Eulogy
Below is the eulogy read at Conan’s memorial service. It was written by his father, Peter, and by his Aunt Syd.
Hello, everyone. My name is Sydney Osborne. Conan’s father, Peter, is my brother. Many of you know me as Aunt Syd. Thank you all for being here to partake in our love of Conan. Known to some of you as Ozzy, Conanimoose, or Uncle Moose.
I’d like to tell you some important things about Conan and the kind of man he was.
Conan was was placed in the arms of his father on March, 23, 1995. He was a sweet baby, full of energy and mischief. He hated naps. As soon as you closed his bedroom door, he’d climb out of his crib to play.
He had a tendency to state obvious things like, “when it’s daytime the sky is blue! Right, Dad?” These little sayings, or “Conanisms” always ended with “Right, Dad?” His dad would always respond, “That’s right!”
Conan’s mom, Kate, recognized early on that Conan was a sensitive soul. From babyhood, he loved soft, fluffy blankets and stuffed toys, and often cuddled them to his face.
When the whole family piled into bed for storytime, Kate would be sure Conan always had something soft to snuggle, and she would scratch his back just the way he liked it.
He cuddled people, too. Curling up on the couch for good snuggle time was one of his favorite things to do. He loved getting and giving back rubs while cuddling.
If he thought you were sad or upset, or had had a bad day, he’d do what he could to make you feel better. Whether that was letting you vent about what was bothering you, or by coming over and giving you little pats and hugs. Maybe he’d do an impression of a TV character to make you smile. My favorite was when he did Mr. Garrison from South Park, “Aunt Syd, maybe you need to write a poem about it, m’kay?
One time when Conan was a kid and was having a spectacularly bad day, he asked for his mom. Kate took the day off and took Conan out of school for the day to spend the day comforting him and consoling him. They had a very close relationship. She was a constant in his life, a consistent wind shaping the mountain of Conan.
Her love watered Conan’s own innate kindness and empathy.
And this selfless act of setting aside a whole day to comfort someone is just the sort of thing Conan would do for people he loved.
Conan was perhaps the most thoughtful person I’ve ever know. It was important to him that the people he loved were happy. He even liked to share with his brothers, Anthony and Kane. Although they might be able to give you some exceptions to that.
He loved being read to, and his favorite children’s book was Fox in Socks. His dad read it to him hundreds of times, and helped Conan develop his love of books. He loved a good epic fantasy series. The fatter the books, the more books in the series, the more he wanted to read them. His most recent favorite was the Stormlight series by Brandon Sanderson. The series is only up to book 4 out of 10. But Conan, I want you to know I’m planning to play the Audible versions of the rest of the books to you as they come out.
Conan was one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. He was great at figuring out puzzles. He could solve a Rubik’s cube, and he could figure out all those blacksmith puzzles most of us get so frustrated with. He was great at letting his mind sink deep on a problem looking for the best way to solve it. Sometimes you could see he was churning so many thoughts about something, it was hard for him to express it into words.
But he hated to work. If his mom asked him to do a small chore, like raking up a pile of leaves, he could spend two whole hours in the yard, just picking at the leaves, but not raking them. And being so miserable about it.
Conan loved to hunt for “dragon eggs.” He loved to play basketball and to scuba dive. And to push his bodily limits through sports. He got his taste in music from his Dad, and his favorites tended to be progressive metal, like Dream Theater, and classical music.
My husband and I were lucky enough to have Conan come and live with us for about a year in his teens. We had lots of adventures I’ll always treasure — scuba diving together, taking hunter safety lessons together, driving scary mountain passes. We lived on my in-laws’ ranch for a while, where he got to take care of horses and put linseed oil on several hundred feet of fence. He really loved that part. We are so grateful we had that time with him.
As kids do, Conan grew up. He graduated high school, went to college for a while, and decided to follow in his dad’s footsteps by joining the United States Air Force. He trained in security forces before being stationed at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California.
He was a strapping young man, and aside from his service to our country, he regularly participated in Spartan Races. It was after one of these races, about 2 and a half years ago, that he experienced pain in his hip.
That led to him being diagnosed with a Ewing’s Sarcoma. The tumor was very large, and there was suspicion even, then that it had metastasized into his lungs.
As Conan battled this cancer, he met the love of his life, Sarah. Sarah brought amazing warmth, strength and humor to Conan’s life. She was the perfect fit for him. She loved to kiss his fuzzy head, and loved to snuggle on the couch as much as Conan did. There was a Sarah shaped place in Conan’s heart, and we are so grateful to came into his life and filled it.
That even in tragic times, a joyous love story could happen, is the greatest gift in life Conan could have received.
Even as we mourn for Conan, we feel blessed that he found a woman as wonderful as Sarah. Our family feels so fortunate to embrace her as a daughter, sister, granddaughter, and niece. Thank you for loving him so much. We are now family forever
Conan died in his father’s arms on July, 30th at 5:22 am. He was surrounded by the people who loved him the most, and we can only hope that he found peace and solace in knowing that he was loved so much by all of us.
Conan is in a better place now. He is no longer wracked by pain, and struggling for breath. But that doesn’t ease our pain. We are diminished. Yet we are more for having known him.
He is still with us in spirit. Though we will never be able to hear his voice, touch his hand, or watch him grow as a man.
We will do our best to bear the loss. The grief, anger, confusion, numbness, and feelings of unfairness. Grief is but an expression of love. There is no right or wrong way to go through it. Let us lean on one another as we do our best to heal. Conan, we’ll ache for your presence forever, but we’ll do our best to love one another through it.
Conan was a big ball of love. He never let tough times turn him into a bitter person. He continued, bravely, to love through all the trials of his life. He loved his family. His wife, his mom and dad, his brothers, his grandparents. He loved his friends. His high school friends from Subiaco. The friends he made in the military. All the new family he gained after meeting Sarah. He loved his Aunt Syd. He loved his country.
Living with cancer isn’t for the faint of heart. Conan faced it like the warrior he was. Conan believed in heroes and happy endings. He believed good would always triumph in the end.
And he never stopped being concerned for the people around him, up the very end. He asked us to look after one another. He wanted to be sure we were all going to be ok after he left us. He wanted to be sure we would love Sarah and look out for her. Not that he ever needed to ask.
“In the end, all men die. How you lived will be far more important to the Almighty than what you accomplished.”
— Brandon Sanderson (The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1))
Fox in socks, our game is done, sir.
Thank you for a lot of fun, sir.
Dr Seuss (Fox in Socks).
May you finally get a chance to witness a tweetle beetle puddle battle.
I hope you’ll all keep him alive in your hearts by sharing your Conan stories with one another. Now, and as the years go by.
Now, if you’ll bear with me just a big longer,
Conan’s dad asked that I read a poem by Rudyard Kipling. It’s titled ‘If’
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
