Good afternoon. My name is Terry O’Neill. I was deeply touched and honoured when Pat’s wife, Jane, asked me to deliver this eulogy.
I’ve had the pleasure of knowing Pat, through our shared Catholic faith celebrated in this very church, for a good three decades. And the greater pleasure of being his friend and golfing-partner for the better part of the last decade.
But we also come together, at Pat’s funeral, filled with deep gratitude, to remember not just a man, but a true gentleman—a man of deep faith and honour whose principles were as strong as his Scottish accent.
Pat was raised in Edinburgh in a boisterous Catholic family along with his siblings James, Aiden, Aileen ... and Kevin, who predeceased him just a few years ago.
Pat talked often about his upbringing. And from what I understand he displayed a characteristic and unmistakable Scottish toughness throughout his youth.
He was a champion amateur boxer, and you could see it in him even decades later: the stance, the grit, the refusal to back down from anything life put in front of him.
But Pat’s toughness was never hardness. It was the kind of strength that protects, that lifts, that serves. Beneath that Scottish-thistle exterior was a heart of gold.
Pat met Jane at an Elvis-Presley themed party at a seaside resort when they were both teenagers. And, as Jane so warmly remembers, it took just a single dance for them to connect. They married a few years later and stayed together for an amazing 63 years.
The happy couple lived an extraordinary life in Africa and Canada, raising two daughters, Lee-Anne and Mary-Anne, then being proud grandparents of Amy, Nicola, Kirsten, and Wyatt, and then great grandparents of Ava and Georgina. Pat loved you all so dearly!
And what stories Pat would tell us after our regular rounds of golf at the Westwood Plateau Executive Course!
With his big glass of diet cola in hand, Pat could talk just as readily about his family or his golf game/ as about his work as an engineer—and his simple but effective way of advising his staff how to fix mechanical problems: “Read the Manual!”
He was less forthcoming about his parttime service in the military in Rhodesia during a very troubled time. I know he was proud of that service and of the brave men with whom he served ... but the memory of some aspects of that service still weighed heavily on him.
Pat may have come across as a tough guy, but he was not afraid to admit to the emotions he still carried from those days.
We are here, in this church today, because he and Jane eventually made their home in Port Moody, where he built not only a career, but a legacy of faith, family, and friendship.
He was a faithful Catholic, a man whose devotion was steady and quiet, lived more in action than in words.
For decades he and fellow Scotsman, the late Jimmy Sullivan, served as ushers at the 10 a.m. Sunday Mass, greeting parishioners with that unmistakable Tierney mix of no‑nonsense directness and genuine warmth.
What a pair they were: Pat the friendly giant, Jimmy the affable, more modestly-sized greeter and usher. Both were accomplished athletes in their youth. In fact, they had heard of each other while growing up in Scotland, but never met until fate landed them here, at this church.
I posted an item about Pat’s passing on my Facebook page earlier this week, and some of our fellow parishioners commented about his legacy. One said that Pat was a “lovely guy.” Another called him a “true gentleman.” And another said Pat was a “quintessential” member of the Knights of Columbus.
Indeed, Pat was a founder of our Knights of Columbus council, helping build the fraternity that has shaped so many lives — including mine. Pat believed in service, in brotherhood, in showing up. And he did, again and again.
But Pat wasn’t one to put himself on a pedestal, of course. For me — and for many of us — Pat was simply a good friend.
For the past eight years, I golfed with him—weather permitting—at least once a week. Rounding out our foursome were our good friends Clem and Dan.
We stuck together through rainy days and pandemic social distancing, through fair days and fairways. All of us lost plenty of quarters to Pat, but that was a small price to pay for his company.
Week after week, game after game, Pat showed the same qualities he lived everywhere else: honesty, grit, and humour. Getting a good-natured ribbing from Pat was one of the highlights of my day!
Golf was never just golf with Pat. It was companionship. It was storytelling.
As Pat’s health declined, he had to put away his clubs, but never lost his zest for watching a round or golf, a good boxing match, or a soccer game on TV.
And neither did he lose his optimism for a healthier future, or for a wee dram of Scotch to celebrate good times.
Patrick Tierney lived a life of courage, conviction, and love. He gave more than he took. He stood firm when others wavered. He served God, his family, his community, and his friends with a heart that never stopped giving.
We commend him now to the mercy of Christ, confident that the Lord he served so faithfully has welcomed him home. And we pray that the same hope he carried — that same “journey of hope” he lived — will strengthen us as we carry his memory forward. May he rest in peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment