The Cardinal’s Promise

I’ve been to a lot of funerals.

Not just because of hospice. Because of recovery. Because of life. Because when you’ve lived the kind of life I’ve lived, you bury people you love and people you couldn’t save and people who left before anyone was ready.

And at almost every funeral, someone stands up and says something beautiful about the person in the casket. Something true. Something that makes the whole room cry.

And every time, the same thought crosses my mind:

Did they ever say that when they were alive?

The daughter who stands up and says, My father was the strongest man I ever knew. Did she ever tell him that on a Tuesday? Over coffee? On the phone?

The son who says, He taught me everything I know about being a man. Did he ever look his father in the eye and say those words while his father could still hear them?

The wife who says, He was my best friend. Did he know?

I’m not judging. I’ve done it too. My father Lou died on Christmas Day, 2025. I had seventeen years of sobriety, a career in hospice, all the right words for other people’s families. And there were still things I saved for the eulogy that I could have said at the kitchen table.

We do this because it’s easier to praise someone when they can’t hear you. When there’s no awkwardness. No vulnerability. No risk that they’ll look at you funny or change the subject or say okay, that’s enough.

But here’s what I know from sitting in hundreds of rooms where someone is dying:

They want to hear it. Even if they wave you off. Even if they close their eyes. Even if they can’t respond. They hear it. And it matters.

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Have you ever heard someone speak at a eulogy and wished they had said it when the person was still living?

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If that’s you — if you’re carrying something you wish you’d said, or something you still can — here’s my advice:

Say it now. Today. Pick up the phone. Write the letter. Drive to the house. Don’t wait for the right moment. The right moment is the one you’re in.

It doesn’t have to be a speech. It can be one sentence. I’m proud of you. I forgive you. You mattered to me more than I ever showed.

And if they’re already gone? Say it anyway. Say it out loud. Say it to the sky, to a photograph, to a cardinal on a branch. The words still land somewhere.

Give the eulogy while they can hear it.

I’d love to hear from you. Hit reply and tell me — what would you say? What do you wish someone had said to you? Your story might be the one someone else needs to hear.

— Rob

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