Hey guys...sharing the eulogy I wrote for my dad that I will be delivering this weekend.

Eulogy for Charles F. Strauss

By Kaelan Strouse, Sept 20, 2024

Thank you all so much for being here. One of the hallmarks of a well-lived life is the people who love us and celebrate our existence. My father, I’m sure, is so pleased to see how many loved ones have gathered together to honor his life. Peter Strople once said: ‘Legacy is not leaving something behind for other people. It’s leaving something behind in other people.’ Looking at your faces, I see that he left something meaningful in each of you.

I am his youngest son, Kaelan, and I’d like to begin by asking a question: What does ‘leaving a legacy’ really mean? The dictionary defines it in two ways. The first: a gift of money or property—something my father, Charles, didn’t leave us (chuckles). Though he once lived an opulent life—with cars featuring the first-ever built-in car phones, floor-length fur coats, and diamond-studded jewelry—by the end of his life, my father embraced a much more humble way of being. But the second definition, ‘something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor,’ is what truly resonates. The legacy Charles F. Strauss left behind is in the impact he made on each of us.

Over the past several days, as I’ve reached out to many of you to share the news of his passing, one thing I heard time and again was: ‘Your father was such an immensely kind man.’ Another sentiment often repeated was, ‘He was one of the most generous men I knew.’ And one particularly meaningful observation: “It’s so appropriate that he passed over at dawn—because when I think of your father, I think of the light he brought to the world.”

What is the legacy of Charles F. Strauss? For me, his legacy is some of the inedible stories that play through my mind, memories that he was very proud of.

I remember being a young boy, probably nine or so years old, and being dragged to attend my father’s “self-help seminars” at local libraries. As a kid, he made me read self-improvement books like Og Mandino’s The Greatest Salesman in the World , Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich, and Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People. I think he wanted to be like them—and so he created presentations on similar topics, hoping to inspire others to improve their lives. His catchphrase was “people fail to think,” and he even had small, wooden disks printed with the words “round tuit” on them, to hand out whenever someone said, “I’ll get around to it.”  I’m not sure how many he gave out, but it shows how deeply he wanted to inspire others.

I see this legacy in the way he inspired all three of his sons to become coaches, each in our own way, dedicated to helping others grow. Michael doesn’t just coach disc golf or excel sheets—he helps people find their way toward self-improvement in ways that are sometimes beyond words. Mark, through his leadership teaching business acumen, effective communication, and his deep commitment to mentoring others on their 12-step journeys, embodies the same spirit of guidance. And myself, as a spiritual guide and coach, I carry forward my father’s passion for uncovering deeper truths. Spend a few minutes with any of us, and you’ll quickly sense the deep respect for spiritual and philosophical wisdom we inherited from our father

Another legacy my father leaves behind is his unwavering commitment to truthfulness. He was so deeply aligned with his personal integrity that he would turn down business offers that (while they could have made him a lot of money) didn’t seem fully above board. He would even return checks to clients who had accidentally overpaid him. And when a toll booth was malfunctioning, instead of just driving through, he’d still pay the toll. That’s the kind of man he was. Now I understand why, when I’m at Chipotle, I feel an overwhelming need to correct the cashier if they charge me for only one scoop of chicken instead of two.

Another vivid memory that defines my father’s legacy is one he would often speak about: his promise to help me with my college education. Growing up, he told me repeatedly that if I worked hard and got good grades, he would find a way to pay for my school. But by the time I brought home my first college brochures during my sophomore year of high school, tuition prices had skyrocketed since he’d last seen them. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to say, “Well, I suppose you better start finding some jobs.” But instead, he paused, took a breath, and said, “I made you a promise. You keep working hard, and we will find a way to get you there.”

You see, my father had had his heart broken well over a decade earlier. He had lost much of what defined him as a man and a success. He lost his highly profitable insurance business, his wealth, his fancy cars, and even his ability to do the job he loved—his insurance license was taken away because he trusted people he shouldn’t have. He entered a decade-long depression. It was this moment, he said, that awoke something in him that allowed him to climb back into the saddle and start reclaiming his power and his belief in himself. With Michael and my mother’s help, he rebuilt his insurance business, finding not just financial success, but personal redemption.

One of the most defining legacies my father left behind was his response to my coming out. He grew up in a time when being queer was deeply shameful, something that needed to be hidden. When I started questioning my orientation, he was reluctant to discuss it with me or offer emotional support. Then one day, I apparently said something that made him question his beliefs: “Dad, would you rather see me spend the rest of my life alone?” Again, he paused, breathed, and said, “No.”

When I introduced him to the man who would become my husband, Anthony, he greeted him with open arms. By the end of their first lunch together, my father famously declared, “I couldn’t love you any more if you were a blonde with big tits.” And for those of you who attended our wedding ceremony, either in Mexico or our reception here in Chicago, you observed that he could barely get through his toasts because he was crying so hard, his heart filled with joy.

That’s the kind of legacy he leaves behind. To set aside his prejudice and send me, his son, the message of unconditional love. Words will never express how grateful I am for the love my father showed me. Even in his final week, when he could barely speak in the ICU, I will forever remember how he looked at me, his eyes overflowing with love and compassion. That is a profound legacy to leave to a loved one.

My father, like all of us, was a man of many layers. I’m not going to stand up here and say he was without fault, because that would diminish the colorful tapestry that was his life. Both the bright and dark colors are there, as they are in any great weaving. Sure, he could be childish and petulant. He could demand to be the center of attention. But none of that diminishes the light, the love, the blessings he also bestowed with his presence. Our journey is not to be perfect individuals without fault but to be intensely human. To love freely, passionately, and with wild abandon. And in those ways, I have seen ample evidence that my father succeeded.

My father was born into difficult circumstances. His father abandoned him, and though his mother, Barbara, loved him, she couldn’t care for him consistently. He spent much of his early life being shuffled between her and an orphanage. When she did bring him home, their tenement flat was infested with cockroaches. He would wake at night and ask why the floor was moving. His mother passed away in his arms when he was just twelve. Afterward, he was raised by an adoptive father, Hank, who treated him poorly, often belittling him and forcing them to move every few months. At seventeen, he joined the Air Force, trying to escape the life he was born into.

So much of my father’s life, I believe, was shaped by the trauma of his early years—the sense of abandonment and the constant feeling of not being enough. He spent much of his life trying to prove his worth, repeating the words of a grandmother who told him, on her deathbed, “You’re going to fool them all, Charlie.”

How well do you think you would have fared, having been born into a situation like his? Before we judge anyone’s shortcomings, let’s take the time to understand their story—the trials they’ve endured, the journey they’ve traveled.

Instead of being broken by life’s betrayals, he became softer, more loving. That stepfather, Hank, who was so hard on him, eventually learned how to love through my father’s patience and care. By the end of Hank’s life, they had formed a beautiful friendship, a deeply loving bond. I remember being young and seeing how diligently my father took care of him. My mother often says: “Chuck taught Grandpa how to love.”

Isn’t that the point of life? To love more, to learn more, to connect more deeply? My father succeeded in all these ways. Brené Brown says success is not defined by money or fame, but by the bravery with which we choose to live. I see bravery in my father’s life. I see it in his decision to rebuild his business when he needed to help pay for my schooling, even though he was scared and beaten down. I see it in his capacity to love, despite the abandonment and betrayal he faced in his youth. I see it in the way he learned to appreciate a more humble life, without fancy cars or floor-length fur coats.

My father believed in the progress of the soul—that our purpose is to grow and evolve while we’re here. He believed in past lives, and I can recall him telling stories about being a druid priest at megalithic stone circle. He believed that he had this current life as a chance to learn and grow from the mistakes of his previous. And I can firmly say, from my point of view, that the man who left this planet just a week ago was a profoundly more loving, caring, and internally free man than from a few decades prior. We see this in the way he repaired the damaged relationships he had hurt in his youth. We see this in the way that he was kinder and more gentle with everyone in his final months. My mother says that he paid her more compliments in his final year than she could recall him giving in the previous 39. I would look forward to my almost daily phone calls with Dad, where he would call up to say not much apart from “I love you, and I was thinking about you.” You have no idea how much I will miss those phone calls.

The legacy my father leaves behind is one to inspire all of us. It’s not about where you start, it’s about where you end up. There’s always an opportunity to tell someone you love them. Wealth is fleeting, but you never have too little to not be generous in spirit. It’s never too late to make amends. Do the right thing: honesty, integrity, and forthrightness will always be admired. These are just a few of the many lessons my father leaves behind in the hearts and minds of all who knew him.

As I move toward closing, I’d like to read some lyrics from the song he requested for his funeral, with one notable change he asked to be included:

… And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I traveled each and every highway

And more, much more than this

I did it HIS way

… Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it HIS way

… I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill, my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say, not in a shy way

Oh, no, oh, no, not me

I did it HIS way

“I will end with this: since the passing of my father, I’ve been using my spiritual practice as a meditator to connect with his soul. The day he left us was deeply disorienting. I felt like I was moving through soup—everything was heavy, and I would spontaneously start hyperventilating and burst into sobs. But from the day after, as I’ve strived to connect with his spirit—because I firmly believe our souls are eternal, and that love knows no barrier in death—all I’ve felt is joy. When I reach out to the entity that was my father, I feel only bliss, joy, and immense happiness. And when I’ve spoken about how happy I believe he is now (wherever that may be), I’ve repeatedly seen lights in my home flicker in response—something they’ve never done before.

I know my father is in a place filled with joy. I know he is pleased with the time he spent on earth and with the legacy he leaves behind in each of us. We are each better for having experienced his kindness, his generosity, his integrity, and his willingness to grow. It has been such an honor and a privilege to share this planet with him—and with all of you.

Thank you, Dad, from the bottom of my heart, for being someone I’m so proud to call my father. Your unconditional love will live on in those who remember you. Thank you for everything you’ve done—words will never fully express my gratitude to and for you.

With all my heart,

Kaelan.

Thank you for your time and for being here today