Happy Father's Day

Dear Dad,

On this Father's Day, I look back on our life together and I want to share a thought or two with you.

I remember how many times you spoke of your own cowardice.  When there was news of war and violence, we when saw television shows that showed hostage situations,  you said that you'd be worthless in those settings.  When asked about the discomfort of public speaking, you replied that it never gets easier (ironic for a preacher).  At the time,  my little-boy intuition told me that you were just "saying that" so that fate would avoid putting you in those situations.  You were so big and strong that you could stand up to anything and anybody, is what I really believed with all my heart.

I remember how you always spoke about yourself with great humility in other ways, too.  You frequently expressed great regret for all the mistakes you'd made in your life.  Of course, in my youth I assumed that you were exercising false humility.  To my young understanding, you had never made a mistake.  The fact that you won EVERY SINGLE argument that we ever had when I was a teenager and was striving for some sort of autonomy did not change my understanding.

You also often spoke of your own limited abilities.  You would say, "glad to help as long as I am able," as if there would ever be a time when you would be unable to do anything that really had to be done.  You were the most capable man and father, ever, I was certain.

As I got older and especially when I became a father, I began to understand that your self-proclaimed cowardice, mistakes, and limitations were quite real.  I came to understand that you pushed through your uncomfortable feelings in order to accomplish what you could, however imperfectly, for those who were depending on you.  I knew this about you because I became painfully aware of my own cowardice, mistakes, and limitations. 

In spite of your self-deprecating words, your countenance instilled me with confidence in you as my Father.  You had a rock-steady devotion to goodness for its own sake, a large capacity to concentrate, a sharp wit, a keen sensitivity to the feelings of others, and an annoying capacity to speak with great authority (even about subjects about which you know very little).  Unfortunately, I inherited that tendency to offer unsolicited and unwanted preaching.  And like you, I muddle/struggle my way through life with great effort, false courage, blind luck, and unacknowledged assistance from invisible sources.

Now that you are gone and I am old enough to have children that have children of their own, I want to remember you by saying thank you for all that you have given me.  Because you were my father I know that real bravery is to ask for and to give respect, and that kindness is the true measure of a man's courage.  I know that not only are mistakes allowed, but that they are necessary in life to learn and to grow.  I know that often times, effort is more important than results.  Because you were my dad I know that nothing is more important than family.

Happy Father's day, Dad.  Save me a seat at the cribbage table -- we'll have a lot to talk about.

Paul Frahm      1932 - 2011

Imagine My Embarrassment..

Dear Dad, 

I had tried to write a letter to you on your birthday, but I found it too hard to see through the tears.  It's a couple of weeks later, now, and I thought I would share some stories with you that I know you would appreciate.

When Audrey opened the special ZIGGY calendar that I got her for Christmas (it's a tradition to get her a ZIGGY wall calendar each year, something from her childhood that she likes, but it has gotten harder to find them over the years) she was a little surprised to notice that the cover picture for the new calendar was remarkably similar to the cover picture of the calendar from last year.  In fact, it was identical.  How strange, I thought, that the calendar people would make such a mistake.  Even weirder that they would make the unthinkable mistake of printing the wrong year on the cover, too.  Her new 2012 calendar had 2011 in big numbers on the lower left hand corner of the cover -- how bizarre!  Wait -- you mean that I bought a 2011 calendar for a Christmas present in December 2011 and paid extra to have it expressed shipped so that it would arrive on time?!

Audrey and I went to a performance of the Capitol Steps at the Broward County Performing Arts Center.  We had been looking forward to the show since Christmas, when she had given the tickets to me for a present.  We paid for parking and worked our way to the front door where an usher looked at our tickets and directed us to a particular entrance.  There, another usher scrutinized our tickets and showed us to yet another entrance.  At that point the usher read our tickets and removed the end-stub from them, motioning us toward a doorway.  More ushers, more ticket showing, more directions, right to our very seats R 111 & 112.  I joked to Audrey that they seemed a little over-attentive.  It was not long, however, before I was in a conversation with a lovely couple that were looking for seats R 110 & 111.  Simultaneously, Audrey was talking to a couple that were looking for seats R 112 & 113.  Weird, we thought.  I finally offered to let one of them sit in my lap for the performance when someone pointed out that the date on our tickets was different from theirs.....it was a Friday night, and our tickets were for Saturday.  Audrey and I, and 37 ushers, had all not noticed that we were there on the wrong night!!

Courtney and her roommates were excited about the prospect of taking a meditation class in their second semester at BYU.  They had been looking at classes together and pondering the scheduling possibilities for weeks.  Meditation excited them, because of the obvious possibility that they could simply sit and not do anything for the class.  It wasn't until actually reading the course description and curriculum that they came to realize that the class was not mediTation, but was mediation.  Funny how your mind can play tricks on you....

I follow routines to protect myself from myself.  As an example, every time I get out of my car my keys go into my right front pocket so that I am certain that I don't lock them inside, and if I need to leave the car running I always roll down my window.  So when I got gas I followed my routine: keys, wallet, swipe card, enter zip code, place nozzle, no smoking....  but then I deviated.  My truck was so dirty and I was not in a hurry, so I washed the windows.  In fact, I took extra long to wash the windows and made them pretty dang     clean.  But I had taken so long that by the time a turned my attention back to the pump, it had turned off.  It had not just clicked off, I had taken so long that it had completely turned off:  there was no topping-off, there was no receipt option, it was just dead.  So I replace the nozzle and went inside and got my receipt.  Reading the receipt I realized that I had purchased over 24 gallons of gas for my 21.2 gallon gas tank.  I instantly realized that the gas-station was ripping me off, as I had seen a 60 Minute expose' on just such dishonest gas stations (15 years ago).  I looked for the 800 # on the pump to call for consumer protection, and not seeing it took pictures of the specific identification plates on that pump.  Driving away angry, I fumed over my next steps -- write a letter, call the local news station.....  I got back into my truck after a short errand, and was floored when I looked at the gas gauge that showed empty!!!!  How could that be?  Did I manage to somehow pump the fuel into a different compartment??!!  I KNOW all that gas wasn't on the ground..........  and then I realized what you all already know -- I had never turned the pump on in the first place.  I had forgotten to select the grade of gasoline to be pumped and had gone straight to washing the windows.  Imagine my private embarrassment......

I called Tim and told him that I would be coming to Davenport around the weekend of Feb 19th, the one year anniversary of your funeral.  I was extra excited because I was going to be there in time for Sister's  birthday on the 17th.  No, her birthday is the 4th, he said.  No, it's the 17th, I said -- it's right here in my contact information about her.  "Hey Kathy, this is a dumb question, but is your birthday the 17th?" I asked her in a later phone call.  She responded with a good-natured, kind-hearted, ever-patient, maybe-I-should-be-offended-but-I'm-just-so-used-to-it chuckle "No, Feb 7th."  Imagine my embarrassment...........

So, Dad, I know that you CAN imagine my embarrassment in all these situations, and I can hear your kind and gentle laughter joining mine as a laugh at myself.   I can also hear you saying HAPPY BIRTHDAY to your daughter, my sister, Kathy.  

As for me, embarrassed or not, I wish for you, Kathy, a very happy birthday.  They made little girls right, 38 years ago, when you were born.  In you, my big sister, is the best of the best of us, as I am always reminded of the many virtues of Grandma Agnes when I am around you.  Or to paraphrase you, "I may be a mangy brother, but I loves ya!"

And by the way, thanks so much for teaching me how to be a baby when you were my 6 year old sister!  You're the best, Kath!  Happy Birthday!!!!!

Happy Day Between Birthdays, Dad

In my family we often celebrated my father's birthday (Jan 22nd) and mine (Jan 24th) on the day in-between, the 23rd.  For me, especially as a young boy, it meant that we had a special connection.  I always had a  tendency to identify with my dad, and the co-celebration only made it stronger.  Over the years our mutual acknowledgement of birthdays became more and more lax, and we often would exchange birthday cards weeks or months late.

This is the first birthday since he has left us.  I miss calling and talking with him about kids, psychology, politics, the weather, home repairs, etc.  I miss that we would say "happy birthday!" to each other in a couple of weeks from now, when our schedules allowed that we connect.  

Happy birthday, Dad.  I miss you.

I am thankful for.....

My Dad

Atticus with his Father, and my Dad's Laughter

I found this on my Father's computer and was happy to see a record of his visit with my son and his family.  I was also so pleased to hear the sound of my father's laughter -- it warmed my heart a little bit.

Dad's Funeral

Go Gentle, by Steve Frahm for his Dad.

Just go gentle, there is no need to fight.

Old age has but few dividends to pay,

So go peaceful, calm, having earned the right. 

It's normal to panic at endless night,

When body and treatment fail, but I say

Just go gentle, there is no need to fight.

Some men, wrecked with regret, lament how might

They have filled the blanks of their now past day.

So go peaceful, calm, having earned the right.

Other men, deeds crammed, trivial and trite, 

In the end strive for meaning. But you may

Just go gentle, there is no need to fight.

Man's body can stay past when he is quite

Gone; life-support gives but empty delay.

So go peaceful, calm, having earned the right.

Father, friend, Dad, in impossible plight --

I love you.  With joy, you're sent on your way.

Just go gentle, there is no need to fight.

So go peaceful, calm, having earned the right

Dr. Paul Hans Frahm, 79, of Davenport, IA, passed away Saturday, February 12, 2011, at Trinity Medical Center in Rock Island, IL. Services in celebration of his life will be held at 1 PM Saturday, February 19th at the First Christian Church, 510 E. 15th St., Davenport. Visitation will take place 5-8 PM Friday at Weerts Funeral Home, Kimberly at Jersey Ridge Road, Davenport. Family will also greet friends from noon until the time of service at the church on Saturday. A nursery will be provided. Burial will take place at Oakdale Memorial Gardens, Davenport. In lieu of other expressions of sympathy, his family asks that memorials be made to the First Christian Church, Davenport, IA. 

Paul was born in 1932 in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, the first of 11 children born to Hans and Agnes Frahm. He married Cleova Clark in 1951. He later married Ella Cowan Taylor on June 2, 1967. Paul graduated from Washington High School, Sioux Falls, SD in 1949. He attended Augustana College in Sioux Falls and graduated from Drake University with a B.A. degree in 1953, a B.D. degree in 1956, and an M.A. degree in 1963. He earned a PhD in Psychology from the University of Iowa in 1966.

Paul's desire to serve God and others led him to be ordained in Christian ministry in the Disciples of Christ Church in 1953. He pastored churches in Pattonsburg, MO, and Elkhart, IA, prior to being called to the First Christian Church in Mankato, MN, where he served a growing congregation from 1956 through the dedication of a new church building in 1962. While earning his M.A. degree at Drake University, Paul shepherded the Bladensburg Christian Church near Ottumwa, IA. He filled roles as interim pastor of Cedar Memorial Christian Church in Davenport from April - August of 1970 and of Moline Christian Church in 1996. He also served as Minister of Membership at the Moline Christian Church from 1997-2002. Paul has been a member of the First Christian Church in Davenport, IA, for 44 years, was a member of the board of directors of Disciples Uniting in the Quad Cities and was one of the founders of Morningstar Community.

In addition to being a pastor, Paul began his career as a clinical psychologist at the Scott County Mental Health Center in 1966. He was chief psychologist at the Vera French Community Mental Health Center, retiring from there in 1986 after 20 years of service. He joined the Psychology Associates in private practice, retiring in 1998.

Paul had a wide variety of interests and hobbies. He was an avid and successful hunter, winning Iowa trophies for turkey hunting in 1986, 1989, and 1991. He looked forward to annual goose hunting trips to Manitoba, Canada, as well as traditional Thanksgiving pheasant hunts with family and close friends. He enjoyed bow hunting for deer. Paul trained and worked with his own dogs throughout his life. Splatter, Muffin, Brie, Crickett, Lance, and Freckles were not only good hunters, but beloved pets and companions as well. 

Paul relished working with his hands. He repaired, remodeled, and renovated homes, loved working in his yard and gardens, maintained his own cars, and, until the last few months, was his own barber.

Paul adored his wife, Ella, and cared for her in endless ways. He was proud of his family and dearly loved each of his seven sisters, three brothers, four children, three stepchildren and each of their spouses. He had a special bond with hunting partner and brother-in-law, Paul Lamont. He doted on his ten grandchildren and ten great-grandchildren. He helped friends and family stay connected through email, Facebook, and genealogy research that led to the discovery of new relatives both here and abroad. He visited Norway on several occasions and took his mother to see her ancestral home and stand on the path her father walked as he left his home for a new life in America. 

Paul valued his family and each of his friendships. He served God faithfully all his life and has left a lasting imprint on the hearts, minds, and souls of many. He will be greatly missed by those who are left behind.

His survivors include his wife, Ella; daughter Kathleen Frahm, Bettendorf, IA; stepdaughters Pat (Lou) Felix, Payson, AZ; Julie McEwan, Plymouth, MN; and Scotty (Gary) Spohr, Indianapolis, IN; sons, David Frahm, Colorado Springs, CO; Steven (Audrey) Frahm, Plantation, FL; and Tim Frahm, Davenport, IA; 10 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren. He is also survived by sisters Carol Masters, Middletown, IN; Joan (Russell) Allen, Newport Beach, CA; Janet (John) Bowermaster-Davis, San Diego, CA; Linda (Paul) Lamont, Ankeny, IA; and brother Mark (Vesta) Frahm, Ottumwa, IA. Paul was preceded in death by his parents, Hans Frahm in 1978 and Agnes Frahm in 1997; sisters Jeanne Sneve, Norway; Judith Pieritz, VA, Barbara (George) Monasky, PA; and brothers, Dr. James Frahm, Des Moines, IA; and Dr. John (Sue) Frahm, Iron Mountain, MI. 

Good Bye, Dad

Birthdays, Past and Future

For as far back as I can remember I have felt a special connection with my father because our birthdays are just two days apart.  As our birthdays approach once again, I look back with fondness at the 45 years that have passed since the image above. 

Happy birthday, Dad.  It has been great to sit next to you all these years.

One Week Since the Onset of His Stroke

Dad's ventilator was removed this morning (they don't let me watch that) and it was nice to see his face without the tube partly obscuring it.  We had nice long 'talks' (he writes on white paper on a clipboard that I hold for him and I verbalize what he is trying to say) before they removed the breathing tube.  After that he was mostly too busy being fussed over by nurses and Drs as they paid very close attention to him.  It was about 90 minutes later that it became very apparent that he was not going to be able to breathe without the ventilator.  It is not that he couldn't inhale, but apparently he's not exhaling well enough because he got too much Co2 built up in his blood (75%).  So they intubated him again.  By that time his his heart was just pounding away at a steady >102 beats per minute. I could feel every pulse in his hand as I held it, and he was constantly squeezing mine (mimicking a heart beat).  Even as he continued to squeeze my hand in rapid spurts, he also became more and more detached and distant, sliding away into a stupor.  Hard to watch.

Later, after he was intubated and oxygenated again, he was back to 'full-functioning.'  He had been discussing with the Dr the prospect of having a tracheotomy. He told me that she was very convincing, although she denied having pushed him in either direction.  However, what I thought might be a fight turned out to be an easy decision -- Dad eagerly accepted the 'trache.'  In fact, when given the choice of today or after some rest, he wrote "ASAP!"

So tonight he is resting much more comfortably, the O2 tube attached at his neck rather than to his mouth.  Coming off of the sedative was a little scary as his heart acted kinda' naughty, but things quickly improved and he eventually seemed good-to-go.  He even wrote the following sentence that brought  relief to us all:

"I feel the finger of God in my mouth.  Soothing."  For those of us standing around him, sensing his pain, seeing his tormented face, and reading his dark thoughts, his declaration was a tender mercy.

Tonight I am sleeping in the hospital.  I could drive to Davenport, but why waste time on the road.  I could stay in a hotel, but they are boring and bleak.  Tonight I am staying in the hospital with Dad for no other reason than because I can, and so why not.

Optimism Is Warranted, Say The Experts

Dad underwent surgery to remove dead portions of his cerebellum and to relieve pressure that was apparently causing brain-stem compression.  We waited nearly 6 hours to hear from the surgeon that he was optimistic about Dad's chances for recovery.  To put this into perspective, Dad's condition had been declining over the past few days and we feared that his death was imminent.  We are now feeling that he has dodged THAT bullet.  His death does not seem imminent.  

What we do not know, yet, is how much he will be affected.  Damage to the cerebellum largely impacts motor functioning, like balance and fine motor movement.  I found what seems to be a pretty good  explanation of cerebellum problems, complete with MRI images, at a website called Dizziness-and-Balance.com.

A Cold Day In Iowa

I just arrived in Davenport, where I had come to see my father.  Unfortunately for me, he must have known I was coming because he departed to Iowa City while I was en route!  That is dark humor, because he flew there in a helicopter, having had a turn-for-the-worse during the night.  He has been in a hospital for the past few days following an apparent stroke.  I'm about to drive to Iowa City now to see  him.  More later.

Complimenting Our Father...

My brother Tim paid the highest compliment to our father when he sent me this picture and asked, "Do you think you and Dad look alike?"

"Not actually," I thought to myself, "you just caught Dad on a day when he looked unusually handsome."

I just crack myself up! In reality I am proud to be like my father in anyway possible, but in almost every way feel that I fall short. I know that one thing we share in common, though, is an appreciation for the life we've been given. With all the highs and lows, victories and defeats, good times and bad, I'm grateful for every stinking little minute of my time above ground. I've often heard Dad express the very similar sentiment, in more eloquent fashion.

Well here's to you, Dad, for all the good modeling you've provided to me (and to all of us kids, if I can be so bold as to speak for the others), and for all the "above-ground" time we have shared together.

More Greatness for Atticus

Here are the Great Grandparents of Atticus on the Frahm side, the Iowa contingency, of the family.

Happy Birthday Dad (Paul)!

Cousin Phil was kind enough to send these pictures out to the family. A few years have past since the photos were taken, but I can clearly see Paul's and Jean's adult faces on those little child bodies. I think I see Carol, but I am less certain about that. Anyone know for sure?

Happy birthday, Dad! I think that January 22nd must have been a good day all those many (76?) years ago. I have enjoyed the portion of your 76 years that I have been able to spend with you. But then, you were an adult by the time I met you so that probably made it easier for me. (haha) Here's wishing you many more happy birthdays to come.