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

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.

January 30, 2013

It is very strange. Life. All the things I have been protected from. All the places I don't want to go.

My Dad is now having difficulty swallowing. He has fallen many times. Been to the emergency room for undiagnosed reasons. 2 visits ago was the saddest ever. I was so sad. Today I could make my Dad laugh. He had a big, beautiful grin without his teeth in. I always thought his perfect looking false teeth coaxed the ladies into calling him handsome. But I have been wrong. His smile was perfect today and the aids kept walking by saying, "Hi, handsome Haven," with no teeth, mind you!

Today he could look into my eyes and he knew me...the way I know myself. A CNA smooshed up a banana and tried to feed it to him. I held up a glass of ginger ale and directed the straw into his mouth. Sometimes he could manage and sometimes nothing happened.

He reached for the table. He mumbled something and I replied. No words were exchanged. The aids and CNA floated around the 10 or so residents like angels. Providing comfort and care, a few kind words, compliments. My Dad in a wheelchair still reaching for the table as though he could use it to pull himself up. He said. "look." I offered him more ginger ale and he readily said, "really." This time he gulped it. I smiled, he smiled. Somehow amongst the sadness I realized I was happy at this moment.

The residents blended in with their elderly children. Some, I knew not if they were residents or relatives. They looked mostly the same and some were very beautiful people...sitting, elegant, refined, their nurons tangled beneath their skulls. Everyone who was sitting at one table looked the same. My Dad doesn't walk now. He sits, mostly in front of a table in a wheelchair.

Yesterday he did not eat and slept all day Jenn told me. I don't want my life to end like my Dad's is. This experience is surreal. I don't know how to make it logical. I am just sad. Even though my Dad was smiling when I left him today I am sad about it. Someplace deep inside me I am crying, heartbroken though there are no tears rolling down my cheeks. You cannot see them but they are rolling down my heart.

I fed my Dad for the first time today. Jenn, a CNA, brought some blueberry and chocolate ice cream into his room. She handed the bowl to me and said, "I thought you may be able to get him to eat this." I  have never spoon fed an adult until today. He was receptive and ate almost have the bowl. He then wanted to get up. I went looking for Jenn to tell her while at the same time I was wondering why he would want to get up. Where did he think he would go?

As I got ready to go I put my hand on his shoulder and he jumped. I told him I loved him and was leaving. I kissed him on the top of his white crop of hair and walked off. He mumbled something and I turned back approaching him from the other side. I returned the mumbled and he quickly turned his head looking my strait in the face. We both grinned at the same time. For an instance things were perfect. I grasped it tight and will hold on to that grin, smiling.

New Years Day 2013

Reflecting back this has been a very strange year. The dynamics of my family have evolved into a spiral that is out of control, twisting and turning in all directions at once. Through it all my Dad is coupled with his dementia. He sits and sits and sits among others whose conditions are so much the same that it seems completely normal to be among them. Persons sitting in chairs, staring off into the distance. Their heads moving slowly through time. Occasionally making eye contact, occasionally I avoid making eye contact in an attempt to thwart any advancement toward me.

If they look too long they may see me as a familiar face, someone they can appeal to for help, someone who can help them escape through the locked doors. I cannot be that person for them. I do have the passcode memorized, but not for them. It is for me. So I can type in 1996 and go, like a bird, free, into the wild. As I go, emotions flow over me like the ebb tide, gently I feel reluctant to leave, nostalgia and a sense of sadness all envelop me like a hug from an old friend. I shake my head as I pass the last door into the fresh air as if I am shaking off rain from a cold shower.

I get into the car and I think out loud, "I love you, Dad."

My Dad is sweet and kind and easy to coach a smile from. His image pops up in my mind as I start the car and drive away. I don't think I can any longer make memories for him. And I wonder where his memories have gone... dissipated, expelled from his brain, perhaps floating in the upper stratosphere  perhaps co mingled with my glass of orange juice this morning. There is no easy answer as my thoughts turn elsewhere and I drive back to the normalcy of the other reality, where I spend most of my time, my home, my work, exploring other mysteries, trying to catch them and existing in the awe.

June 18, 2012

Yesterday was Father's Day. In the last few years my family has evolved like never before. My oldest son is living in another city, my youngest son is home for the summer. My daughter's dreams are evolving from the unreachable to reality. My father has been in an Alzheimer's unit, my mother treats me as if I don't exist and my in-laws are plagued with health issues. Recently my mother-in-law has suffered a series of strokes and has lost use of her arm and leg requiring her to move into a nursing home.

My oldest son and his girlfriend visited yesterday. It is amazing to see the person he has evolved into. I know that his life won't be without the same trials we all endure but he has an awesome start. To have him here for Father's Day was very special for me. I have never really taken notice of this day in the way I did yesterday.

My youngest son cooked me crepes for breakfast with fruit filling. He was very proud of his efforts as was I. I was flattered that he got up extra early, before a long work day and made me the focus of his attention.

After working in the garden for a bit and after lunch, I went to visit my Dad. He was very happy yesterday. He was beaming with a huge grin. It was very easy to be with him. He couldn't talk very well at first. We went for a walk around the facility at Sentry Hill. And then we sat in the sun. I asked him if he remembered when I was born, if he saw me be born. He didn't really answer and then I told him that back then he may not have been allowed in the delivery room. He perked up and agreed. I then asked him about one of my earliest memories. I asked him if he remembers holding me in a rocking chair. Immediately he said, "right next to the front door." I was flabbergasted. I asked him if he did that often. Without thinking he said, "Oh, no!"

He has carried the memory of holding me for maybe 50 years, through his dementia. And I have carried the memory of being held, helpless as a baby in his strange arms and feeling comforted. Is was comforting sitting in the warm summer sun with him yesterday. He was at ease and excited. He was happy. In spite of all my concerns the world was spinning and my dad in spite of all the other possible emotions he could be experiencing because of his unfortunate situation was happy. Wow.

June 12, 2012

I feel more sad than usual. My visit yesterday with my Dad was the most difficult it has been for a long time. And I should mention I haven't seen him in over a month. He was OK. He was happy to see Sandra and I. I don't think he recognized my daughter, Amber.

It was a picture perfect day in York Harbor, Maine. Hi 70's F° and clear skies. Right away he thought we had come to take him away. He couldn't say where he wanted to be but someplace was for sure. It broke my heart to know that I wouldn't take him away, to where he wanted to go.

My life is a balancing act with two business, children and more interests than I can possibly attend. It was really all I could manage to just visit with him for an hour or two. It is all so difficult to balance. Difficult to place everything in an order that I won't regret. And realizing that the perfect solution is just a compromise.

None the less it made me sad to see my Dad sad. I felt powerless. And since communication is challenging at best and often impossible it is hard to express my empathy to him.

Alzheimer's is a dreadful sentence at times. Sometimes I see it's unexpected symptoms as graces. Often when I leave him from a visit I feel nice, like I made him feel good. But yesterday he was sad.

I realized he is still very much a person and is still more connected to the world than one might expect. His speech is feeble. His thoughts are shattered when he attempts to express himself. But in his thoughts he wants, desires and is full of emotion. He is in one of the most beautiful settings in York Harbor, far out of reach for most. But his heart does not belong here. This is not the place that he built with his hands, the place where he collected his tools and cut his trees. This is not the place where he feuded over land boundaries, took dates, dug rocks, and piled stuff behind his house and cherished it all. But he is here. And it is comfortable and warm. There are many people who take care of him with care and pride. Who greet him in the halls with genuine warmth and sincerity.

Who are we? How did we arrive here and what is the right thing to do. I don't remember asking to be born. I don't remember asking to be responsible for the happiness of my Dad. I am not sure of all the choices we make. I feel that for my Dad to be in an assisted living facility, in a lockdown ward is convenient. It is also very costly. I don't know of other reasonable solutions. So here he is. With more of a broken heart than I realize. And here I am unable to get a smile from him.

A Little Music is Good for the Soul

The last time I saw my Dad a friend of mine, with whom I am in a band and myself, played music at Sentry Hill. It was two Sunday afternoon's ago. We set up in front of the residence with guitars, a PA and played for two hours. I have never played in front of Alzheimer's patients before but recommend it to anyone who is a musician or a wannabe.

These people were not free to come and go as they please, as in bars which I have played in the past. Nope, most cannot get out of a seat. Those in a seat, like a wheel chair have not enough strength to make haste for a getaway. So there they sat before us, my Father included. And we played for them. From our hearts.

As we played the help gathered around as well and it became quite cozy. We received delightful applause and occasional hoots and yipeeeees. It was a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

My Dad and I at Sentry Hill in York Harbor, Maine

Since, I received two calls from Sentry Hill. The first was to inform me my father had swatted his lower false teeth out of an attendent's hands and broke one of the teeth. The second was that he fell into a fireplace as he tried to pet a dog which someone brought into visit the old people. He possibly lost his balance while bending over.

I miss my Dad alot. I miss my sons as well. It has been very strange to have two sons who are prospering at college and a Father who is declining monthly. They are all beyond my reach in a tangible way. And we are all disconnected from the family cohesiveness that I once enjoyed so much.

My oldest son has created an album that is very beautiful. Take a listen, it is peaceful and soothing...http://whorl.bandcamp.com/

I have recently been visited by my mother. She came by work unexpectedly. She asked if she could speak with me. I had a premonition that she may want to reconcile our differences. But no, her agenda was only remotely relevant to me. In fact she told me I was lying about so many things that I made her leave. It is odd to feel no love from a person, let alone my mother. I cannot get around the idea that she visited me and didn't bother to inquire about how I have been or share concerns, thoughts or anything about me. When I brought something up or replied to her questions she said only, "you are making that up," or "that's a lie."

My mother is an enigma to me and her actions become increasingly unresolved when opportunity favors her. There are few people in life that I get such little feeling from. Many complete strangers offer far more compassion and love. Thank God.

January 20, 2012

We have had our first significant snowfall. Though scant, 2-4 inches of white stuff it looks and feels like winter, finally! I am not a huge fan of winter but it has become such a substantial part of my psyche I think I really need it.

Through the window and into the sun, first snow or 2012

As I sit on the couch waiting for the sanding truck to rumble up the driveway I have been thinking about how my Mom and Dad are evaporating from my life. I have been estranged from my Mom for about 4 years and my Dad is in another world. My wife's parents are also dealing with issues of dementia and things are evolving in that realm as well.

Although my parents are both alive I no longer have the kind of emotional support I had been afforded for so many years. My Mom was mostly a detriment to my creativity and my Dad really never cared to get a grasp on it. Otherwise my parent and son relationship was probably pretty normal. There were times when I didn't see my Dad for a year or more. Something always pulled us back together though, usually a chance encounter at the post office, hardware store or general store.

He instilled his love of tools and fascination for the woods in me. He also influenced my spirituality by sharing his. My mom told me we had no room for a piano and that I couldn't be a writer. Later, she did help and encourage me to get into art school which opened up a whole new dimension of creativity. My Dad would never invest the time into trying to understand my love of art. Though his love was so easy. Go out into the woods, start cutting trees and splitting them into manageable pieces and toss them into the trailer and hopefully drive out of the woods without getting stuck and arrive home smelling like chainsaw exhaust. I got this and really took a liking to it.

There were many times as I was becoming an adult I cut ties with my parents in order to liberate myself from their dogmas. At first it was tenuous as I was a newbie. Initially the pain was terrible as I had to imagine them as dead. I still loved them but realized the hindrance was stagnating. The only way for me to become an entity unto myself was to stand alone, singular. It took me a while to realize that we could co-exist but I had to learn this through experience. 

As a parent now, I appreciate my own parents for their efforts and realize how difficult it can be to try to shape our existence into some type of normalcy. I am not a proponent of normalcy, status quo or otherwise trying to be like everyone else, but it is the only way we can become socially adept. Communities are bound by co-dependence, hopefully a mutually satisfactory one.

My family has evolved to such an extent I can easily become awed. My three children are becoming adults. I am exactly between my parents and children. As with most situations I need to adjust, to understand my responsibilities and to offer whatever support I can. And of course the challenge is to encourage the human spirit to flourish and be successful at it. Each person with a different set of circumstances, with different desires and purpose.

January 15, 2012

Today was cold. Mid teens, I think. 18°F +/-. I walked into Sentry Hill and found my dad asleep on the built in seats next to the windows in the common area. His head falling downward, his body slumped and silhouetted before the large windows looking out toward the glass looking frozen pond. I pulled off my jacket and turned to sit down next to him. He instantly awoke and looked at my face. He said, "Oh, Kev!"

He then, with a smile said, "I, didn't, huh...know, huh."

I was happy to be recognized so quickly. He asked how I got there. I told him in my car and offered him a ride. He readily accepted. We checked out with nurse Judy and I lent my Dad my coat and in no time we were off, cruising Long Sands Beach. My Dad kept saying, " That is a lot of boats, Kev," as we drove along Route One A. The ocean on the right and houses and motels on the left. I said, "Dad! those are motels!"

"No, they are boats," he acknowledged as he watched the houses bathed in crisp winter lights pass by us. 

We turned right and headed toward the Nubble Lighthouse. When we got there we stopped and thought about getting out of the car. But when I opened my door and walked around the back of the car and to my Dad's door and opened it I realized it was far to cold and windy. So I reorganized my thoughts and we drove along the coast. At each intersection I asked him for directions and he always indicated a direction that was furthest away from where we had started. 

I haven't had my Dad out for a drive in at-least a year, maybe two. I constantly challenged his memory and asked all along the way if he knew where we were, if he knew who lived in that house or where this road would take us. He asked me if I had been at Albert's (my great grandfather who died in the 1940's). I said no and asked if he had. He replied, "Yes, and what a bunch of stuff that happened there."

As we drove along I thought of how he drove me in his car when I was his young son. How we would whistle Amazing Grace in unison and how that I knew then neither of us were tone deaf (in spite of what others told us). On the same roads we were driving now and then, 40 years later. Finally, we came to my driveway. I asked if he would like to drive out to my house. He said yes. So we drove along the half mile ice and snow crusted road that I had first found when I was 10 years old or so looking for a fishing hole. Back then there was no gravel and no pot holes, just a soft bed of rusty pine needles. There was barely a road at all back then. It only the easiest way to walk out here and ghostly impressions of wagon tracks form many years ago. 

We pulled up to the front door and I asked my Dad if he would like to try a gun that I had recently acquired. He shook his head in agreement and I asked him to wait in the car as the icy snow had made everything treacherous. I ran into the house and grabbed the gun and ran back out to the still running car. I opened up the box and carefully unlocked the gun. I checked for shells though I knew it wasn't loaded and then passed the gun to my Dad. 

He looked like a child at Christmas who had been handed a toy gun. His face lit up and he declared it was real! I said, "It sure is." I asked if he would like to shoot it. He said, "Ah, let me see, why not, Yes."

I took a magazine and loaded 3 rounds into it. I don't know why 3, it seemed like not too many and not too few. I opened my car door and put the gun into my back pocket. I walked around the car and opened his door and released his seat belt. He maneuvered around and pulled himself out of the passenger seat. He stood up on the slippery surface. Once he was comfortable I withdrew the gun from my back pocket. I put in the magazine and told him it was loaded and ready.

I passed him the gun and he held it like it was his own. I told him to shoot at the target that I had placed 15 feet in front of him. He didn't understand. I told him it was the big black circle on the white board. He couldn't recognize it. I asked him to pass me the gun and I would show him. I fired a round into the target and passed it back. He held it again as if he were going to shoot but could not find the target. I suggested he fire into the air. He declined. I fired the remaining rounds into the target and we got back into the warm car. I locked the gun.

As I drove back down the driveway he said he had had a dream last night. In his dream he was holding the gun we were just using and he was in a place that he couldn't quite describe. I asked him if it was at his home. He said no. What about my Aunt's? He said no. I said what about Thompson's Meadow. He said yes. To clarify I asked him, "With my gun?" He said yes. He then asked if I could believe it. I said yes I could.

Gov. LePage and Maine’s Republican Legislature are attempting to eliminate care for people with Alzheimer’s Disease

Governor Paul LePage and the republican legislature in Maine are making a big effort to cut funding from the Maine Department of Human Services. It is predicted that this would have a huge impact on Alzheimer's patients in Maine, including my Dad. It would eliminate all rooms for Alzheimer's patients that are currently covered by Mainecare.


Here is today's article in the Portland Press Herald
http://www.pressherald.com/news/democrats-take-issue-with-mainecare-figures_2011-12-14.html

October 24, 2011

It has been such a long time since I last posted to this blog. My Dad's condition is more stable than I recall in the past. When I see him he knows me and remembers parts of the past.

I have been going through my Dad's stuff at his house looking for something. Perhaps a key to the past. I don't know. I have taken a few items that I really don't need. Things that my Dad loved.

As I have been looking though his stuff I keep realizing how my Dad was a keeper of the past. He was infatuated with history and a certain type of object it produces. At first appearance everything is in a state of mayhem. And perhaps, most curious of all are the many empty boxes. Mostly metal and some wood, they are usually at the lowest levels, on the floor. Upon them are stacked more boxes and finally just a pile of objects, seemingly random objects. It is impossible not to anticipate a treasure of some sort down below the stack and inside the box. But as you remove stack upon stack and finally reveal a box top and open the lid so often they are empty of anything except a dull and musty air.

Occasionally there has been an exception. Usually a box full of a certain tool or collectible, like a box or bucket full of screwdrivers or hammers or hatchets or wet-stones or brass door knockers or fishing gear or bullets or thimbles or sockets for a ratchet or wire or drill bits or nails or watches or oar locks bit braces or or what ever he chose to collect from the vast yard sales he attended.

I have been spending much time missing my Dad. As I have sorted through his stuff I often imagine him with me. Saying, Kev, you want that don't you? Take it! Take it! But I don't have a need for the abundance of objects he collected and neither does my sister. This stuff was his passion and fascination. And he sold only on the rarest of occasions, when he thought he was getting top dollar. He made it clear many times that this would by my sister's and my legacy.

I spent enough time with my Dad to know what he would consider valuable. He loved names and dates stamped into a part of a tool. He loved older tools that had hammer marks from tooling. He also loved tools from the industrial revolution. He didn't like plastic, except as a practical matter. He would constantly show up at my place of work with a hook or hammer and pass it to me. He would ask, “Can you read that, Kev?”

As time went on it was unlikely that I could. My eyes certainly haven't improved and the markings seemed to get smaller over the years. Patina was also important. He had learned early on that sanding, buffing, scraping was a no no. But as I have picked up many of his tools I can see where he lightly abraded around the manufacturer’s name and patent dates. This always causes me to raise an eyebrow which turns into a smile.

My Dad coveted most of his collection. Rarely did he give me something out right. And my sister has told me it was the same with her. When I would ask for something in particular it would take on an even greater value to him. I am talking about grinders, chisels, an axe. Not much really. I never had a strong interest in most of his things. I was interested mostly because he was interested.

Some of the tools he collected adapt easily to they type of work I do. Part of my business is making carved signs for homes and businesses. My Dad had a keen eye for chisels. And he did give me a set of superb carving chisels many years ago. And with a few other tools I have incorporated into my collection from his I do take particular pleasure in using something he acquired because he liked it. A hammer, a rasp, a wet-stone somehow makes an immediate connection to my Dad. I find myself holding his tool with more care and easily find content in the many thoughts evoked.

August 15, 2011

Yesterday I returned from a weekend trip from Westmore, VT. A friend owns a camp on a ridge over looking a glacial lake. The name of the lake is Willoughby. It is long and deep. My friend told me it is over 300 feet deep in parts. I drove up to Vermont alone, through the White Mountain National Forest. I past many places I used to go camping with my family when I was a kid.

The ride through Franconia Notch was especially beautiful. The majesty of the Presidential Range is inspiring. I really wanted to get out of the car and hike up with sketch pad in hand.

On friday (I am writing on Monday) I visited my Dad. As I entered Sentry Hill and found him, he looked at me for a moment and then connected. It is very satisfying for him to get a certain look on his face that signifies he recognizes me. He was sitting alone, in  a large room. It was quite hot, 90°s F, but I asked him to go for a walk. He readily agreed. We walked out of the facility and straight into the  sun down to Woodbridge Road. We took a left onto Axholme. He recognized where we were by pointing at the trafic at the intersection of Route 1A and trying to speek. He couldn't verbally expound what his thoughts were so I asked, "do you mean if you take a right turn up there you will come to York Village?"

He shook his head, indicating this is what he meant. We both walked forward on the dark pavement, both feeling hotter. I asked if the sun bothered him as a car went slowly past us. He said he didn't think so. We paused at a vegetable patch along the roads edge and he pointed out some cucumbers. We both share a zest for cucumbers and this became apparent to the gardens owner who was sitting on a deck within hearing distance as we saw more cukes and appropiately ooooed and yummmed.

Me and my Dad

Suddenly, my Dad told me he was very hot. I didn't know he would want to take such a long walk and didn't bring any water. He had two shirts on so I helped him take the outer one off. He had a lei around his neck. He didn't know it was on there. I asked why it was there and he had no idea. As we proceeded down Axholme Drive I told him I recently had a birthday and asked him to guess how old I was. He looked at me with sad eyes and told me he didn't have any.... but couldn't finish the sentence. I knew he meant to say money because he always gave me a one hundred dollar bill for my birthday as well as my wife and our 3 children. This day he couldn't even say it. I said,"money!" He smiled and say I don't .....and I said, "have any." He shook his head. I asked for him to try to guess how old I was again. He shook his head as if he was defeated. I said, "20?" He laughed. I said, "30?" He smiled as we walked past Foster's Downeast Clambake and turned the corner onto Route One A.

I then confessed that I was 51. I asked if he remembered being 51. He looked surprised and said no. I asked how old he was and there was some debate. My concern for his safety took precedent walking along a sidewalk with traffic moving hasty. As we neared our turn into Sentry Hill an lady offered us a cold drink from her porch. I declined and we walked up the hill to Victoria Court. A lady from far away called my name. I didn't recognize her immediately. My dad was 20 feet behind me and I was concerned about getting him up the hill. He was walking very slowly.

I showed my Dad the home in which my in laws would soon be moving into. We then turned and walked toward the main doors and I recognized the lady whom called my name. It was Judy, a nurse and she was with Marilyn, a woman who is particularly fond of my Dad. We sat in big overstuffed chairs next to them. We joked with each other and exchange pleasantries. My Dad didn't look at either of them and when I asked if he could see them he said not really. They laughed at this. I asked him if he even knew Marilyn. He replied, "just a little, not very much."

Again they were amused. We all got up, went inside and got something to drink and somehow as a group navigated our way back to Browning, the locked in area, where one needs to remember the code and to punch it in to ingress or egress.

I had a great visit with my Dad. He was alert, happy and really enjoyed taking a walk, I think it was about a mile.

July 21, 2011

Today, I have lived 51 years. I can't recall the day my Dad turned 50, though I can recall when he turned 40. I was so frightened. Forty seemed like a daunting age to an 8 year old, I thought he would die at anytime. I recall reading life expectancy in the 19th century was 35 early in the century and 47 during the later part.

In the last month I have recovered from what seemed to be Lyme disease. Within a week or less I was bitten by 3 deer tics. Initially I was starving for sleep. I went to my doctors and they did a blood test which came back negative and prescribed me 21 day of doxycycline. I feel so much better now. Although I wasn’t diagnosed with Lyme disease it seems the likely culprit.

Today is hot, 86°F. Quite humid, and very sunny. I am sitting on the deck, beneath an umbrella. Home alone. The only sounds are distant cars and the restless breezes stirring through the pines. It is a perfect summer day. A dog day. The exact kind of day I remember from my childhood. Lazy with boredom I would fall asleep in the living room, maybe on the floor where it was coolest and wake a few hours later. Still, it would be too hot to venture outside into the neighborhood. I never thought about it before but now I wonder what my friends in the neighborhood had been up to. Were they lazy like me, listless and without responsibility? In my mind now I will take pleasure in thinking so.

I ran 3+ miles this morning at Long Sands Beach. At first Sandra and I ran on the sand and then up onto the still cool pavement and headed to the track at York High School. I haven't run since last fall, maybe longer. My leg muscles felt like they were being bitten. My hips and knees ached, but I persevered. I new it would make my next run that much easier. On the track I ran 1 mile. No doubt at a 10 minute pace or more. I didn't feel pretty. On the other hand Sandra looked graceful and full of energy. Her strides on the track were long and poignent. She looked relaxed and fit. As I watched her continuously closing on me I tried to be inspired. But my aches and pains were working counter to my lofty notions. Finally, I stopped in mid track and stretched my aching legs. Wow! it was like a miracle for 100 yards. No pain. But then it came back. And now there was no option other than to accept it. Somehow I managed to run back to our starting point. We sipped coffee on the tailgate as we recovered an marveled at how beautiful the beach was, how vibrant and full of energy things were.