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