Written and read by my sister, Kim.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
In recent days when Nancy and the four of us were at Dad’s bedside, we talked about what defined him as a person. We agreed that Richard - Dick, Dickie, Schwartz, Dad, Papa, Pops – was first and foremost a peacemaker. He was kind and non-judgmental; he understood that people aren’t perfect, so he was accepting of everyone. He was a man that had a deep understanding of the bonds of family love, the power of forgiveness, and how this love should prevail through all things.
There was nothing more important to him than the love of his wife, children and stepchildren, grandchildren, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and lifelong friends. Not only did he love all of us profoundly, but he wanted nothing more than for us to always love and to be loyal to one another.
Dad was defined by love. His greatest love was his wife, Nancy: she was the light in his eyes, his inspiration, his absolute devotion. One day just a few weeks ago, Nancy was putting on Dad’s socks and tying his shoes – this was something he could no longer do for himself, and of course he hated feeling like a burden. After struggling with the socks, Nancy lifted his foot up to her knee and began to tie his shoe. At that moment he asked her tenderly, “Will you marry me?” And, without hesitation, she said, “Yes, I would do it all over again”. How fortunate my father was to find the love of his life: he cherished every moment of their 22 years of marriage.
I would like to pause briefly here for Dad’s four children to say thank you to Nancy, who took such wonderful, perfect care of our father to his very last moment.
Dad was also defined by his generosity. He was a man of few words, a man who expressed himself through his actions. Cousin Scotty Upton told us that when he was a young man, moving to Florida to start his life, he walked in to Dad’s office to clear up a bit of business and to say goodbye. When they shook hands, Dad clasped his two hands warmly around Scotty’s, slipping a neatly folded check for $100 into his palm. Haven’t we all had one of those handshakes from Dad at a critical moment in our lives?
In his business, he never allowed one of his customers to have a policy cancelled if he knew that they were struggling. Without a word, he just covered it.
Dini tells the story of a summer break from college, when she talked to a friend from out of state every day and accrued some lofty long-distance telephone bills. Dini was working a summer job, so she took the time each month to highlight her calls on the phone bill, clip the money to it, and present it to Dad. But on the day she was leaving to go back to school, Dad handed all of the money back to her, including each crinkled dollar bill and every last bit of change, untouched. Haven’t we all, at one time or another, received this kind of loving gesture from Dad?
He wanted all four of his children to go to college, but when his oldest daughter Kerry told him that she wanted to start her own dance studio, he had one built for her. Haven’t we all had a time when Dad’s generosity helped us to make our dreams come true?
Dad was defined by his strength and his courage. He never, ever complained. In the last few years, when he endured the painful failing of his health, he never spoke a word of it, but continued on with his life - going to the office, visiting us for dinner, taking little trips with Nancy, going to the BC football games – rarely missing a beat. We will never forget the summer day, just a year ago, that he insisted on playing whiffle ball with Nicholas, Julia, and Gianna. Nancy reprimanded him from the porch, “Schwartz, be careful!”, but he hit the ball anyway and somehow made his way around those bases. The kids were elated. Haven’t we all complained of some small ailment, only to stop when we remembered how Dad courageously managed his pain?
Dad was defined by his loyalty. When he loved you, he was fully committed. He faithfully attended hundreds of dance recitals, concerts, band competitions, hockey, softball, and baseball games – first for his own children, and then he started all over again with his grandchildren. He sat proudly by my side at my doctoral dissertation defense, never knowing the strength and confidence his mere presence gave to me. And his loyalty was true and for always, even when it came to his precious dog, Bailey, who died some years ago. When Nancy and Dad sold their house to move to the condo, Dad removed Bailey’s remains from the garden to replant them in mine, because he wouldn’t leave Bailey behind.
With his loyalty and commitment, he always made sure that we felt safe. When we were young, he waited patiently after late night events to make sure that we were transported safely home. All of our lives he would drive any distance to pick us up, he would travel any distance to visit us if we were away. He always gave us the most detailed driving directions – beginning right in our driveways – to make sure that we never got lost. We laughed the other night about the time recently that Dad was at the Baptist Hospital on the steep Parker Hill Avenue. He kept insisting we didn’t come to visit him, saying, “You’ll never get up that hill” (mind you, we were all in our 40’s and had plenty of driving experience). And we kept saying, “Dad, we are coming and we will get safely up the hill; please don’t worry”. When we arrived, he woke from surgery, and his first words to Nancy were, “Did the kids make it up the hill alright?”
And our safety was always more important than any material thing. When Ricky was 17 and had not just one, but two car accidents in one day, Dad never made him feel badly, he simply walked out to assess the damage and said, “It can be fixed”. Haven’t we all had this moment when we were fearful of making him angry, only to hear his comforting voice put it all in perspective?
Dad was defined by his intelligence, his wisdom, and his Faith. He shared with us his love of books and history, and he shared with us the wisdom of his life experiences. He set the foundation for our faith in God: not by his words, necessarily, but by his example as a practicing Catholic and his actions as a very good man.
Finally, Dad was defined by the things that made him happy and proud: he was so proud of his business of 50 years, and of Danny, in whom he has entrusted his life’s work, his education at Boston College, the talents and accomplishments of all four of his children. The things that made him happy were traveling with Nancy, his evening cigar, the Red Sox & Patriots, BC Football tailgates and games, his sweet dog Bailey, his garden, the sound of music, a newspaper, Newsweek, or a book to read, and his grandchildren on his lap.
In the end, Dad was truly defined by his heart of gold. There is a beautiful line from Les Miserables that says “To love another person is to see the face of God”. And how we have all loved him – husband, brother, father, grandfather, uncle, mentor, friend – and it is in this love that we are able to capture a glimpse of the face of our God.
In the second reading today, we state our resolute faith that nothing will separate us from the love of Christ. We also know – because of the purity of God’s love – that nothing, including death, will ever separate us from the infinite love we have all shared with Richard J. Smith.
