Kevin Thomas Malpocker

Kevin passed away after a long illness. He leaves behind his wife of 25 years, Loretta "Lori", 2 sons, Jacob "Jake" and Cole, his father Ross and brother Michael. Memorial donations can be made to Bonfils Blood Center, 717 Yosemite St. Denver, CO 80230 or www.bonfils.org

Eulogy given by Jacob in his father's remembrance:

Good morning. I’m happy to see all of these wonderful faces here this morning, though I wish it were under better circumstances.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve thought intensively about what to say, how to tell the story of my father’s life. The truth is there isn’t enough time to tell the story of his life in the traditional sense. I cannot tell every anecdote, every moment, or every experience. Every word said, every tear shed, or every laugh captured by my ears, and the ears of all of you. There is just so much that he did, so many experiences he had, and so many lives that he touched. I can’t begin to tell those stories, but I can tell you what kind of man he was. He was a man full of adventure, full of love, and full of grace. Suffice it to say, I miss him very much.

The best way I know how to tell the story of my father’s life is through the subtle, pervasive, and gentle pieces of advice that he gave to me in my short time on this planet. He was a spiritual guide, a loving father, husband, and son. The advice that he gave to me, and to my brother; to his colleagues, friends, and acquaintances; reminds me of his humble, and selfless nature.

A few months ago I flew into Colorado for Thanksgiving. I was catching dad up on my life, my first few months in the real world. I told him about my new job, my new life, my new friends, and the general grind I was going through. I was more or less griping to him. He listened to my gripe with calm eyes and demeanor. When I was finished saying what I needed he looked right at me and said “Jake, life is hard. Every day matters.” Every day matters. I figured in the moment he was trying to convey the importance of consistency of hard work within our practical lives, that there are no true days off. Through his hospitalization I pondered on this. I finally realized that while he was hinting at the importance of consistency in our practical lives, a greater message was bursting through: Every laugh, smile, kiss; every tear, every heartache, every tragedy, every moment we share with the people that we love matters. This was the kind of man my father was. He knew what was important, and he knew which parts of life mattered most. He embraced love at every moment. He embraced and faced his fears at every moment. He stood up to the weak parts of himself, and came out the other side a better, stronger man. He knew every day mattered because of how every day shapes us in subtle, and invisible, yet profound ways. He had that great wisdom that is so rare.

I know it to be true that he held no moment insignificant. I am certain that you all know this to be true as well.

My father understood that people are more important than anything. He understood that success was not measured by the number in your bank account, but by the things you did, experiences you shared with others, and the lives that you touched along the way. Over the past few weeks the outpour of support from friends and family that knew my father has been overwhelming, and not in a bad way. Every message of support, every new face I meet who knew him along the way reminds me that he lived every day of his life making peoples’ lives better, and more whole. He spread love, and brought more into this world. He made the world a better place than he found it through compassion, benevolence, and modesty.

I think about all of the things that my father was. He was strong, stubborn, disciplined, adventurous, open minded, kind, loving, hard working, selfless, meticulous, giving. He was present. He was protecting. He was smart, diligent, charming, level headed, welcoming. He was all of these things, and many, many more. The list is truly endless, making a piece of advice he gave me when I was 12 years old even more complex, and difficult to grasp. That piece of advice being “Life is not fair.” It is not fair that he should leave us when he was so young. It’s not fair that he will never get to meet his grandchildren. He will never get to go to Greece with my mother, a trip they had planned since they were my age. He will never get to see me, or Cole get married. 49 is much too young to pass on from this life. 24 and 18 are ages much too young for two boys to lose their father. Though they spent 30 years together, my mother is much too young to lose her partner, confidant, best friend, and soul mate. My heart breaks for her every day.

Though we mourn his loss, and curse the grievous and criminal nature in which he was taken from us, my father never accepted unfairness as an excuse to wallow, and become complacent. He would hope, no, he would expect all of us to pick ourselves up, and come through this better, and stronger than we were before. He would expect all of us to remember the lessons that every day affords, subtle, and invisible, that every day matters. He would expect us to fight against the cruelty, and injustice we see every day. He would expect us to win and lose all of our battles with grace, and with dignity. He would expect us to wake up every day prepared to give love, and take in all of those in need of comfort, shelter, and compassion.

He walked with dignity through this life; a man of honor. He was strong, guided, but never harsh. He was a gentle, peaceful man. Though I do not perceive his departure as fair, I know the lord has anointed him with the finest waters, guided him through the darkest fields of death, and loved him endlessly, just as I, and all of you have.

One thing of special note is the way that my father processed all of his thoughts. He was a list maker. When I was living at home, before I moved away to college, he would create these lists of chores for my brother and I to do, and it made me so angry. I’m not sure what it was but about the lists that made me so mad, but I would just fume. He would put like 40 chores on this list, and they were MASSIVE chores, like wash and wax the dodge, stain the deck, seal the deck, spray the house for bugs, and then mow the lawn. And this would be all on one list. I absolutely hated it. Well, the night he died, I was digging through his desk, and drawers to find anything that he wrote down that might have been letters to me, or Cole. What I found was a menagerie of random pieces of paper filled with moments of intense wisdom. I cherish these documents. One such document was a piece of paper that had two lines of text. It read like a poem. It said “Find Peace. Make Peace.” I’m sure he scribbled these incredible words as a reminder for himself to seek out peaceful, and amiable solutions. I’m sure he felt no one would ever read those words. I’m sure he felt his own personal reminder would never turn into a guiding piece of advice for his son. But here we are.

Here we are.

I want to close with a motto that my dad lived by. Whenever our family would go through a difficult time, such as a hospitalization, or a family crisis, or when work got stressful. When the weight of the world would bear down on his children, and his wife, he would approach us with this simple, and relieving life motto. One particular summer, I broke my collar bone. A few weeks later I was in a serious car accident. On top of my physical ailments, I was working through some emotional struggles. He had been struggling with his health at this time, both physical, and emotional as well. After a morning of many tears, he came up to me on the couch and said to me “Let’s have a good day.”

So in the spirit of my wonderful father, let’s remember him as the man he was. A strong, loving, honorable man. Let’s have a good day.