Eulogy (Rachel Mattocks)

I read somewhere that there are only three things of value you can say of a person at a funeral:

You love them
You miss them
You will not be the same for knowing them.


In loving Andrew there was also a great deal of respect. He was strong yet gentle, hardworking yet lots of fun.

I have here something my parents wrote as a comment on Andrew’s blog: It reads: We are so very proud of the boy you were, the man you have become and all you have achieved. The caring and loving husband, father and son; someone who is always there in time of need. And now as you face one of life’s biggest challenges with dignity and fortitude we can only, once again, be amazed at your strong will and determination to overcome and succeed. Our love and prayers are with you always.

I ask you: How can you adequately describe a mother’s love for her son? How can you effectively express the pride a father has for his boy? Especially someone like Andrew.

It’s like looking at a iceberg. You can see what’s above the water but most of what it is, lies under the surface.

When I was in my teens Andrew decided that his house needed painting. I was a willing but somewhat naïve volunteer, as I am sure some of you can appreciate.

I was set to the task of scraping windows. While I was busy working Andrew came by to see how I was going. He noticed one of the hinges was loose so he set about fixing it. In order to get to the hinges I needed to hold the window horizontal, and this up a ladder. First he replaced the screws, with ones twice as long.

When Andrew wanted something to stay it wasn’t going anywhere.

However, once he’d replaced the screws, the window would no longer close because the house was so warped.

So we proceeded to take the window down and pack up the hinge. The first time we did this, it wasn’t quite enough, so we had to take the window down again. By this time I was getting pretty fatigued.

But Andrew offered plenty of encouragement for me to hang in there, and we got the job done.

It was only afterwards I noticed that he’d been working so hard and fast he’d given himself a significant blister on his hand from turning the screwdriver.

You see, he would take the pain for you. And you knew that no matter what you did he would start earlier, work harder, and be the last to give in.

But he also wanted you to succeed too, and that made it so you wanted to go that little bit further, work that little bit longer and think that little bit harder.

In honouring Andrew’s life I think most significant thing you can do is being all that you can be. Andrew did that … and then some.