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

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