Sid Bacon

When our oldest child, Emily, was in kindergarten, she became friends with a cute little neighborhood girl named Laura Bacon. That was how my family and I met the Bacons.  We really hit it off with them and we have been friends with Sid, Cathy, Laura and Dan ever since – almost 24 years now. Today I am honored to share a few thoughts about Sid’s wonderful attributes as a friend.

 

Someone has said: a friend is a person who is willing to take me the way I am, but who is willing and able to leave me better than he found me. (Marvin J Ashton, Oct 1972 LDS General Conference)  This is exactly the type of friend Sid was.  I don’t know all of you personally, but I do know Sid, so I feel confident in saying that each one of us here today has been touched by Sid in one way or another, and we are ALL better people because of his influence.

 

Sid had many wonderful characteristics that made him a great friend.

 

He was always positive and optimistic.  Even when Sid was going through his battle with cancer, he stayed optimistic. Through his entire cancer journey his blog entries were positive.  Very rarely was there any hint of discouragement, and never ever did he want to throw in the towel. In fact the morning that he passed away he was up washing the dishes and Cathy had to force him to sit down because he was so short of breath. 

 

Someone might think, well it is easy to write only positive things in a blog.  But when you were around Sid you knew he wasn’t faking it.  It was the real deal; he was always upbeat and positive.  About 3 to 4 months ago, my husband and I went to the play “Memphis” at Gammage with Sid and Cathy.  Sid was not feeling the greatest and he was very weak.  But in spite of this Sid was a trooper and an enthusiastic participant.  We ate before the play and Sid raved about how good the food was...even though he probably was very nauseated and had no appetite.  By the time the play ended it was definitely past his bed time.  However, that is not saying much, because Sid had an early bed time even before he got sick.  Regardless, I think he stayed awake through most of the play and on the way home even though he could hardly keep his eyes open he was positive, saying, “wow what a great play, what great seats, what great music.” and on and on.

 

I think one of the reasons Sid was able to be so optimistic and positive, even in the toughest of time, is he had such a good perspective on life.  As one author put it:  “Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is like an old time rail journey…delays…sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”  President Gordon B. Hinkley

 

Sid was very good at recognizing, appreciating and even cherishing the beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed when they came.  He thrilled at his morning walks with Cathy (even without any bursts of speeds) and just being able to hold her hand.

 

Sid did thank the Lord and was grateful for every aspect of the ride. One of his blog entries that touched me the most illustrates this point vividly.  I remember when I opened up the link to this particular entry, and read the title:  “Why Me”, my heart just sank.  While asking “why me” is a common reaction when one finds himself in Sid’s situation, it just didn’t sound like our optimistic, positive Sid.  But as I read on, not only was it the optimistic and positive Sid we all love, but it was also a very grateful Sid.  I will just read parts of this entry, he said:

       

Why me?...why was I so lucky to be adopted by my parents... who provided me such a wonderful and loving home in which to grow up?  And one that came with a big sister built in?  Why me?

 

Why did I get to grow up knowing and understanding the importance of education?  Why did I have all the opportunities to pursue my education …Why have I had the professional opportunities I have had. Why me?

 

Why did I get to marry my best friend … Why have our children grown up to be the people they have grown up to be … individuals who are kind, compassionate, loving, funny, giving?  Why am I so lucky?  Why me?

 

Sid continued:

 

Although I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate these things, I must confess I’m not getting any closer to the answers.  Much of our lot in life is determined not by our doing, but by random occurrences and breaks, lucky or otherwise. We may think we control them, or at least some of them, but I’m not so sure.  What I do know is that we are better off focusing on the positive and focusing on how we respond to our various situations, because that is the only thing truly in our control.

 

Another notable characteristic of Sid’s was his Kindness.  He was always putting others before himself.  Sid had advanced educational degrees, prestigious titles, and many accomplishments.  But he never considered himself too important or above anyone.  He was kind and thoughtful to everyone.  Including little children.  When our children were young we did many activities with the Bacons. When our daughter, Erin, was about 4 years old, she had a crush on Sid.  And I think Sid kind of had a crush on Erin. Cathy handled it pretty well.  Erin always wanted to be by Sid...where Sid was, Erin was! One of Erin’s favorite spots was Sid’s shoulders. (Show Picture) When we were out camping, hiking, or at the zoo like in this picture, Erin often found her way onto Sid’s shoulders.  Up there, she always felt huge or “whooge” as she used to say.  I remember being concerned that Erin would wear out her welcome and become annoying to Sid.  But he was always so patient and tender with her and made her feel like she was the most important 4 year old in the world.

I know from reading many of the comments on his blog that Sid had a way of making many of us feel good about ourselves.  One of his students wrote:

 

Dr. Bacon was an incredible person and I'm so grateful for the influence he had on my education and life. Not only was he a wonderful teacher, but he had the ability to make his students feel important and valued. I find it amazing that someone so important and busy found the time to do this. His kindness and time helped motivate me.

 

These are just a few of the outstanding characteristics that made Sid such a good friend.  Emerson said, “The only way to have a friend is to be one.”  It’s no wonder that Sid had so many friends.  The broad reach of his friendship is evident by the number of visits to his blog, which as of this morning numbered over 71,981.  It is also evident by all of you being here today.

 

It is when trials and hardships come that the true character of a person emerges. The true character of Sid was apparent in his blog entries.   And as I have read many of those entries, I have noticed a theme...Sid inspired and motivated us to focus on what is most important in life. The sheer number of lives he has touched is a testament to what a wonderful man he is.  We are all better from knowing him. 

 

Here are just comments that others posted on Sid’s blog:

 

Dr. Bacon was an amazing teacher and mentor; always supportive and challenging you to do better. I cannot begin to guess how many lives he impacted for the better and I count myself fortunate to be included among them.

 

Sid was so strong during this battle and was so kind to share it with all that knew him. He was the leader and we were the followers! He gave us all the message to live each day to the fullest! He made us better people as we read his postings.

 

Sid has touched so many lives and encouraged us all to remember what is important in life.

 

Just like Erin when she was a little girl, many of us have metaphorically ridden Sid’s shoulders , especially as we have observed him fight against cancer with courage, perspective and grace.

 

Helen Keller said, “So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart, I shall say that life is good.”   We will all miss Sid; he leaves a “whooge” whole in our hearts. But because we have many wonderful memories of a positive, optimistic, caring, man, we too can say life is good, and indeed it is.  Team Bacon will live on through memories of Sid and his influence. We are all better people because we have known Sid Bacon.

He has always been a hard act to follow.

 

Candy, flowers, chocolates -- none of the traditional Valentine's Day gifts I have received compare with the Valentine I was given on February 14, 1956.

 

That was the day I got a baby brother, Sid. In my family, we celebrate February 14 as Sid's "Gotcha Day'' because that is the day we literally got him.

 

Sid and I are both adopted. We observe birthdays and Gotcha Days.

 

Several weeks after Sid joined our family, my mother took him to my first-grade class for me so I could share him during Show and Tell. I was thrilled to have a brother.

 

Growing up, our big sister-little brother relationship followed a typical sibling course: I was delighted, annoyed, amused, embarrassed, pleased and proud of his antics and achievements.

 

As the years passed, talk at family gatherings occasionally would turn to Sid's appearance at Show and Tell and big sister would sense that all the fuss was making Sid feel a little too special.

 

That was when I would remind him that he was the second family member I took to Show and Tell. I took the dog first.

Thank you all for coming.
 

When my brother and I were first discussing speaking at this service I corrected myself and said that really I would be crying my way through a speech.  Danny didn’t even know if he could speak at all, saying his words might be completely unintelligible because he would be bawling and have snot running down his face.  I told him mine might be like that, but I was going to do it anyway.
 

One of the things I will remember most about my Dad is that he was a teacher.   Whether in academia, as a father or as a friend, teaching seemed to be ingrained in him. 
 

Not all of his lessons were appropriate, such as coaching me, at 7, how to throw elbows in basketball without getting called for a foul (you hold your elbows out and pivot).  Some lessons were unnecessary, such as showing me every time I came home during college how to adjust the AC to my preferred temperature (literally all you do is press the up and down arrows).
 

The things he taught me as my father are immeasurable, but some of the most important things I learned occurred after his diagnosis.  These weren’t specific lessons, but rather the result of watching his courageous example.  Somehow, this terrible disease managed to bring out the best in my dad, amplifying qualities that had always been there.  They are somewhat simple ideas but I would feel lost right now without them.  They are lessons that I will always be trying to put into better practice.   His teaching can be a way that he continues to live on through others.  
 

Growing up my dad instilled a veracious work ethic in me and showed me the importance of loving what you do.  This combination made it easy for both of us to get wrapped up in work, at our jobs and at home.  The diagnosis of pancreatic cancer brought an unknown and limited time line which suddenly made it easier to recognize what our true priorities are.  The most valuable things in life are the people we love, our family and friends, and the moments we share with them.  My dad showed me the beauty and power of living life in the present, taking things day by day and not taking anything for granted.  He had the greatest appreciation for even the smallest things.  Just walking hand in hand with your best friend was something worth writing about daily.   
 

Living life in the present while confronting cancer would have been daunting for many.  Somehow, my dad had a remarkable ability to focus on the positives in the midst of so many negatives.  One might hardly notice he was sick just from reading his blog but the “Why Me?” entry best exemplifies his attitude.  At home, he would comment on how lucky he was even more frequently as the disease progressed. Such an outlook seems improbable but it was completely sincere and effortless.  He recognized the exceptional things that we had and was incredibly grateful for all of them.  Focusing on what was good throughout this journey allowed us to have some of our best days when he was the sickest.  Most importantly he showed me how lucky we were to have each other and how special our relationship and our time together was. 
 

My dad demonstrated a tremendous amount of strength when it came to fighting this disease.  It, of course, took a lot of physical strength.  His starting condition and the training he continued to do gave him an edge in his battle.  But it took a mental toughness and determination to overcome the obstacles. He had to work against a weakening body to stay as active as he did.  Although there was always someone there willing to help, he would insist on doing some things himself, just to keep up his strength.  He continued to open our heavy, vacuumed sealed refrigerator doors (a task that requires two hands for many), and to retract the leg rest of his recliner (something that sometimes takes me two tries).  He was even doing the dishes just hours before his death.  It wasn’t until he died that we realized how hard he had actually been fighting.  It was as if pure willpower had been sustaining him and his body just finally gave out.   
 

A more difficult quality for me to emulate is my dad’s grace.  Almost certainly, no one on my Mom’s side of the family will handle declines in their physical or mental abilities as well.  When he didn’t have the physical strength or energy for something, he readily accepted help.  Whether it was a ride in a wheelchair or turning over tasks completely he never grumbled and was always thankful.  This disease takes a horrible toll on the body.  But rather than struggling in vain, he accepted new parameters as his condition changed.  Doing so ensured that almost every day ended up being a good day, even if the qualifiers for “good” had to be modified.  
 

Even when he was being cared for, he never lost the strength to care for others.  He helped us through the last year and a half as much as we helped him.  He continued to be more concerned about others than himself, even to a comical extent.  Just last month, after I had been sniffling a little, he said, “I’m sorry you have allergies” and in a reversal of roles proceeded to get up to get me medication.  His infectious positive attitude provided comfort and gave us the strength to get through this.  On the very few days when he was feeling down you could hardly notice his mood change.  If anything, it was reassuring to know we weren’t the only ones sometimes feeling discouraged by what we were up against.
 

One of the biggest events of the last year and a half was my brother’s wedding.  It was just a few months after my dad’s diagnosis, and at that point it was quite an achievement for him to be there for it.  I officiated the wedding and the most difficult part came when Danny started reading the vows he had written to Liz.  It started with, “you told me I wasn’t allowed to make you cry during the ceremony; which meant I had to ax my plans to chop onions while kicking you in the shins.”  They went on to be some of the most incredibly beautiful vows you could imagine.  Liz, of course, was crying, Danny’s voice was cracking, the bride’s maids were tearing up, and even the groomsmen admitted they almost broke into tears.  I was biting my tongue to keep myself from crying in fear of having the entire wedding party on stage sobbing through the rest of the ceremony.  I remember looking into the audience and seeing everyone in my family bawling, except for my dad.  He was straight faced like a rock. 
 

And most of the time that is how it was; he was our anchor while the rest of us would cry.  But when we were told he had weeks, instead of months left, it was the first time during this ordeal that I saw him cry.  During the next weeks we shared many meaningful tearful moments that I’ll treasure forever. 
 

One of the most valuable lessons he taught me is that you can be strong and still cry.  I learned that it is important to acknowledge the things that are painfully sad alongside the ones that are enjoyable.  Like any dichotomy, the two are interconnected and each needs the other.  During the last 19 months, the tragic overtone made the moments we shared more joyous and meaningful.  And it is only because our time together was so wonderful and because he was such a good man that we are so sad now.

As I struggled to think of what to say today, I read over the beautiful messages posted on CaringBridge, the toasts sent in to be displayed at the service today, the cards people mailed to us.  Yet I felt stuck. And then I realized, the public school system had secretly been preparing me to eulogize our parents for years, masked behind prompts of “What did you do on summer vacation” or “Write a biography of a family member”. 
 

I was thrilled to discover the first edition of “Dr. Sid P. Bacon” written and illustrated by yours truly, published in 1994.  Dad has nearly a hundred publications over the course of his career, and it seems clear to me that he passed along his strengths as a writer.  Please take note of the clear thesis, strong voice, and excellent word economy. 
 

Hey dudes! Want to hear about my cool, awesome dad?  I guess so dudes!  Sid Bacon likes to play with Laura and Dan, his daughter and his son  Sid likes to visit with people.  Of course he likes to have fun.  Sid does like to be at work.



Sid is a very fast runner.  Sid catches all the bad throws Dan throws.  Sid is great at sports.
 

Sid does psychoacoustics.  In other words he teaches psychoacoustics.  Psychoacoustics is where you learn about hearing.  Sometimes Sid juggles a bit.  On weekends Sid does the yard work.  Sid also plays sports with Laura and Dan. 

Sid has two children.  The childrens’ names are Laura and Dan.  He has a wife.  Sid’s wife’s name is Cathy.  Sid wears glasses.  He wears seeing glasses and sunglasses. 
 

Sid was born in 1955.  Sid is 38 years old.  Sid is the oldest in the family.  Sid Bacon is a great guy.  This guy is a nice father, too.  I should know because I am his son. 

 

It seems like even in second grade I had a pretty good grasp for who my dad was. Someone who likes to have fun: playing catch with his kids or working in his yard. A husband.  A father.  A teacher.  A researcher.  A great guy. 

 

Yet, when I try to put labels like father, husband, brother or colleague on my dad, I am reminded of what my dad so cleverly said many years ago.  While at church one week, the priest asked everyone to describe themselves in one word.  Several members of the congregation gave answers like “mother”, “teacher”, or “Christian”, and the priest seemed satisfied in making the point that we are too many things to be boxed in by one label.  You can be a great husband, but you are only a husband to your partner.  You can be a great father, but you are only a father to your children.

 

But my dad, always thoughtful and quick on his feet, shared that his one word was “friend”.  He could be a friend to his parents, a friend to his sister, a friend to his children, a friend to his neighbors, a friend to his colleagues, a friend to his students, and a best friend to his wife.
 

So while my dad taught me so many things, was so many things to me, at the heart of it all, he taught me to treat everyone around me as a friend. 

 

Dad taught me that a father cares and provides for his children, but also treats them like they are his friends.

 

A friend who shares the interests of his children: who takes the whole family to a Beach Boys concert because they’re his daughter’s favorite band. And of course, provides earplugs for the whole family to wear as well.  A Dad who will watch their son’s favorite movies over and over and reenact their favorite scenes with his son, Daniel-son.  
 

A friend who will always go the extra mile to help his children in school. When it was time to come up with a 6^th grade science project, Dad was happy to suggests some possible topics.  And I would like to point out that while Dad might have helped me a little with the title, it seems clear the writing was my own. 

 



A friend who would share a beer with his children.  Which, while I was reading through my second grade book about our summer vacation, realized has been going on from much longer than I remember.
 


 

Furthermore, Dad taught me that a father loves and supports his partner, no matter what.  And I'm sure Liz would tell you I've still got a lot to learn, but I'll kept trying to perfect his lessons even after he is gone. Whether brewing her coffee every morning, waiting for her at the finish line of her marathon, backing her decision in parenting, writing her a love poem every anniversary, or holding her hand on a walk in the desert, he supported his partner while making her laugh and smile all along the way.  

What I wish Dad could have taught me more about is how to be a grandfather.  It was one of the first things we talked about when he got the diagnosis and one of the last things we talked about. Near the end Dad said, "I've never really said I was mad about this all.  But I'm mad.  I'm mad I don't get to be a grandfather."  Pancreatic cancer robbed me of the man that was supposed to teach my children to follow through on their jump-shot, move their feet on defense, and never give up on the play.  Pancreatic cancer took the man I was supposed to get to go to with questions during fatherhood.  While this pernicious disease took a lot, what it doesn’t get to take are my memories.  The memories that will make me laugh, and the memories that will help guide me through difficult decisions.

 

This disease cannot take our fight either.  So, we fight together.  You fight for all of your friends.  You fight for your friends you call coworkers or colleagues.  You fight for the friends you call neighbors.  You fight for friends you call acquaintances.  You fight for those friends you call your children.  You fight for your best friend you call your wife.  Regardless of what you call the people around you: spouse, child, parent, sibling, boss, student, colleague, neighbor; you fight for them as your friend, you love them as your friend. 

 

And after spending all this time praising my father, I know in all his humility, he would not like to feel deified. Sid had his flaws too.  So I leave you with this.  

 

Meditation by C. Dancla