresome and became more so over the years. He and my mom took our family on road trips around the U.S. when we were kids. When we studied abroad, they came to visit us in Switzerland, Chile, Brazil, Mexico, and Spain. He was proud of us for being world travelers — a phrase he loved to use — and later he and my mom took a series of trips to Europe, attending a wine festival in Florence, watching falconry in Scotland, taking a ferry to the chilly islands off the coast of Ireland, and more. I’m proud of him and my mom for being such world travelers, and for not waiting until retirement to take these life-changing trips.
I know my dad was a great lawyer and I hear he was a great boss. But I can only talk about my own experience of my dad’s career. He truly loved his job. He’d say — ‘when you love what you do, it doesn’t feel like work.’ He couldn’t wait to get to the office each day, and the summer I worked in the law firm I saw how incredibly ‘on’ he was every single day. Enthusiastic. Peppy. No wonder he crashed every night at 9pm. I saw how his love for his work fueled him, and it inspired me to keep searching until I found a career I loved just as much.
My dad was very regimented in his work, but he also had a mischievous streak — he’d sometimes take me out of school to go skiing at Caberfae, which he called “playing hooky.” He loved devil’s night, and took me out soaping windows when I was four. We were quickly caught when I used the soap to write my name on the window, and we got invited into the Samardich house for hot chocolate.
Like many dads, he had a couple lines he’d use over and over.
Here’s one: ‘everything’s easier when you do it as a team.’ He’d repeat this while we whined and dragged our feet about cleaning the garage, raking the yard, cleaning the house. He taught us the value of teamwork and collaboration.
He’d also say: ‘it always feels good to do the right thing.’ My dad was a person of great integrity and honesty, with a rock solid moral code. He navigated hard conversations and situations with grace. He’s one of those people who always seems to say the right thing. When I came to him with a conundrum, he’d help me see the way forward with more clarity, and he’d always give me talking points to make my conversation go more smoothly.
Speaking of talking — my dad was a talker. He would wake up each day, ready to talk from morning to evening. He truly couldn’t help it — the words would spill out of him. Lucky for him, they spilled out in an articulate fashion. He didn’t even need coffee, though he loved coffee and it helped support his talking habit.
My dad always showed up for us. I can see him in his JP Woolies hat, with a long icicle hanging off his nose, volunteering at the start of ski races at the top of South Peak on negative 15 degree days.
I have a vivid memory of him sitting on the bleachers watching a CASA soccer game, in dress clothes, loafers and a trench coat. Countless times, I walked out of security at the Traverse City airport to see him standing there, off to the left, smiling proudly, ready to give me a big hug.
When I was 13, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and had to have major cardiothoracic surgery. My mom, dad and I spent many hours together in the waiting room at University of Michigan Neurology.
I had the privilege of repaying him, just a little bit, in the last year — sitting with him after his bone marrow transplant, calling into doctor appointments, and going with him and my mom to Mayo Clinic.
Through his health problems in the past year I saw him remain — as always — incredibly optimistic. Like sometimes, weirdly so. Even while struggling to breathe and walk, he was determined to ski this winter at Caberfae. What could we say? Maybe he was going to surprise us.
These past couple weeks, thinking and writing about dad’s life, I feel heartbroken that he’s no longer here, but also joyful, grateful and lucky. Lucky to have had this energetic, optimistic, hard-working, supportive person as my dad. Grateful we had 24 years with him after his double bypass at age 51. Grateful for all of you. And joyful to think of how he lived life to the max, loved the people around him and absolutely loved this little town.
Now I need your help. Let’s all work to keep Dave McCurdy’s spirit alive by doing our best to follow these life principles, which we have written up on the back of the program and listed out on bookmarks for your convenience:
- Put family first
- Be optimistic
- Love what you do
- See the best in others
- Stay curious
- Dress in a dapper manner
- Do the right thing
- Work as a team
- Keep others’ wine glasses full
- Show up for loved ones
- Embrace hard conversations
- Serve your community
(Speech over — hi, it’s me again.)
All of the various activities I’ve described above might be called the ‘acute’ phase of grief-making — the creative work of making my dad’s obituary and funeral as personalized to him as possible. A form of communication from me and my family to the community and from the community back to us: “this is who he was and what he meant to me, and this is why we should all be inspired by him.”
To recap, here’s what I did in those two weeks:
- Wrote the obituary
- Designed a program and bookmarks and worked with local print shop to produce them
- Printed photos, bought cork boards and assembled photos on boards
- Curated a shrine-like table filled with Dave McCurdy objects
- Planned a wall installation, bought supplies for it, created album with photos and the sticky notes people wrote
- Wrote speech
These attempts to capture and represent him were surely also the very first stages of grief and processing.
What is next, apart from writing this post? What will I do or make, perhaps at a more personal and private level, to continue churning through emotions and memories? I’m not sure yet, but I’m thinking of pulling together some videos so we can hear his voice again. And I’m staying open to other possibilities for honoring my dad, a great and inspiring man.
P.S.
This post has detailed what we did after my dad died, but actually, we had multiple recent opportunities to honor him while he was still alive. First, on my parents’ 50th anniversary, we gathered speeches from many of their friends, new and old, near and far, on a website called Tribute. They spoke about how my dad played such an important role in our town, how he and my mom were such good, solid friends, how my dad was a true advocate and advisor, and how he helped people navigate difficult situations. At their anniversary party in 2022 (a small dinner with their Covid pod) we watched the compiled video, and it brought us all to tears.
Then, my dad retired in January of 2023. His law firm threw a big party for him, and we three kids came home to surprise him and attend the party. We each got to stand up in front of probably 100 people and tell our dad why we love and appreciate him and why he’s been such an important role model. More tears spilled.
What I’m saying is, by the time my dad died, there was nothing left unsaid; he knew how we felt and how his community felt. If you have the chance to set up something like the Tribute videos for a loved one, I would highly recommend it.
