Eulogy of David on behalf of his family given by Mark Jodoin, St. Georges Church, Ottawa, November 13, 2006

Three years ago we gathered here in honour of our Dad, Harold Edward Jodoin.

At that time, many of you – extended family, family friends, several generations of our wonderful Capital and Dominion family – said that Harold was like a second father to you.

Today, we gather in this same church in honour his son, David Patrick Jodoin.

It is not surprising then, that over the past several days many of you have said David was like a brother to you.

David was a larger-than-life brother to us all. Indeed, David was larger than life in every respect.

For Margaret, Dave was a high school sweetheart who became her husband and best friend of thirty-nine years. His love for her – he often confided in me – could not have been greater.

For Aimee and Danny, he was the father from central casting: rugged, handsome, strong, wise, generous, fun and fun loving; emphasis on the 'loving'.

For his nephews and niece – and by extension many of their friends – he was Uncle Dave, in whose summer employment they were paid to drive a truck. The life lessons he imparted, though, came free.

For his brothers and sisters-in-law, Dave was the 'go-to-guy' when they or their spouses were in need. Those big shoulders of his just seemed to broaden and strengthen whenever times got tough.

For our mother Helen, Dave was one hellion of a teenager who grew into one heck of a man: a man of courage, conviction, caring, and above all else, compassion.

For Peg, Steve, Chris and I as young children – well, he was simply David: our brother with the biggest heart and the strongest back.

David was my 'Irish twin', he was born just a year and a half before me. As my older brother, I have never known anyone with more friends than my big brother Dave. So much so, that for the first twenty years of my life, I thought my name was 'Jodoin's Little Brother'.

As kids, Dave was my bodyguard. When I would come home after school crying or bruised at the hands of a bully, David would hop on his bike quietly disappear, and return just in time for dinner with his knees skinned and knuckles reddened.

The bullying would suddenly, inexplicably, stop.

As teenagers, he was my mentor. If we got into trouble, David was quick to take the heat. He was even quicker to point out that 'trouble' was not a path that he would allow me follow.

As grown men, he was my best buddy. We talked several times a week. I would often drop by the shop just to see him hold court.

Invariably, he would be laughing, telling a story, wearing one his trademark T-shirts, his khaki shorts, heavy work boots, with one of those big fat cigars in his hand.

By the way, who wears shorts in December? Our David, that's who. And have you ever see a man look more handsome in a suit? Surely not.

Though-out my life David has been my hero. Fearless as he was brave, noble as he was kind, generous as he was strong.

My brothers, sister and I have all been ennobled by David. We have been blessed, honoured, and humbled to have had him as a brother and friend.

He was, quite simply, the best of us.

I would like to end with a brief story.

David was also my guardian angel. I am not exaggerating when I state he saved my life three years ago. I would not be standing here today had it not been for my brother, and there are several among us today who can make a similar claim.

When I was ill, Dave took it upon himself to deliver me to the care I needed in order to survive.

Once there, I befriended a young man who had known great adversity in his life. He was not much more than a boy yet had endured more than any of us could imagine during his short time.

The day this young man left he sought me out, shook my hand, and in his palm I found a piece of folded paper.

He said "put that in your wallet and read it whenever you need to." He turned and left and I have never seen or heard from him again.

I opened the paper and recognized it as poem written for the young men of the nineteenth century. Instantly I remembered it from days when David and I were Cub Scouts in the same church basement below us today.

Reading it then, forty years later, the only boy that came into my mind was David.

I have always associated this poem with my big brother.

From this day forth, I invite you to do the same.

'IF'
by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing left of you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!