How (not?) to Live: A Eulogy for Sir Anonymous, an Overachiever

Time. 

All we have is time.

And it never feels like enough. 

We spend our lives running, achieving, trying to excel: proving. 

When people die young, we like to say they died before their time. 

We rail at the injustice of it. The tragedy! How could this happen? 

We are bewildered: Why?”

It all feels so unfair. 

And relationships–whether between a child and parent, spouses, siblings, even friends, are never simple. 

When someone dies, young or old, many feelings come along with it. 

Close loved ones may wonder how they will live without that person. 

They anticipate all the times in the future when they won’t be there–for Christmases,  Chanukahs, birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, New Year’s. 

It’s so sad.

But there is also anger. And resentment.

Anger at the forces that caused the person to die, anger at the disease that took them.

Anger at the person for dying.  

There can be resentment for who they were, or who they weren’t: how they fell short. 

Sir Anonymous was an overachiever— “driven” is probably a word many would use to describe him—both in life and in death and dying. 

And when you’re driven, balance in life is not a thing you can easily throw into the mix of “achievements.” 

Sir Anonymous was obviously well-loved, by all accounts. 

And for good reason.

He loved fiercely, and took Jewish values out into the world—I imagine as he had been taught, whether implicitly or explicitly.

Values that come from centuries—-millennia—-of discrimination and oppression. 

Values that teach that once you’ve made it in a place, you give back by supporting others who still struggle to overcome discrimination they experience—whether implicitly or explicitly.  

But when you’re an overachiever, you’re bound to disappoint–even, or maybe especially, yourself-–because you can’t be everything to everyone. 

You can’t do anything alone. No one can. And I think Sir Anonymous knew that. 

Perhaps Sir Anonymous thought, I have an amazing wife who I trust with all my heart–who I trust with my own life!--and I can be the provider while she holds up the house. My kids are okay. We’ve given them all the advantages they need to make it in the world already. So what was left? 

It seems that what was left was the drive to make sure he passed on his grit and determination to them, to make sure they knew what a hard world this is—-to be a coach to them like he was with everyone–and they’d be okay.

Such a drive can sometimes come out with harshness, but it comes from the same place of fierce and unrelenting love.  

Yes, Sir Anonymous tried to be everything to everyone–an impossible feat, bound to disappoint.

Because when you’re an overachiever, you feel like you’ll never get there, so you just keep pushing forward: the only way to go in life. 

But in the past four years, that changed. 

His Son Anonymous told me the other day that Sir Dad Anonymous’ every New Year’s resolution was about being more present in the coming year.

And as tragic as Sir Dad Anonymous’ death was, as unfair as it feels, it gave him the chance to be fully present for his family–most of all, his children–in a way he had not been able to before.

Finally, he could stop the running, achieving, excelling, proving.

He could just be. 

Wife Anonymous, though separated from him, stepped in to join forces with him and his doctors to help make it possible for Sir Husband Anonynous to survive his cancer for as long as he did.

Yes, Sir Anonymous was incredibly positive and determined, something he learned from his mother.

He coached everyone in every moment—even himself. 

While he “should not have lived” more than a year and a half according to the normal prognosis for his illness, he survived four years. 

And they were good years, up until the very end—full of unrelenting determination to make them just so.  

These were years that he took seriously—to live with a presence he could only fully learn knowing he was eventually going to die. 

He took the time to reconnect with his children in a way much deeper and more real than had been possible before–and that his Daughter Anonymous made possible through her dedication and love and her own hard, inner work. 

These very hard four years, from the beginning of a pandemic (remember Covid?), were a time when Sir Anonymous spent the gift of time in joy with his children.

Through his illness, he continued to play basketball with his boys, and joked and laughed with them.

But if it hadn’t been for Wife Anonymous’ immense love and strength–her love for him and their children—her presence–Sir Anonymous could not have survived the normal prognosis for his kind of cancer.

After putting things in order to make sure Wife Anonymous wouldn’t be left with insurmountable medical debt, an injustice that should not be wrought on anyone, Sir Anonymous could finally let go and just “be”--with them–seeing and appreciating them fully in their own right–for which they are incredibly grateful.

With that, for some personal stories, I hand over the mic to those who knew and loved him.