Abe: From Beginning to End

I like, no, love visiting historical (and interesting) places as those of you who regularly read my blog can attest to.

So, when The Colonel asked me if I wanted to visit and take a tour of the Jack Daniels Distillery or see the birthplace and a boyhood home of Abraham Lincoln on our trip back home from Indiana to Florida, after my dad's funeral, there could be only one answer to his question.

I'll take Abe over Jack for $800 Alex.

Abraham Lincoln was born in Hodgenville, Kentucky on February 12, 1809. The little, one-room, log cabin he was born in was located on the 300-acre Sinking Spring Farm.

The spring that gave the farm its name is still there. The Colonel and I walked down the steps approaching the spring.

It was much cooler, almost like an air conditioner was running, the closer you got to the spring. It felt lovely, as it was hot and humid in Hodgenville that day.

I liked seeing the spring where our beloved 16th President of the United States got his first drinks of cool water.

The Lincoln National Birthplace Memorial (built in 1909) houses a symbolic log cabin that is seated upon the original site of the Lincoln cabin. The cabin is symbolic because the Lincoln cabin is no longer in existence (dismantled sometime before 1865). It is smaller than the Lincoln cabin was; it had to be built smaller (12 x 17) to fit inside the memorial building. The Lincoln cabin would have looked like the symbolic cabin but larger (16 x 18).

The Colonel and I walked the 56 granite steps (one step for each year of Lincoln's life) up to the memorial building.

We saw the corner stone of the memorial that was placed by President Theodore Roosevelt on February 12, 1909 on the 100th anniversary of Lincoln's birth. The memorial building was designed by John Russell Pope who also designed the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, D.C.

The inside of the memorial building was nice and cool. The one-room, log cabin nearly filled the entire building. The gray flooring behind the chained off area marks the original size of the Lincoln cabin.

I was in historical heaven. I wanted so much to be able to go inside the cabin but standing very near the place where Abraham Lincoln drew his first breath filled me with such bliss. That alone would have to suffice.

Abraham Lincoln lived at Sinking Spring Farm until he was about 2 1/2 years old.

In 1811 the Lincoln's moved to a farm on Knob Creek, about 10 miles to the northeast. Guess where we headed next?

The Lincolns lived on the Knob Creek farm until 1816 and Abraham's first childhood recollections are from this boyhood home.

This is the log cabin on the Knob Creek farm. It is the Gollaher family cabin and it was built in 1800. The Gollahers were friends and neighbors of the Lincolns and lived in this cabin on a nearby farm. The cabin was moved to Knob Creek from its original location much later and refurbished. The Lincoln's cabin would have been very much like the Gollaher's.

In his 1860 campaign autobiography, Abraham Lincoln wrote, "I was born February 12, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky. My earliest recollections, however is of the Knob Creek place."

Lincoln told of events from his boyhood years spent in the beautiful farm valley. Some memories stood out more than others like the time he recalled planting pumpkin seeds in the fields only to see them washed away by a flash flood. He said, "One time the rain from the hills came down and washed corn and pumpkin seeds clear off the field."

He also recalled the time he fell into Knob Creek and nearly died. The water was high because of recent rains. He and his good friend Austin Gollaher were hunting for wild partridge. Seven-year-old Abe wanted to cross the swollen creek on a log footbridge. He lost his footing and fell into the creek. He could not swim and began to thrash around. Austin looked around and found a long sycamore limb and held it out for Abe to grab hold, but Abe nearly drowned before Austin could pull him to safety. The boys promised to keep this experience a secret to avoid a spanking from their parents. Years later Austin told the story many times. 

Above, you see my feet at the water's edge of Knob Creek. The water was quite a bit lower (nearly non-existent) than it was on the day Abe Lincoln nearly drowned in 1816. Again, I was in historical heaven. I was traipsing in and alongside the same creek Abe Lincoln did as a child.

I had just seen and experienced the birthplace and Kentucky boyhood home of young Abe Lincoln: his beginning. I saw and experienced the place of his ending too but it appears that I had gone about the chronology of Abe's life, backasswards.

In October 1986 The Colonel and I were married and we spent our honeymoon in Washington, D.C. We did many of the things tourist do while they are in D.C. (we also had the most delicious Kung Pao Chicken by which standard I still hold all others up to and have yet to find one as delicious).

We visited Ford's Theater and saw the Presidential Box where President and Mrs. Lincoln were sitting when Lincoln was shot.

On the evening of April 14, 1865 the Lincoln's were enjoying the play, Our American Cousin at Ford's Theater. Lincoln's bodyguard, John Parker, left the theater during intermission to join Lincoln's coachman for drinks at the Star Saloon next door. President Lincoln was now unguarded.

At around 10:13 pm, John Wilkes Booth snuck up behind President Lincoln, aimed at the back of his head and fired at point-blank range, mortally wounding the President.

An Army surgeon, Dr. Charles Leale was sitting nearby at the theater and began to immediately assist the President. Abraham Lincoln was unresponsive, barely breathing and with no detectable pulse.

The Dr. having determined that Lincoln was shot in the head and not stabbed in the shoulder as previously thought, made an attempt to clear the blood clot, after which the President began to breathe more naturally.

The dying President was carried across the street to the Petersen House.

The Colonel and I retraced the footsteps of those carrying the President that night in 1865. We went to the Petersen House too. We entered the room that President Lincoln was taken to.

We stood next to the bed that Lincoln was laid upon and saw the bloodstained pillow his head rested on as he lay dying.

President Abraham Lincoln was in a coma for nine hours before he took his last breath and died at 7:22 am on April 15, 1865.

I had been where President Lincoln breathed his first and last breaths; his beginning and his end.

"Now he belongs to the ages." - Secretary of War, Edwin M. Stanton, April 15, 1865

Perfect Planning, Perfect Timing

When I went back to Indiana in June for a family meeting, I volunteered to help pre-plan my Dad and Mom's final arrangements. Little did I know that Dad would be gone from us two months later.

While I was in Indiana, I spoke with my parents and asked them what kind of funeral and burial they wished to have. They both wanted: a Latin funeral mass at Holy Rosary Church, to be buried in a simple, monastic, hand-made casket (made by the monks of St. Meinrad Archabbey in southern Indiana) and to be buried in Our Lady of Peace, a catholic cemetery.

I returned home to Florida with this information and told The Colonel that we had a job to do. He was eager to help me with the pre-planning. The Colonel is never one to procrastinate, so we started letting our "fingers do the walking" on the Internet the next day.

We searched for funeral homes near my parent's home. We visited the websites for the Abbey Caskets and the catholic cemetery.

There were two funeral homes near my parent's home and we chose the one that would help us accomplish everything on Mom and Dad's wish list.

Jerry at the funeral home and Kelsey at the cemetery were a joy to work with. They made planning via emails and phone calls a breeze.

Jerry discussed what funeral packages were available and their pricing which made it easy to choose one that my parents would be happy with.

The Colonel and I used Google Earth to see what Our Lady of Peace Cemetery looked like. Kelsey sent us a map of the cemetery that showed us which lots were available. We cross referenced the map and the Google Earth images to help us decide on a plot for my parents.

We chose a plot with a shade tree that was near a concrete pathway. We based our choice on the plot's beauty and the ease future visitors would have in walking to the graveside, especially in snow (there was parking close by too). We also took into account that there were empty plots still available near Mom and Dad's plot in case any of my brothers or sisters wished to be buried near our parents.

The Colonel designed the headstone with tweaks from myself and other family members. The headstone should be in place sometime in December or January.

July 30th was the final pre-planning email The Colonel and I received. My dad began home hospice care on August 9th and passed away on the 17th.

When I flew to my parent's house on August 14th, I flew alone. The Colonel had to stay behind to take Spud to college. Each day we were apart, I called to let him know how my dad was doing. My dad passed away on the day The Colonel was driving Spud up to Jacksonville, so when I told him, he continued north after dropping Spud off at college. He spent the night outside of Atlanta and then continued onto Indiana the next morning. He arrived at my parent's house around 6 p.m. on Sunday, August 19th.

Dad's viewing was the next evening at the funeral home and his funeral would be the following day. The Colonel and I would be able to see how all of our pre-planning work would come together.

My parent's house was full of family members getting ready for Dad's viewing. There were some of my sisters there as well as nieces, nephews and great-nephews. All of that movement and noise helped keep the sadness of the day at bay. Everyone looked lovely as we piled into three vehicles and made our way to the funeral home.

As The Colonel and I stepped into the funeral home we were met by Jerry. It was good to finally put a face to the phone calls and emails. When I met him it felt like we had been friends forever.

The viewing time was set for 4 p.m.-8 p.m. We, being family, had to be there an hour prior. When I heard how long we would have to be at the funeral home I was a little worried. Would that be too long for my mom? Would the time drag on and be oppressive? My worries were groundless. The staff at the funeral home was excellent and accommodating. The viewing room was beautiful and calming. There were many comfortable chairs for family and visitors. The funeral home created a  video that played the entire time of the viewing. The video was made from 50 pictures of  Dad that we had supplied. Many visitors commented on how nice the video was. The atmosphere was wake-like, not depressed or dark.

The signatures from the guestbook showed that roughly 400 people attended Dad's viewing throughout the evening. I saw aunts, uncles, first-cousins and second-cousins from both sides of my family that I had not seen in years. It was good to see old neighbors (and an old neighborhood crush, who was shorter than I remembered and now with much less hair) again. I remembered days of old with past co-workers who were present. I saw and spoke with one of my grade school classmates; she was there with her mother. We were not friends in grade school but it was good to see her and speak with her. My dear friend Kim came; we shared memories and laughs together.

The time at the viewing flew by as the crowds ebbed and flowed.

I was very pleased with Dad's viewing. The Colonel and I had chosen wisely in working with this funeral home (I just wish my choice in new footwear that evening had been as wise.Ouch!).

Even with achy feet I was able to get some shut-eye and I would need it because Dad's funeral was the next morning at 10 a.m. and we had to be up, dressed (I had on more sensible shoes), and out the door by 8:30 a.m. to get to the church on time (isn't there a song in there somewhere?).

It was a beautiful morning for Dad's funeral and Holy Rosary Church was perfect for his Requiem Mass in Latin.

The hearse drew alongside the front of the church.

The Pall-Bearers, who were all grandsons, prepared to carry Dad's casket into the church.

The church bell was ringing, one peal at a time, as the Pall-Bearers carried the casket into the church and as others filed in behind them.

The priest met and stopped the casket in the back of the church. The bell was still ringing as he prayed in Latin over the casket.

When the priest was done praying, a procession of the priest, altar servers and the casket made its way to the front of the church. The procession was followed by family members who then entered the empty pews nearest the altar.

Throughout the Requiem Mass a choir sang Gregorian Chant-like songs. I would close my eyes and feel like I was transported to a medieval king's funeral mass. Hearing the priest pray in Latin added to the effect as did the smell of incense when the priest blessed the casket with incense and holy water.

Dad's funeral mass was a visual and aural feast; it made me appreciate more, the rituals of my faith. It was a beautiful ceremony, a beautiful experience. Thanks go to my youngest brother for helping make it so.



The mass was over and it was time to go to the graveside service at Our Lady of Peace Cemetery. Our long convoy was led by a police escort. I got used to The Colonel driving through red lights. 

My youngest brother played the bagpipes as Dad's casket was placed at the grave site.

The priest, a friend of the family, delivered a beautiful graveside service (again, thanks go to my youngest brother for making this happen).

My Uncle Dave at the casket. He is Dad's twin brother (fraternal).

I think Dad would have been pleased with everything. The Colonel and I were pleased with the fruits of our planning from Florida. My dad's final farewell was beautiful and memorable.

I must give shout-outs to my little sister and youngest brother who were the "Boots on the Ground" for helping carry out what The Colonel and I started from our end. Also, a shout-out to my oldest sister who helped in choosing the holy cards, guest book and casket spray when she and I met with Jerry at the funeral home. Another goes out to my sister-in-law, Lisa, who helped pen Dad's obituary (and suggested we have Qdoba catered in after the funeral and burial. Delicioso!).

Finally, I must give many thank yous to The Colonel for helping me with my dad's (and mom's) funeral plans. Thank you, thank you and thank you! Verily, you are my better half.

Wordless Wednesday

Waking From the Dream of Life

I got the news that my dad had cancer and had only weeks to live while The Colonel and I were on the road picking Spud up from college summer school. That was on August 3rd.

I made airline reservations to go back to Indiana to visit with my dad and family as soon as I got home. I made the reservations for the week of my dad's 76th birthday (August 17th).

I flew in on Tuesday, August 14th at around 6 p.m.

In the days before my flight, I received phone calls and emails from my family, letting me know how Dad was doing; he wasn't doing well. He was dying but he was at home where he wanted to be.

When I arrived at my parent's house my dad was sleeping. I looked in on him. He was much thinner than when Spud and I had seen him back in June. When he woke up I went back into his room, stood next to the hospital bed and said, "Hey Dad, it's me, I'm here." My dad's brown eyes fell onto my face. He did not speak my name but through the pain and restlessness, I believe he knew it was me.

We had 24-hr help in caring for my dad (Visiting Angels) and one of two hospice nurses (a male and female) visited daily. The Visiting Angels sat with Dad as we slept. They changed his bed linens and bathed him and kept his as comfortable as possible. The only thing the Visiting Angels couldn't do was administer medicine as only family members or a hospice nurse could give Dad his medicines.

The following day, Wednesday, Dad was very restless and in bouts of pain between his doses of medicine. He would take off his top sheet because he was too warm and then want it back on again soon after. The hospice nurse said the dying cannot regulate their temperatures well and that this behavior was normal.

Dad wanted to sit up often, so I helped him up, held onto his arms and hands as one of his dear friends sat on the bed with his back against Dad's, to support him. We eventually helped Dad into his recliner, where he seemed to be more at ease and comfortable. Dad slept off and on and when he woke up I helped give him is medicines as well as offer him some water on a little sponge if he wanted it. As the day wore on Dad became less restless and he slept more. The hospice nurse said Dad's terminal restlessness was ending. We would wake Dad every two hours to administer his medicines to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. He was sleeping more as the day wore on.

Thursday-Dad was back in his hospital bed and sleeping more and more. My mom, siblings and I needed a little break, so while the Visiting Angel watched over Dad, we went out to grab some lunch. When we returned home the hospice nurse was there checking on Dad. She told us that Dad had little time left. He was sleeping constantly now and was probably slipping into a coma. His breathing was becoming more erratic and congested.

We called all of my brothers and sisters to let them know. My brothers and sisters arrived to be by Dad's bedside (my sister and her five children, who live in Ohio, had visited with Dad on Tuesday evening but had to go back home that next day). Many other family members visited: uncles (my dad's brothers; especially his twin brother), aunts and cousins. It was good to see them all.

The hospice nurse said that hearing is the last sense to go and that talking could be a comfort to Dad. So, we told stories about growing up and stories about Dad as we sat in the room together. We spent the evening this way, taking turns sitting by Dad's bedside, holding his hands and talking.

When it struck midnight, it was officially Dad's 76th birthday. We all gathered around Dad and sang happy birthday to him. My eldest sister went out to buy birthday cake at a 24-hr grocery.

Many of us were getting sleepy and went to bed shortly after midnight (no one ate any birthday cake so close to bedtime, no one needs all that sugar as you are trying to sleep). One of my sisters stayed up until around 2:30 a.m. Finally, all were asleep except for the Visiting Angel, Kenneth.

My youngest sister woke me from my slumber around 3:15 a.m. She told me that Dad had passed away five minutes earlier. Kenneth had been sitting with Dad as he passed away. The hospice nurse had told us that sometimes the dying, especially parents, want to protect their children from watching them die, so they often pass away when family members are not in the room. The same principle applies to spouses too.

I went downstairs to be with my mom and siblings and to see Dad. He looked very peaceful. It was strange to know that he was gone from us now, but I was so happy his suffering was over. The hospice nurse was called and as we waited for him to arrive, one of my sisters said, "Let's have some birthday cake in honor of Dad's birthday".

We lit the candles and sang happy birthday again. My sister had gotten a chocolate cake and a white cake. I had a little bit of both. As we ate the cake we thought of Dad and told a few more stories.

I was still sleepy, so I went back to bed as my sisters remained up and waited for the hospice nurse to arrive. The hospice nurse, when he arrived, would destroy any meds that were unused by my dad. He would also make sure Dad's body was prepared for pickup by the funeral home. When I woke up later that morning, all of this was accomplished and I was glad to have missed it.

What I am glad I did not miss was arriving in time to see my dad alive, tell him I love him, say my goodbyes, help ease his passing as much as I could and be there for my mom, sisters and brothers.

August 17, 1936 - August 17, 2012

Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord and let perpetual light shine upon him.

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday