My Dad's Funeral, Like His Life, is Now Past

My Dad's funeral, like his life, is now past.

My Dad will become memories, photos and over time, less and less significant. His body will decay into the earth from which it came and the cycle of life shall begin anew.

My Dad had been a member of the Cape Neddick Baptist Church since 1950. Because he made me, I went to Sunday school, Bible school, church, Cape Cadets and often Thursday night services at the church. Sometimes, Sunday night as well, though my parents would often pardon me from Sunday night attendance.

I became disenfranchised with the church when a lady who had gotten a divorce was kicked out. At the same time two members were flirting with no shame a few pews in front of where we sat. They happened to be married, not to each other.

Being about 15 years, I was old enough to realize the hypocrisy and stopped attending. I became disenfranchised with organized religion but fascinated with understanding them. I felt more comfortable developing my own spirituality than succumbing to organized dogmas whose primary purpose is to raise money.

My Dad kept attending and eventually wondered off, as well. He tried other churches in the area. He helped them financially and enjoyed the change. Eventually he came back to the Cape Neddick Baptist Church. I think it was because of Rev. Stone, whom he developed an admiration for. His church of choice ultimately became the Cape Neddick Baptist Church. It is where he began and ended his religious pursuits.

Cape Neddick Baptist Church

The Cape Neddick Baptist Church was the only option for a place to have the funeral. Going back into the church was nostalgic for me. Almost nothing had changed. I haven't been in the church for nearly 35 years.  A good part of my childhood was developed there. My struggles with Christianity, mortality and references from the bible I learned there and reflect upon almost daily.

I arrived at the church about an hour before the funeral. There were many woman busy in the kitchen off the vestry. Just like I remember. They were preparing food for after the service. They were all so helpful. They were just like the generation of women who preceded them, except they were the daughters. They have now grown older and look more like their moms who I remember so well. They were very helpful and it was comforting to be there.

I set up my laptop on a small stand near the food table and started a slideshow of photos of my Dad. My friends Scott and Frank showed up and we went up stairs to practice a song that we would soon be singing; “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” My friend Mark and his partner Brenda, who is my first cousin once removed, also arrived. They had brought guitars as well and would sing, “I'll Fly Away” and “On the Wings of a Dove.”

Pastor Don Nelson led the ceremony and did a wonderful job, I thought. I am very grateful to him. He worked with my sister and I on details and everything went according to plan, except I didn't plan on crying so much.

The opening song was "On an Old Rugged Cross." Waves of memories overcame me, standing there next to my wife who 40 years ago would have been my Dad. I could hear him singing in my mind so clearly. A wave of emotion flushed over me and I couldn't help myself from crying beyond control.

After prayers people were asked to come up and speak about my Dad if they would like. My sister was first. She was very upset as I felt. She was able to get through a paper she had prepared. Next was my Dad's second wife Rita. She read some Scriptures and then Alva Hilton came up. He was a friend of my Dad's from as far back as I can remember. And finally I stood up and went up to the podium. I had prepared my words a few days before. This is what I read...

Thank You all for Coming today

I have the best Dad,

Growing up, after dinner my Dad and I often drove to remote fields with a spotlight at night. He would flash the headlights of the car across the field and when we saw brightly illuminated eyes I would point the immensely powerful spotlight at the frozen statues we called deer, finally they would run off, into the forest. We derived so much satisfaction from counting the deer and wondering what field might next be better. 

We whistled On the Old Rugged Cross and Oh When the Saints in a perfect unison as we drove back home. I watched the road pass before me over the dashboard and remember being so happy sitting next to my Dad. 

Sometimes he would bring home twinkles in his lunch box after work for Karen and I. Rushing to his lunch box I wondered where they came from. I tried to imagine his world at work where he spoke of playing cards, pining away the time while the parts he made for submarines were being inspected. 

We fished with hand lines off Sewall's bridge. Once or twice for cod and haddock on Uncle Bud's boat way out in the ocean, so far out there was no land to be seen. And to calm my anxiety about the taller than the boat waves he told me it was a big boat and it would be very unlikely anything would happen to us. I was so happy to get back to shore.

He helped me learn to ride my bike on Logging Road before there was asphalt. I dared not fall onto the sharp rocks, he dare not let me. 

Before I was a teenager I remember crying at night, worrying. I somehow had this notion that he would die. I couldn't stand it. He would say my prayers with me and then when he turned the lights out and left my bedroom I would cry and be so afraid. I had no idea he would live to be 84 when he was 40. 

He became the coach of my baseball team so I could play. I wasn't so good. Actually I was terrified when he made me the pitcher and a kid named Smitty drove a line drive at me. I held my glove in front of my face because there wasn't time to run away. Miraculously I caught the ball. There was a roaring applause. 

My Dad made me clean out the pony barn and cut firewood. He didn't tell me then that woodcutting would be something, like him, I would learn to love. But later in life we often went into the woods together on his home made tractor getting stuck in the mud. He took special pride in falling a tree on a stick placed on the ground as a target. 

I spent many hours here, in this church as a child. In the pews, in the classrooms learning about eternity and that we are not perfect. I was terribly afraid to not be "saved" before I die. I learned how complicated Christianity could be for a child. And how God sent his son so we could have eternal life. 

My Dad always re enforced these concepts at home. He taught me to pray and especially for others. Finally, I understood how simple believing was and that praying was just talking to God, anytime, anyplace. More than anyone else, my Dad instilled this in me.

Throughout my life he would witness to me. We had many debates about pre-destiny versus If we have choices. I happily argued on either side, he believed mostly in pre-destiny. 

As my Dad grew older his faith grew. He was happy to talk about it with anyone. He would engage strangers as well as friends. He had something to share that was true and genuine. You could feel it, you knew it. 

A new chapter of life began at Sentry Hill for my Dad, Karen and I. Alzheimer's is scary. Initially, I thought such a diagnoses meant loosing my Dad for sure. His memory did slowly erode. But his love always shined. He had a wonderful smile up until the end. Even when he could barely talk he could still smile. 

He was so fortunate to have the loving support of my sister, Karen. Her dedication to my Dad is a reflection of his caring and teaching by example. The nurses and staff at Sentry Hill who took care of my Dad around the clock are amazing, I am astounded by their caring, their patience and heartfelt compassion. It is a blessing to know there are so many wonderful people amongst us. I am so grateful that my Dad had the benefit of their care.

As I visited my Dad I noticed that the other residents who also had Alzheimer's were rich with personality. In so many people who were suffering it was apparent there were also many bright moments. These people are all at different stages of a devastating disease and all immensely human. It didn't take long for me to realize they are beautiful, they are God's children. 

I remember my Dad's favorite quote at one time was "Don't get old." Ironically he did. And in spite of his affliction he was able to love his family in a way that was profound. In a way that you knew that he would do anything in the world for you - until the very end. 

I am very proud of my Dad. I am very grateful that he loved me-no question. I am also very fortunate to know that he is with God. He is with a God that he believed in with all his heart and soul. 

I Love You Dad

Obituary

Haven Freeman's Obituary

February 7, 2013

Two days after my Dad passed I arranged with the funeral director to meet the grave digger where my Dad is to be buried. My Dad made plans to be buried in a family plot on property he once owned. When he sold the property he made provisions to have access to the cemetery for his own burial. He showed me exactly where he wanted to rest.

I drove up the road for a 3:30 appointment a little early. I planned on stopping dropping in on the property owner to inform her of my Dad's death and let her know our intentions of burying him. As I walked up to her door there was lots of noise, machinery off in the woods near the gravesite. She saw me approach through the window and opened the door. She was very nice and told me she expected this to happen and offered her condolences. I was very curious but it didn't occur to me what could possibly be the source of the noise.

I left the property owner and drove around to the other side of her property where there was a path to ingress the cemetery. There were people in the woods and two trucks in the pathway. I got out of the car and saw two men on the graves. One had a jackhammer and was standing directly on top of my Aunt Evelyn's grave. His jack hammer was blaring away in shrieking harmony with a generator nearby. Downward plunging, a violation of what I knew to be sacred. The other grave digger was on top of my great grandfather with a hand ogger screwing it into the ground. It was a very disturbing site (no pun intended).

They saw me and paused. One came forward and stretched his legs over the steel piped perimeter. He said they didn't know where to put my father and were looking to see where the others were buried. I was shocked that they were so intrusive, especially since my fathers intentions were to be buried outside the cemetery. They explained that they had come buy earlier in the year when we made arrangements for my Dad's funeral at the direction of the funeral director to look at the site. At that time an abutter told them they could not expand the graveyard. He added that it would be ok if they stayed within perimeter.

I wasted no time in calling the abutter who said he didn't say that. He told me he talked to these people 5 years ago with my Dad. He told them there was no issue as long as we were on the right side of the property lines.

I keep recalling the scene, two men upon the graves of my aunt and great grandfather, violating the sacred sanction of being placed at rest.

This is my Dad in the cemetery standing on the spot where he will be laid to rest soon.

February 6, 2013

"Goodnight Dad, I will see you in the morning," I whispered into my Dad's ear as I left him last night.

Yesterday was long. My sister and I stayed with him as long as we could. Our thoughts seemed to be one. We wanted him to feel ok to go. He was breathing heavy at times and other times as gentle as a baby. He laid on his bed, making not a move. Less facial twitches than before. His eyes open slightly at times, maybe looking out, maybe just too tired to close them.

My sister was going away for a week, leaving him with me, the staff and the hospice workers. It broke my heart to know she wouldn't be there for him when he passed. She explained that this was a once a year vacation and she had to go. Earlier in the day and in preparation of her absence we created a recording of her talking and singing amazing grace, his favorite hymn. I read 23 Psalms and she closed with a heartfelt encouragement for him to move on to the next world as god and his family were waiting when he was ready. 

In the early afternoon we realized he may no be ready to leave because of the company we were keeping with him. Joined by my stepmother, Rita, we sang him lots and lots of his favorite hymns as he lay motionless except for deep arduous breathing. We expected he enjoyed our efforts and could not possibly feel alone. We were visited by many hospice people and a few suggested though his signs looked as he may slip away at anytime some people won't go when others are present. I suggested to my sister that I leave when she left as she needed to do some errands. We told my Dad we were leaving and would be back in about an hour. We very much wished he would feel comfortable about slipping away if it were his time. After leaving and upon my return he was still a mortal. I commenced to burn the recording we made earlier onto a CD. I put the CD into the boom box on his dresser and checked to see if it worked; it did.

There is nothing that compares to watching a life end. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. When I watched him gasping for air I wondered how I will do if I get this far. And I realized the joy he brought to his parents when he came into this world. They brought him in and now we were helping him out. It was a privilege without compare. I love my Dad and took great comfort in knowing how much he loved me and my sister at this epic moment in his life. 

It wasn't clear if my Dad was getting closer to passing as we moved into early evening. It was clear that his breathing was becoming accompanied by a rattle which was unnerving. We asked for more meds for the congestion and an increases dose of morphine. They upped his morphine from .5 mil to 1 mil. The rattling in his throat somewhat subsided and we thought the morphine may help calm him down as we prepared to leave. My sister and I both realized it would be the last time all three of us would be together in this world. As we made our way out we stopped by the nurses station and informed the staff my sister would be leaving for vacation but we have made a CD for them to play with our voices so that he would hear especially my sister's voice and reassuring message. They responded enthusiastically to the idea. My sister and I parted ways after a long day, a long week and a long experience with Alzheimer's Disease. About an hour after I arrived at home my phone rang, it was a nurse from Sentry Hill, her name was Shannon. She told me my Dad had passed. I called my sister immediately to confirm. She had driven back, yes she told me, he is gone. She added the staff said they had played the CD for my Dad and when he passed, she said, "that son of a gun was humming along." It was amazing to me he found the energy to hum. In fact I am in awe. He was so without energy, so helpless when we left him. 

Last night I slept a little but was very distracted. You see, I have never had a Dad die before. I had thought about it and what it would feel like many times. But last night it was real. Strangely, mostly what I felt was relief, not sadness. 

This morning I went over to Sentry Hill to pick up my iphone charger which I left behind last night. I felt OK until I got into my Dad's room. The bed in which he passed away on was right in front of me. His shoes right on the floor. His body had been taken to the funeral home sometime in the night. Everything was still there, just as I left him, except him. I took some photos off the wall and opened his closet. His clothes still hanging, many familiar shirts. The tears welled up and I just couldn't help crying and crying. I held the sleeve of a shirt as though he were in it. I knew I couldn't hold on but tried. I carried a few things out to the car. Started to drive away but was interrupted with heavy emotional outbursts. My face was contorted to the point of feeling embarrassed. As I collected my thoughts and feelings I could sense my Father everywhere. Suddenly, I realized the tears were becoming joyful. I looked out through the windshield and into the cold winter sky and tree line. My Dad was everywhere as the tears rolled down my cheeks.

I drove away from Sentry Hill and recalled the last words I said to my Dad, "I will see you in the morning."

February 3, 2013

My Dad was peaceful today. Today wasn't so sad. My Dad did not open his eyes for the 5 hours I visited. His breathing was regular, gentle and untroubled. A hospice worker came into his room and asked about my Dad's life. I told her the details that most appealed to me in a few minutes...it seemed too short. I could have gone on but told her about memories I had of him instead. She asked questions and offered suggestions. I realized I was at peace, feeling OK to let go. I wasn't troubled, I am OK to let go.

My instinct is to try to save him. But his body is to exhausted to respond. He cannot swallow. He cannot take fluids. He was given some morphine earlier as he displayed discomfort when he was rolled to his alternate side.

February 3. 2013

My Dad has stopped eating and drinking. He has had very little for 3 days. I would like to think he will resume anytime but don't feel it is likely. Last night I played him some songs on my guitar and sang Amazing Grace, which he used to enjoy. He lay in his bed, motionless, except for breathing and an occasional twitch of his facial muscles. I didn't mind crying.

I prayed for his soul. He always talked about Jesus and how we would be going home someday. He believed this with all his heart. I prayed that God take him home as easy as possible. I imagined him with his Dad, Mother and Siblings in a bright sunny place all in their prime of life, I guess this is what I consider heaven to be.

Hundreds of memories flashed through my head as if in a movie projector  All of the good times I had with my Dad reeled in fast motion, as he lay there exhausted, unable to help himself stay in this world. Loosing a Dad is not something you can practice. For me it is a once in a lifetime event that I would rather avoid. I would love to take my Dad by the hand and bring him back to his house on North Village Road. Have a snowball fight. Cut some wood. Take a ride. Selfishly, I wish he didn't have to go...but I pray, when he does it is peaceful and as normal as his breathing was last night.