Interment

Today was the day of interment for Haven H. Freeman. Since his death, his body has been at Lucas Eaton Funeral Home in York, Maine. On February 5, 2013, the day he passed away the ground was frozen with a few feet of snow more or less. It was decided we would wait for better weather to put his body in it's final resting place.

My father was a veteran of the Korean War. The funeral director, Steve Martin asked if we would like military funeral honors. Since my Dad was very proud of his service we thought he would like this. We agreed.

When I arrived at the family cemetery today, the coffin was already in place and a U.S. flag was draped over it. There were two U.S. Army soldiers waiting as well as the funeral director and Pastor Don Nelson from the Cape Neddick Baptist Church. For family members there was my sister and myself. We had invited my Dad's last surviving brother who was pre disposed with family matters of his own.

Pastor Nelson read a few excerpts from the bible and said a beautiful prayer. Next one soldier stood north of the grave site with a bugle. He played a very solemn version of taps. Another soldier stood at my Dad's grave, saluting.

I knew my Dad would have been very proud. It was a beautiful spring day, the birds were alive with robust conversation which coalesced with the tones of the bugle into a mesmerizing harmony. As the bugle ended the soldiers joined on the grave, one at the head of the coffin, the other at the foot and they began folding the flag.

They worked together meticulously and methodically. When they finished they walked out of the plot to where my sister and I stood. The soldier with the flag reached out with the flag. My sister insisted I accept it. I insisted she accept it. She further insisted and without further contest I reached out and accepted the flag.

The soldier looked into my eyes and very solomnly said, "On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army and a grateful Nation please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service." I was very touched by the sincerity in which these words were spoken, by such a young soldier, not unlike my Dad, 60 years ago. As I looked into his eyes I could see my Dad as a young man, a young soldier at the beginning of his life.

There was something very moving about this aspect of the ceremony which I had not expected. The two soldiers conveyed a deep feeling of patriotism and self respect for their task. It was very powerful and somehow penetrated to the core of my conscience. I was very moved and realized how significant my Dad's duty had been to these young men, so many other like them and to our country. 

My sister and I watched as my Dad, inside his casket, was lowered into the hole in the ground, into a cement liner. It is all so unbelievable. My Dad gone now in the flesh. He has moved on. The skills of my learning which he enhanced can never be again. His pride for me can only be recalled in my memory. Never again will I hear him say, "I love you, Kev."

April 18, 2013

Bursts of Brain Activity May Protect Against Alzheimer's Disease

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2013/04/130418125742.htm

April 10, 2013

I went up to my Dad's house today. He has been gone since February 5. His grave has been dug and lined. His body is at the funeral home. Soon he will be placed in the ground next to my aunt Evelyn, next to their grandparents, Anna and Albert. But today the grave is open and waiting until my sister, the funeral director, the minister and myself can find a common date to meet and bury my father.

Somehow, I found myself at my Dad's house, after a short drive, looking for a place to sketch. I went into his barn which had been picked through by many others in a yard sale sort of way. Drawers were pulled out, contents jumbled, things turned over, left, abandoned, due to no perceived value. The entire place looked violated.

All the stuff my Dad had coveted had been rifled through with no regard to him, his lust for collecting or consideration of organization. It was a feeling I was not familiar with. My sister had many yard sales here, in the sanctity of a building my father built with his own hands to carefully collect and preserve his most precious tangibles. People had tested his skills, his eye for something valuable by sauntering in and rummaging through everything he had accumulated in a manner that was quick concise and lacking respect.

No doubt my Dad accumulated all of the stuff he had in a likewise fashion. He bartered at estate and yard sales, always hoping for a deal. As I perused through the moderate mayhem I came across one of the items I recall from early childhood. It was my Dad's gray toolbox among a pile of stuff, on the floor.

Ever since I can remember he had this tool box. Before the yard sales began I had put a tag on the box with the letter "K" on it. This signified my name. The box was so worn out I couldn't imagine using it myself but didn't want it sold. I was hoping it would remain intact in perpetuity, I guess.

Today the box was nearly empty of all the tools I remembered. All the tools as a child I would hold and wonder what they were for had escaped the box and it's characteristic grayness. As I grew older my Dad taught me how to use the tools which were now gone. Not long ago they were mine for the taking. I declined and now they are elsewhere. The waterpump pliers, the crescent wrench, the open ended wrenches and black handled screwdrivers, among others, all overflowing, held down by a tray on top that was also missing were gone. The box had been ravaged. The old gray box was nearly empty, save for a few tools I did not recognize.

I missed all the tools as I stared into the box. My mind flashed to all the places I had seen the box in my life. The cellar and garage of my childhood home, underneath and in the trunk of our family car, on the old jitterbug, in my Dad's home on his kitchen floor and now in his barn, empty.

I paused, stood up and looked around at the mess all around me. Unprepared