Has been quite a week.
Last Tuesday on June 9th, I laid my husband, COL (Ret) Eugene Paul Semmens, to rest at Arlington National Cemetery just outside Washington, DC.
The service and military honors rendered were beautiful, and the gathering with family and friends is something that I will always remember.
For those who were there, it was an opportunity to call to mind the man that Paul was throughout his life, and to grieve his absence on this side of eternity.
The remarks made by those present touched my heart deeply, and I could see the hand of God at work in the midst of both the service and the burial itself.
For example, I know that Paul would have loved the precision of the execution of the honor platoon and the performance of the military band that played as Paul’s remains were taken from the Old Post Chapel and escorted towards his final resting place in Arlington proper. They represented well the standard of excellence that Paul strive for personally and demanded of others throughout his life.
Another was that after honors had been rendered—including the firing squad, the presentation of the flag, and final salute by the commander of the burial detail—Paul’s remains needed to be carried to his final resting place—to the top of a hill at the front (or back) of the rows of graves that was first in line in relation to the wall of Arlington’s boundary.
I did not miss the correlation to Paul’s hard charging manner to always do the hard thing (climb the hill), take the high ground (essential in any military strategy), or that he would be first to fire (the motto of the Air Defense Artillery branch), or that his gravesite was perfect for a soldier become Secular Franciscan who would was humbly at the back of the line, but would be the first in line to defend his fellow comrades in arms if an enemy ever scaled the walls of Arlington.
Paul would have loved it, and I have no doubt that he is definitely at rest now.
After the service and burial, we proceeded to the Army-Navy Country Club for a reception organized by Paul’s middle son and daughter-in-law that was beautiful as well, and gave people the opportunity to share memories of Paul.
I also made some remarks at the reception, and I have shared them below for you to have a sense of who Paul was.
Finally, for all of you who have offered your condolences and prayers throughout this last year and a half in this journey, THANK YOU.
Your support has meant more than you know, and I look forward to the opportunity to journey with you in the years ahead as I continue to try and inspire, encourage and accompany you on the journey towards holiness.
Ad Maoirem Dei Gloria!
COL (Ret) E. Paul Semmens—A Man Born Ready to Serve
Let me begin by thanking each of you for being here today. I especially want to thank Mike and Jill for coordinating the reception here at the Army Navy Club and for handling the RSVP process leading up to this gathering.
To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I would even get up and speak today, because sharing like this is not something that I would normally sign up for. But if there is one thing Paul taught me over the years, it was to do the hard things, but to not only do them, but to do them to the best of my ability, so here goes.
For those of you who happened to be around Paul during the last several years before his passing, you probably heard him use the phrase, “Born ready.” You’d ask him if he was ready to go to an appointment, or the grocery store, or the gym, or church, or wherever, and you’d get a hearty, “Born Ready.”
In fact, it’s the same title as his autobiography that he finished in 2022–barely two years before his death.
In retrospect, I think this phrase might have been how the Lord was preparing Paul for what would become his final mission—battling lung cancer and his death.
Many in our society might have a fear of sickness and death, but not Paul. He was courageous in all things, and just like the rest of his life, he led the way in giving us an example of how to respond to the greatest challenge any of us will ever face–our final days and passing from this life into the next.
Paul did not seek out the path he was given to walk, but once it was placed before him, he did not shy away from the challenge. In fact, he not only embraced it, but like everything else in his life, he went all in. And like the superb leader he was, he also gave us a witness of what it means to live your last months and days well –regardless of whatever might come–the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Over the years, I have often shared that Paul was the best boss I ever had. Not because he was perfect–(and any of one of us on the receiving of a end of dressing down or were in the path of one of his outbursts of anger and frustration can definitely attest to that!), but rather because he always modeled what a leader is, and should be doing. Paul exemplified, that a leader, whenever possible, ensures that the agency of those you lead never atrophies.
Paul trained our agency by setting a vision of excellence before us, and then challenged us to exceed it; he held us accountable through demanding attention to detail (belt buckle check anyone?); he cajoled, scolded, or encouraged us in whatever way we needed to keep us motivated to ensure we would succeed; and finally, he made sure that we knew that whatever we were responsible for mattered for achieving the mission.
Paul always cheered and raised you up as a positive example to others when you succeeded (how many of us have commander coins that we still treasure?), or he would be the first to give you an encouraging word if you failed—as long as you had given your best.
Leaders often think they lead through direction. They don’t. Paul was a visionary in many ways, but he led as all great leaders do, through belief. Through belief in the vision. Through belief in the mission. Through belief in his people whoever they were throughout his life—soldiers, course instructors, employees, Confirmation students, or his Secular Franciscan brothers and sisters. He knew intuitively that what a leader BELIEVES about their people and communicates to them is the driving force behind shaping what those people become, and at his core, Paul believed that each person was always capable of more.
That belief in others came through connection. He knew that leaders are believers AND connectors. He knew you could not transfer courage through instruction. He knew that identity didn’t come through a checklist or that purpose would came through a sharing of goals. But he DID know it was possible to transfer ALL of those things through relationship.
That’s why he constantly invested in people. He embraced people as his brothers and sisters and always thought the best of them–regardless of their actions. He didn’t hold grudges or hang on to resentments–even when those same people spoke lies, took advantage, or outright betrayed him. Instead, he forgave and showed mercy, even while never giving an inch on striving for excellence.
He often shared that his grandfather, Daddy A, once told him, “Always leave a man his dignity,” and this definitely grounded how he lived as a soldier. Post-military, he continued to live that way, even in a defense contracting world that was often lacking honor and full of deceit, but he never gave in to the temptation to take the easier path—even when that cost him status and financial abundance. Because Paul never considered those material things worth dying for.
Eventually he found his ultimate calling as a soldier of Christ and living that out as a Secular Franciscan. He took Daddy A’s advice and all that had come before, and expanded upon it, and as he did, he compassionately embraced others far different from himself all the while prodding them to face hard truths, do hard things and be their best. As a spiritual mentor, he would ask his mentees questions like, “Who are you? What is the measure of your life? and “What is your ultimate purpose?”– all while modeling the answer through the witness of his own life.
Because Paul discovered that Love is the answer, and that Love is worth dying for. And that is what he spent the remainder of his life doing.
To paraphrase the words of his beloved Saint Francis,
Paul became an instrument of peace, sowed love instead of hatred, faith instead of doubt, hope instead of despair, light instead of darkness and joy instead of sadness.
He sought to console rather than be consoled, he sought to understand rather than be understood, he sought to give so others would receive, sought to pardon so others would be pardoned, and eventually died so as to have eternal life.
He knew that forgiveness was voluntary suffering, and in the end, Paul became an example of God’s love and mercy in the world, and I pray I can do even half as well as he did with whatever number of years I have remaining on this earth.
The Catholic writer, Father Thomas Dubay once wrote “a human person is authentic to the extent that he lives the truth.”
Did Paul live the truth perfectly? Definitely not, and as his wife, I knew that better than most.
But was he honest, kind, loyal, reliable, genuine and authentically himself? Absolutely. Paul had no pretense or airs and he told you like it was—even if it was difficult to hear because he never shied away from the hard truths or avoided doing the hard things. He did what he knew needed to be done to ensure people stayed alive or kept others alive or were spurred on to be and do their best—even if that meant people disliked him or their feelings got hurt. Paul was willing to risk their fury, but never their character.
Every once in a while, Paul would jokingly say that he longed for the days back when “men were men, women were women, and giants walked the earth.”
Paul was one of those giants. A part of a breed of which far too few still walk the earth. He was an original in every sense of the word. He served as my boss, and comrade-in-arms before he eventually became my best friend, my husband, my confidante, my partner in all things and the love of my life.
It has been over a year and a half since his passing, and there is not a minute that goes by that I don’t feel the pain of his absence.
In the months since his death, I have learned how to navigate life while walking around with the pain of a “sucking chest wound.” In the process, I have realized that the pain I feel is actually Paul’s handprint still resting upon my heart. And from that handprint has flowed great love, joy, peace, and hope, particularly in knowing that I, along with all of you gathered here, as well as the many others who could not be here today, are his living legacy.
Because Paul’s legacy is not to be found in what he did or accomplished throughout his life. Rather, his legacy is found in every one of us present in this room and in all the many, many others whom Paul encountered and made better because of his unrelenting example of service, sacrifice, and loving care.
So, as we leave today, I encourage each of you to take up the challenge to live as Paul did.
For you to face hard truths and do hard things, and be willing to lay down your life for love every single day just like he did.
For you to choose to be better than yesterday, and to strive for excellence in all that you do, but especially in who you are—because anything less would not be worthy of Paul’s memory.
To have encountered such a man in my lifetime was already a privilege, but to have been able to intimately walk beside him for more than 28 years is a gift I know I will never experience again, until, God willing, I get to walk beside Paul again in the forever far country where eternally “men are men, women are women and giants walk the earth.”
Thank you again for your presence here today. Through it, you have borne witness not simply to what Paul did in his life, but to who he was—a man born ready to lay down his life in love for others.
Peace and good to all of you.
Hooya!
