Dad and me in May
We said goodbye to my Dad last week. He almost made it to 100...just one month short. He was fragile, but otherwise in good health, and fell asleep and didn't wake up. I'm thankful he didn't suffer and passed peacefully.
My son sent a beautiful flower arrangement
We placed pictures and momentos on the table with the flowers at the
memorial service
We got this handsome box for his ashes, to be buried beside my Mother in Wisconsin.
My sister's friend sent these flowers, that complimented the flag presented by the American Legion,
a picture of Dad and the box.
It was a lovely service. I gave the eulogy. My brother read the Bible passage and Rev. Branden Freeland
officiated and sang a song. Here is the eulogy I gave.
Every person lives their life, filling the pages of their book of memories. Long before I was born, my Dad started writing his. From his birth in New Jersey, the move to Illinois then to Wisconsin as a teenager, my father filled his book with things that are a mystery to me. I know he had a severe stuttering impediment that impaired him throughout his long life. I know that in Darien, Wisconsin, he met my mother and formed a bond that would last his entire life. He loved her deeply and with respect; a model of what marriage should be.
My book of memories began with dad teaching me to love water and to paddle around without fear. He drove my sister and I to swim lessons and later, to swim team practice, sometimes stopping at the Toot and Tell for a mama burger with the sdmonishment,”Don't tell your mother!” He and Mom were scout leaders, and I witnessed their commitment to making responsible young men of their charges. I think that is when I stored the memory of my dad with a camera everywhere we went. My book is filled, not with the actual pictures, but of my dad, saying,”stand closer together...back up a bit...Teddy! Look this way..and say cheeseburger” Snap! The picture was taken, in front of the house in our Easter finery, on mountain sides, in a bird jungle park, where the parrot ate my brother's buttons while dad framed the shot, and of concerts, swim meets, ROTC events, cheerleading annd football games, weddings and grandchildren, and all his travels with mom in France, Canada and the United States. Dad filled albums and slide trays with all his photos. I don't have those photos, but I have my memory book, filled with the memories of each place with Dad behind the camera.
Dad made us pancakes shaped like dogs, bears and faces, he was an expert with banana splits, rootbeer floats and homemade pizza. He popped giant grocery bags of popcorn to take to the movies, and packed me the same lunch every day for the four years in hugh school...Bolony, lettuce and mayonaise sandwich, two cookies and an apple. Vivid memory in my book.
Dad was a steady, grounding force for us. There to help when our lives fell apart, were in peril, or we were homesick. I remember him watching the evening news, quietly weeping, when my brother was in Viet Nam, and weeping again when he returned safely. His remedy to our life speed bumps was to write a letter. He wrote to me at camp as a kid, and throughout my life when I lived in places far from home. He wrote to Edward in Viet Nam, to Teddy when he moved to Minnesota and Canada, and Anne, when she moved to Florida. It might not be a long letter, but perhaps a card with a newspaper clipping in it, the actual letter written in the margin. I think we were the only people able to decipher his tiny chicken scratch handwriting. I don't have the letters; but the memories of them fill many pages in my book.
Mom and Dad finished their life journey, retiring to Harlingen and making their home at Fig Tree Resort for over 30 years. Their traveling friends were here, their new friends were here. They rarely left this place to visit us kids or grandkids, but we always made the journey to spend as much time with them as we could.
Anne and Dan moved here to be closer to Mom and Dad, providing a comforting family presence through their declining years. Dad had his buddies to play pool with, he went golfing with the guys and walked his dog, Millie, every day, making friends with everyone and chatting with the other dog lovers. Mom played Pokeno at the hall until she was too blind to negotiate her card. My memory of their happiness with living here fill the later pages of my memory book.
Dad tenderly cared for Mom during her battle with blindness and pulmonary hypertension. He did the best he could and was her loving companion and best friend until she passed. My fondest memories of them as a couple are their holding hands when walking, having a laugh over dad's cornball jokes at the dinner table and talking about traveling and all the wonderful things they had seen in the 85 years they had together as friends, sweethearts and husband and wife. In times of overwhelming grief, I'll always have those thoughts and feel comforted that they are together for eternity.
Dad closed his book on September 23, 2022. My book is thick and packed with memories, but not yet finished. I hope my children and grandchildren will also have the same memories of my parents to pass on to their families.
We will never forget you, Dad.
I haven't been up to quilting or sewing yet, but I'm sure my mojo will return soon.
1978, showing my girls his new mustache
