Eulogy for Norman Roberto Mussiett

When our father passed away, just days before Christmas, most of us couldn’t speak. The grief was too deep and too fresh. But Norman Roberto stood up, calm and steady, and gave the eulogy. He was the strong one. In that moment, he became the voice for all of us. May God give me strength to stand before you tonight.

He spoke of our father’s accomplishments and how much he admired him. He called him a Superman, a man who, by the middle of his life, had already achieved more than many do in a lifetime. He said that every child dreams of one day surpassing their father, but that he always knew he couldn’t, because our father had set the bar impossibly high.

But maybe Norman didn’t realize this.

He didn’t need to become a hero. He only needed to follow his heart, and that made him someone many of us came to admire.

Not because he tried to follow in our father’s footsteps, but because he made his own path. He built a life with intelligence, discipline, quiet strength, and deep love. He showed up for his family, gave generously to his friends, and guided others with a wisdom born of experience, not ego.

The man who once stood firm before us in our grief is now the man we honor tonight with that same love and admiration.

Norman Roberto Mussiett Le-Fort was born on February 19, 1963, in Córdoba, Argentina, the son of Reverend Salomón Roberto Mussiett and Gladys Adriana Le-Fort. He grew up in Santiago, Chile, where he played sports, swam, competed in chess, and sang in the choir.

Norman had an exceptional mind: analytical, methodical, and always hungry for knowledge. What began as a fascination with computers became a life path. He was self-taught, resourceful, and quietly masterful. He entered university in 1982 to study computer programming, a field just beginning to take shape, and soon discovered his calling in systems and process optimization. His talent spoke for itself.

General Electric was the first to recognize his potential. They offered him his first job as a programmer and later fully supported him, funding his studies so he could earn his degree in Computer Information Systems. That moment marked a turning point. It was not just a job; it was a recognition of everything he had already built through his own efforts.

From there, Norman worked with major companies like HP, Intuit, and Verizon. He led projects, mentored others, and solved problems that few could tackle. He did not chase titles. He earned trust through consistency, humility, and results.

He passed on what he knew, especially to those he loved. One of his core beliefs was this: know your worth.

He said it with conviction because he had lived it. He had learned firsthand that if you don’t ask for a good salary, you won’t be offered one.

He understood that companies would always try to pay as little as possible, and that if you don’t value yourself, no one else will do it for you. He taught others not to sell themselves short, to ask for more, and to stand up for the value of their skills and knowledge.

Another lesson Norman carried with him, passed down from our uncles, was just as powerful.

Do what you love and what you are good at, and you will find success.

It is not enough to have just one. You need both. Passion without skill fades, and talent without love dries up. But when they go hand in hand, work gains meaning and success follows with purpose.

Norman lived by that principle. He used his mind to solve problems most people could not even see. Whether writing code or rebuilding a system from the inside out, he did what he loved, and that made him exceptional. He encouraged others to find their own path too.

Perhaps the purest way to understand who he was is to see how deeply he loved being a father.

He celebrated Isabella’s birthdays with joy and tenderness, calling her his princess, the daughter he always dreamed of having. One of his favorite memories was watching his son Alejandro swim with dolphins, a moment that filled him with pride and happiness. He often took selfies with his kids, made silly faces, and cherished every moment with them.

More than any professional achievement, what he wanted most was to be remembered as a good father. He wanted to provide everything his children needed, but his true joy was in sharing moments with them, moments they would carry with them always.

In raising them, he gave them a tenderness he may have once needed himself. That is a special kind of strength: the kind that breaks cycles through love. He gave his children the affection he may have longed for as a child. Sometimes we heal our childhood wounds through how we choose to love others. That kind of love, quiet and consistent, reflects the love of Christ.

Alejandro and Isabella were the heart of his life. He will continue to watch over them from heaven.

Norman, or Roberto as we affectionately called him in our family of origin, was a generous son, especially in times of need. He cared deeply about our mother’s wellbeing and helped when she needed it most. During the final years of our father’s life, Norman faithfully visited him every weekend with his kids while he was in a memory care home. He made sure he was never alone.

As the middle child, he was protective and thoughtful, especially with me, his youngest sister, Anita. During my early school years, he took me to school and picked me up every day.

One of my dearest memories is when he took our sister Helen, her newborn daughter Andrea, and me on a long road trip to Disney World for the first time.

He spoiled his nieces Andrea and Denise with big toys, the kind they most wished for at Christmas or on their birthdays. He also built a special bond with Denise, the youngest of his nieces, especially in the final months of his life.

His actions spoke with the same quiet eloquence as his intellect, with a love that was steady, genuine, and protective.

Norman stood up that day and said he wished he could be a Superman like our father. But maybe he never realized that he didn’t need to be.

He didn’t need to surpass anyone or meet anyone else’s expectations to be admirable. He was extraordinary simply by being himself. He lived with purpose, loved deeply, and stayed true to who he was, even while carrying private struggles that few ever saw.

At work, he was a giant. He was disciplined, precise, and respected. But at home, he was something even more valuable. He was a sensitive man with deep emotions and a heart that felt intensely. He lived with that weight all his life. Depression was a silent companion, but he faced it with courage. He carried it and still showed up. He kept giving. He kept caring. He kept loving.

That kind of strength is not always visible, but it is deeply felt. And it leaves a lasting mark.

He loved his children with everything he had. He loved his family through the joy and through the storms. Perhaps the most Christlike thing about him was this.

He loved enough to forgive.

He forgave when we were not at our best. He forgave in the middle of chaos, pain, and brokenness. His love was not perfect, but it was real. Many times, he chose to stay, even when things were hard.

That love did not come from perfection. It came from grace. And because of that, it reflected Christ.

Norman was not perfect, but he didn’t need to be. What he left behind in this world: his wisdom, his tenderness, and his presence was true.

He was human. He struggled. He loved. He kept going. His life had deep meaning.

And that is what stays with us, in our memories and in our hearts.