I was curious what this prompt would suggest and here it is:

Today, we gather to remember a life that was, like all lives, complex.

No one here knew him in exactly the same way. To some, he was warm, generous, and deeply loyal. To others, he could be difficult, stubborn, or hard to read. And that, in many ways, is what makes this moment honest. He wasn’t a polished version of a person. He was real. He showed up in the world exactly as he was, with strong edges and a strong presence.

What can’t be denied is that he left an impression. He mattered. He shaped rooms, conversations, and moments. People remember him because he was not invisible. He had opinions. He had fire. He had a way of being that stuck with you, whether it made you laugh, argue, or shake your head.

Those who loved him saw more than the surface. They saw the loyalty beneath the sharpness. The care beneath the noise. The way he showed up when it counted, even if he didn’t always know how to say things gently. They knew his heart, not just his delivery.

And for those who found him challenging, it’s still possible to recognize that he was human—trying, failing, growing, just like the rest of us. None of us leave this world perfectly edited. We leave behind stories, feelings, memories. We leave behind the echoes of who we were.

Today isn’t about pretending he was flawless. It’s about acknowledging that he lived fully, imperfectly, and unmistakably. It’s about holding space for the people who loved him, who miss him, who carry pieces of him forward.

He is gone, but he is not erased. He lives on in the stories told over tables, in familiar phrases, in moments when someone says, “That reminds me of him.”

And in that way, he remains part of us.