Eulogy Delivered by Liz Cheney at the Funeral of Vice President Dick Cheney - Nov. 20, 2025

Following your kids to talk about your dad is... not good scheduling.

[Laughter]

But distinguished guests, presidents and vice presidents, dear friends—my mom, and Mary and I, and our families—thank you for being here to honor the good and great man we loved so much.

A few years ago, reflecting back on nearly forty years in public service, Dick Cheney said this: “The path I had traveled was partly due to the circumstance of my birth. Not that I had been born into a powerful or privileged family. I wasn’t. But I was born an American—a blessing surely among life’s greatest.”

My dad thought deeply about what this blessing meant, and about the duties it imposed. Shortly after he became Secretary of Defense in 1989, he described departing from the Pentagon:

“As my helicopter lifted off the Pentagon helipad, I could look across the river to the great monuments of Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln; to the White House and the Capitol Building, where all the great decisions that have shaped two hundred years of American history were made. And I could look directly out on Arlington National Cemetery and remember what a terrible price thousands of brave Americans have paid so that all of us could enjoy the blessings of liberty.”

My dad’s devotion to America was deep and substantive. He spent his life studying the history of our great republic. He knew you couldn’t truly appreciate what it means to live in freedom if you didn't understand the sacrifices of the generations who came before. And he made sure his children and grandchildren understood this, too.

When Mary and I were little, my dad would load up our station wagon on the weekends to take us to visit Civil War battlefields. With the back seat down—and no need for seatbelts in those days—we would stretch out, eating Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast while my dad drove us to places like Gettysburg, Antietam, Chancellorsville, and Manassas. To be clear, even with the donuts, Mary and I were not enthusiastic participants in these outings.

[Laughter]

As you might imagine, Dick Cheney read every word of every sign at every battlefield, museum, and national park he ever visited. When you’re five or six years old, this is not your idea of a good time.

Mary and I usually moaned and groaned about how long he was taking. And Dick Cheney ignored us. He just kept reading the signs.

He didn't lecture us or demand that we read anything, but we pretty quickly realized no one was going anywhere until he got done. So we figured we might as well start reading the signs too. And what an education we got.

That was the thing about Dick Cheney, he wouldn’t force his opinion on you or demand you do things his way. He might not share his opinion at all if you didn’t ask. In fact, he was known to go long stretches of time without saying a single word.

But if you watched closely, if you asked questions, if you listened when he did speak, you had the experience of seeing the world opening up in front of you—of looking at things in new ways, of benefiting from his clarity of thought, his ability to crystallize what was important and what wasn’t. And he was always surprising.

Many know the story of his time at Yale. If my dad heard you say he flunked out, he would correct you: “No, no—I was asked to leave.”

[Laughter]

“Twice.”

[Laughter]

He took a break from school and spent several years building power lines across the West. I had heard this part of the story my whole life, but it wasn’t until I worked with him on his memoirs that I learned how he spent his evenings.

At the end of long days, he’d unroll his sleeping bag by a campfire or on a cot in the cook tent. And by the light of his Coleman lantern, he read Winston Churchill’s six-volume History of World War II.

By the fall of 1963, Dick Cheney was convinced—some would say threatened—by my mother to return to school. He’d been at the University of Wyoming just a few weeks when he climbed to a seat up near the rafters of the packed fieldhouse to hear President John F. Kennedy urge the students to dedicate their lives to the service of our nation. I think this is the moment my dad decided what direction his life should take.

Though he was inspired to service by President Kennedy, Dick Cheney became a Republican—but he knew that bonds of party must always yield to the single bond we share as Americans. For him, a choice between defense of the Constitution and defense of your political party was no choice at all.

When he was vice president, he wrote this letter to all of his grandchildren: “As you grow, you will come to understand the sacrifices that each generation makes to preserve freedom and democracy for future generations. And you will assume the important responsibilities of citizens in our society. I ask of you, as my grandchildren, what I asked of my daughters: that you always strive in your lives to do what is right.”

In the last few years, God gave me one of the greatest blessings of my life—the gift of time with my dad. We spent hours sitting by the fire at his house or at mine, watching football and old movies. We went to grandkids’ games and matches. And we hit the road again—this time with me in the driver’s seat.

Now, let me be clear: he did not like my driving.

[Laughter]

And in his defense, I had wrecked far too many of his cars over the years for him to be happy with this arrangement. But we reached an accommodation of sorts: my dad agreed to let me drive if I agreed to let him choose the music. Johnny Cash, John Denver, and yes—even the Carpenters—were the soundtrack of our road trips.

We went to places he had taken us fifty years ago—to Manassas and Antietam and Mount Vernon. My dad in his Stetson, the latest copy of The Economist, that day’s newspapers, and a book always tucked into the door pocket. We drove for hours. We talked about life and family, history, and America.

Sometimes my dad’s yellow Lab, Max, would jump in the back seat and come with us. Max—like every dog we ever had—loved my dad the best.

To be in my dad’s company was to know safety and love and laughter and kindness. There’s a picture taken several years ago of him in his cowboy hat and jeans, in a fleece jacket. He has his arm around one of his young grandsons, who’s leaning into his warm embrace. Looking at that picture last week, my mom put it best when she said, “That’s what he was to all of us.”

He was a giant to the end—a lion of a man who loved and served this great republic.

The night before my dad died, the sky above my parents’ house filled with clouds in the shape of winged angels. I had never seen anything like it. It seemed indeed that angels and archangels and all the company of heaven had come to watch over him.

As my dad left this earth, his last words were to tell my mother he loved her.

And now all of us who loved him so dearly say to him, Goodnight, sweet Dad. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

ABC News. (2025, November 20). FULL REMARKS: Liz Cheney says 'goodnight, sweet dad' in eulogy for Dick Cheney [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohLch_TD6Os&list=PLDLQiUqKaml7nOpYtGs-qdtDUb7ykCCpK