Buoyed
by the happy memory of his recent last voyage aboard the ferry Cape Henlopen,
and sustained by frequent visits from his children, grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren, my father spent his final months in quiet repose at Nashua
Crossings, an assisted living facility near the family home. The staff there took good care of him and
kept him comfortable, well-fed, and safe.
In the summer, he enjoyed the great outdoors of the courtyard. In the winter, he appreciated the warmth of
the great indoors, thankful that cleaning up the snow and ice was no longer his
responsibility. In all seasons, he
enjoyed the company of his family and took special delight in his three
great-grandchildren. They eased the
loneliness and mitigated the infirmities of his old age.
But
just as his time aboard the Cape Henlopen went by too quickly, so did
his time with the family. The
debilitations of advanced age overtook him. He passed pleasant holidays at Easter,
Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but in this new year he required hospitalization
and then hospice care. Finally, on
Friday evening, January 24, 2020, my father quietly rang up “Finished with
Engines.” Concluding an earthly voyage
of 98 years, 2 months, and 22 days, he returned to the celestial sphere from
which he had arrived almost a century ago. There he joined our Mom and many other family
members and old friends who had gone before him. As the last of his siblings and cousins to
leave this life, he has passed the torch on to a new generation that must now preside
over the family.
A
week later, on Friday the 31st, I attended an interment service for
my father at the Cemetery of the Holy Rood in Westbury, Long Island. He had made his return to New York for this occasion
not aboard a ship, but in a hearse. I
followed him on a bus. In our last
moments together as father and son at Holy Rood, the deacon intoned the
customary prayers for the dead and, quoting Saint Paul, reminded us that “we
have our citizenship in heaven” and that “we await the coming of our Savior” (both
Phil. 3:20, NAB). These good points remind
us that all of our earthly voyages are temporary and imperfect. The best is yet to come.
We
who now carry the family torch in this life have the obligation and the opportunity
to serve both the living and the dead.
This year, we plan to continue the temple ordinances for my Mom and
several of her cousins. Next year, we will
start the temple ordinances for my father.
For many years, we will help with the temporal and spiritual needs of the
grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
These family projects are “a sacred duty”[1]
because “the family is ordained of God”[2]
and is “central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.”[3]
Now,
two photographs from the family archives.
My Mom took this father-and-teenage-son
portrait on the bank of the Penobscot River at Fort Knox in Prospect, Maine, in
October of 1976. In the background, an
unidentified tanker was discharging cargo at the oil dock in the paper mill
town of Bucksport. Many voyages lay
ahead of us when this picture was taken.
Finally, a closer
view of the rusty tanker that we were admiring.
Regarding my choice of a career in the Merchant Marine, I recall my
father remarking that there was more opportunity for advancement aboard ship
than there was in his field of school administration. Every ship had a Captain. Every ship had a Chief Engineer. If I worked hard and studied diligently for
the license exams, I could make it to the top.
It didn’t quite turn out that way, but he did have my best interests at
heart!
[1] “The Family: A
Proclamation to the World,” Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints, General Relief Society Meeting, September 23, 1995.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid.
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