William F. O'Sullivan

Please let me begin by thanking you for joining my family today as we honor my Dad and celebrate his full life. For those of you who may not know me, I am Meaghan, Dad’s (short) middle daughter, and one of the many O’Sullivans present tonight. I have to tell you that writing this last night at the house, felt a little strange because for many years Dad was my proofreader—so be warned that this is not a “Dad-approved” version.

Bill O’Sullivan, to use one of his favorite expressions, was a “rare-bird:” funny, fun, handsome, loyal, wise, strong, good a-fixing things, and even a great cook. He was a great guy to know, and it was an even greater privilege to be his daughter. Early on, he trained me as his fishing buddy as I sat in a puddle in my diaper and chased the minnows in the bucket. I basked in his adoration and playful spirit as we danced and sang in the kitchen, or he encouraged us to climb on him in the living room after a long day of work. He let loose with us, and many of you may be surprised to know that my strong, masculine father let us do his hair and make-up on several occasions.

Dad’s love and sincere desire to help me become the best version of myself was evident throughout our relationship. I have always adored him, and I knew that fe men would be able to stand near his shadow—and so did he. Now as I have ventured into parenthood, I have grown in appreciation for his wisdom and gentleness in raising me.

Dad had lost both of his parents early in life, which profoundly impacted the importance that he placed on his family, his love for others in need, and tenacious spirit. His life has been one that included diligent academic pursuits, respect and deep appreciation for those who nurtured and mentored him along the way, and seeking justice for his clients.

Although a hard-worker with big dreams, he also had an uncanny ability to slow down and make friends out of complete strangers. Every time that he came to visit us in Florida, he made new friends in the elevator, with a waitress, or a neighbor on the beach. He would disarm you with his quick and corny wit, and then follow that up with his signature mischievous grin—that is now thankfully captured by his granddaughter, Claire.

Those of you who have known Dad long enough know that to be Billy O’s friend, is to be his family. The truth is, I can’t distinguish between the two anymore. My childhood is marked by memories of the gatherings between him and those treasured friends. I often sought to hear them share stories about my young and uninhibited father performing crazy stunts, and I ask you to please start thinking about them so that you can share them with the rest of us. Dad would love it. He could read people well, so if you were Dad’s friend, he saw something very special in you. I thank you for being devoted to my dad and for your abiding friendship. He would ask me to remind you not to be surprised by his passing because “it” happens. He would wish you a “good one” and remind you to “roll with life’s punches.”

And, dear family, how he treasured each of you. He’s your brother, cousin, and uncle, and through his many years, he had special relationships with each of you. As a family, we have laughed, sobbed, chanted, and chicken-danced more than most families could imagine. Each turkey he baked, shrimp he boiled, and fish that he fried was a labor of love. He really enjoyed sharing what he had with those who meant so much to him. I have such fond memories of him teaching us to catch and fillet fish, hunt, camp, and drive the boat. I especially loved when Uncle Charlie would pull Dad skiing, and Dad, so eager to display his talent, would fly out so hard and fast from behind the boat that it almost appeared that he was pulling us. Yes, Uncle Bill was an original when it came to telling ghost stories, taking late night boat rides into buoys, or sharpening knives. I know that he hoped to bestow an appreciation for the outdoors and the lake in all of us, to encourage us to continue to “celebrate the good times” as a family, and to band together when the water is rough (because it is a little less scary together.” You have done that for him. Up to the very end, he couldn’t have been more proud to be surrounded by you and to call you his family. Thank you for your constant love and support. We know that the streets of Heaven are not quiet tonight as he has joined so many that we love.

Finally, Mom, Jaime, D, and grandkids: I know that we are going to miss so much about Dad. He loved the many girls in his life and handled us all pretty well. He was even prouder of his grandkids; armed with his iPhone, any stranger on the street or in the courthouse might be given an opportunity to meet them.

In the years ahead, we are going to miss his wisdom, those same ol’ jokes, his backrubs, delectable grilled culinary creations, sense of adventure, unending projects, the way that he gave of himself, boogied in the kitchen, and how he could always find room for one more Snickers bar.

Some of my favorite things about Dad are that he taught me to drive in a cemetery where he said that “at least if I ran someone over they were already dead.” (Dad, I will be reusing that one). That at a young age, he toughened me up by permitting me to be a part of the O’Sullivan Oasis, Lake of the Ozarks Labor Camp: hauling leaves, scrubbing concrete, staining cabinets, or helping out on any other new project that he dreamt up. He really did not rest, and I was proud to be part of his team. Finally, he often had the task of teaching me to focus on what was most important. One example is when I called him crying about the first college exam that I really feared I might “fail.” He talked me down, reassured me that he would love me if I did my best, and then surprised me by mailing his college transcript with a couple of “C’s” just to let me know that in the real world, you can still get a job, and lead a good life if you struggle in a couple of classes.

And Dad really continued to display such humor, strength, and love up to the end. He recently shared in an email about a young nurse who melted his heart and brought him back to his “glory days” when she told him that he was one of her favorite patients. Of course he loved it even more when Mom became a little jealous and only later asked to confess to Mom that the nurse had told him afterward that she really liked him because he reminded her of her grandpa.

I was fortunate to have Billy O’ as a dad. We almost lost him when I was young, and I am aware of how different everything would have been without him. So today, while I am sad and never would have felt like we had enough time, I am so thankful for each day that we shared.

Dad, we have had a blast. I know that you gave me a lifetime worth of memories that can’t all be shared now, but I will treasure them in my heart. I hope to instill in my girls your same passion and love for others, and to give them the best of me as you did.

Mom, I know that Dad would give you his love, and thank you for sticking by his side. He would tell you to take it easy, thank you for keeping all of the medical staff in line, and remind you to water “his” grass.

Jaime, Dad would also thank you for taking such excellent care and nursing him right up to the end. He would be sad to miss out on your many adventures to come, but he would want you to enjoy them fully—no holding back, and to remember that he is not far from you (which I know you know). He loved you dearly J, and if you will permit me this one time, his “toodle-butt.”

Denise, he was proud of the woman that you are and your beautiful children. I know that he is glad that you could be here for this, and maybe that is what he really wanted. We love you.

Finally, Daddy, thank you. I can say assuredly that you have fought the good fight and finished the race. Like so many things, you did this well (even making those gowns look good), with dignity, humor, and love. May you be at peace.