There comes a point in everyone's life when the individual must simply say enough.
During my visit the only visible response from dad was at the conclusion of my playing when he moved his right hand up and down taping his chair as if perhaps, he was applauding my performance. I took Enos Dowty’s photo from the dresser and showed dad. I told him about my fond memories of being with him at the time of his dad’s death. I thanked dad for being a good father and said that it was all right if he wanted to go visit his father in heaven. With deliberation he moved his right hand and touched his dad’s photo. I hugged him while giving him a kiss and said goodbye.
I left with a sense that this was the last time I would see my dad. Later that same afternoon I got a call from brother Milt informing me that dad’s respiration had become labored. The nursing home suggested that family members might want to gather for their respective goodbyes.
I called brother Mike in Houston and shared the news while continuing home to Kansas City. Other family members convened at the nursing home that night to give their farewells. Mom was given a day pass from the hospital so that she could be with her husband, Luther Naaman.
A week later I knew that our 2007 new year’s trip to Wichita was going to be more than ordinary when Erika Bentson, 24-year-old niece of our friend, Bob Hollowell, reminded us as we were departing for Wichita that we should all remember to just keep our clothes on. After dinner that same night Bob announced that if someone had a snare drum he could play “Abide with Me.”
The next day Linda and I spent the afternoon with my parents. Mom, Dad, and I played music together like we have done so many times in our past, Mom playing the piano, Dad the saxophone, and myself on violin. After our music time together I asked Dad if he would be interested knowing how I might eulogize him. He seemed amenable to the idea so I read to dad, mom, and Linda the eulogy that I wrote on Christmas day of 2006. Thus the reading:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.” That light for me was Naaman, my father. I bid your forbearance to hear the parable of Luther Naaman as witnessed by his son Marcus before abjuring me as impertinent. As a begotten child of a wordsmith, my reference to the gospel of St. John comes naturally.
My Dad had a love for words. How lucky for him---and for you and me that he became a minister. Dad’s love of words is a gift he imparted to me for which I am eternally grateful. It is however unfortunate for my students that I share his love of words. I learned from him that word usage carefully crafted could be a powerful force. Respective individuals can be inspired to excel beyond their limited expectations and a well timed, softly spoken word can be a great comfort to those hurting and in need.
Growing up in my father’s house taught me that God’s chosen were always on the move. I have fond memories as a youngster traveling throughout the mid-west together with my older brother and parents in their ministry of song and praise for God. As the days ebbed away and yet another revival was concluded, the car would be repacked and surrounded by well-wishing adults and their giggling children all extending reluctant good-byes. Once the farewell prayer was invoked, Milt and I would snuggle under the blankets in the backseat of the family sedan where we would fall asleep listening to Mom and Dad talk of their recent events accompanied by the incessant hum of spinning tires on pavement. To this very day, my spouse Linda and I enjoy traveling under cover of darkness. Thanks Dad.
The Psalmist wrote, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. Sing unto the Lord with the harp; with the harp, and the voice of a psalm. With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise before the Lord, the King.” Although I neither play the trumpet nor often sing, Luther Naaman inscribed on the walls of my soul this scripture. As a child I quickly learned that song gave voice to the Divine. At camp meetings, revivals, and church inspirational sings, Dad would repeatedly awaken the audiences with joyful song. I am sure there are many who could give witness that Brother Dowty has through song led them to the blessings of God’s eternal love.
“His lord said unto him, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy lord.’” Dad understood this parable of the talents. As a father he encouraged each of his four sons to develop their talents. For me he sacrificed time, money and personal comfort to assist me in my music education. When it comes to personal comfort, has anyone lately listened to a beginning violinist? With an eye for deliberation, Luther Naaman listened to the council of others gifted in the musical arts. He entrusted my musical training to three fine instructors, Elizabeth Thompson now known as Liz Carroll, and the greatly missed Catherine Lombar, and Jackie Boswell. In so doing, Dad sealed my fate that T. S. Eliot writes, “In my beginning is my end.”
“Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” Dad lived by this code for many years unerringly. During my youth Luther had this propensity to give unto Caesar during the Christmas season with great regularly. This self-imposed taxation was always vexing to our holiday stressed finances. Usually it was the act of driving too fast; or “what do you mean there’s a no left-turn sign at that intersection?” Regarding this particular codification for living, I’ve managed to be less my Dad’s equal by routinely cheating Caesar during Christmastide.
“And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, ‘O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.’” My father and my father’s father shared with me the one possession that Mark Twain claims out values all others—ones last breath. This singularly profound act of intimacy at my grandfather’s death was a blessed event. I witnessed Dad give unto the Lord God his beloved father, my granddad. Granddad Enos Dowty gave to his grandson Marcus the knowledge that one last breath can go easy. It is the living that is the hardest.
“He went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, ‘O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.’” Luther Naaman in recent years has had to struggle with the hardest part, living. Through the dismembering affects of dementia he has endured the loss of personification of self. In spite of dad’s personal loss there were moments when the light for me was Naaman and in him was life.
Luther Naaman Dowty has drunk completely from his cup and “Thy will” has been done. Now that he has joined his father in heaven, I beseech you to pray, My “Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.”
Marcus D. Dowty
Epilogue
As I read to Dad, Mom and Linda sat nearby and wept silently as they listened. Dad would occasionally nod in agreement and at the conclusion of my reading he wiped a single tear from his cheek. Afterwards Linda asked Dad what needed to be edited. “Nothing” was his steady reply.
Later that same day we went to the Village Inn for supper. As was often customary in Luther Naaman’s house, religion once again became a topic of conversation. While waiting for our meals to be served, I asked Mom, “Given that although God spoke to man about 2000 years ago giving us the holy scriptures and then again spoke to Mohammed around 680 AD giving us the Koran, don’t you find it strange that God has not been heard from for approximately the last 1300 years? What do you think God has been doing during the subsequent years?” Before Mom could answer Dad grinned and replied, “He’s been writing his memoirs.”
Shalom
Eulogy of Luther Naaman Dowty
Preface
Fall 2007 had become an ominous time for Dad. He had been placed in long- term care after falling late one night in the neighborhood injuring his head and losing his much needed glasses. Within the first twenty-four hours of his stay in this facility he fell and broke his hip. Dad survived hip surgery and was placed in a different care facility.
Tuesday before thanksgiving dad was sent to South Newton Hospital for observations. Dad had lost a great deal of weight, weighing only 116 lbs. He was unable to swallow. His diminishing size had left him very frail.
December 5th I took the day off to visit mom who had been admitted to South Newton Hospital for treatment of blood clots and proceeded to Halstead to also visit dad. Dad was gone, not dead, but gone. I played my violin for him while staff tried to feed him without success.
During my visit the only visible response from dad was at the conclusion of my playing when he moved his right hand up and down taping his chair as if perhaps, he was applauding my performance. I took Enos Dowty’s photo from the dresser and showed dad. I told him about my fond memories of being with him at the time of his dad’s death. I thanked dad for being a good father and said that it was all right if he wanted to go visit his father in heaven. With deliberation he moved his right hand and touched his dad’s photo. I hugged him while giving him a kiss and said goodbye.
I left with a sense that this was the last time I would see my dad. Later that same afternoon I got a call from brother Milt informing me that dad’s respiration had become labored. The nursing home suggested that family members might want to gather for their respective goodbyes.
I called brother Mike in Houston and shared the news while continuing home to Kansas City. Other family members convened at the nursing home that night to give their farewells. Mom was given a day pass from the hospital so that she could be with her husband, Luther Naaman.
On December 6th, my brother Meredith and sister-in-law Rebecca took turns staying with dad. Brother Mike called dad from Houston during the afternoon and gave his farewell. Dad gave up the pain.
Let us jump in time to a distant past, December 2006, one year ago.
I wrote in 2006 my Dad’s eulogy after experiencing a daylong bout of what Winston Churchill describes as the “black dog” of depression. This “black dog” at Christmastide was accompanied with a constant sense of dread regarding my father’s failing health. While Linda worked Christmas night at the hospital, I put my remorseless sorrow to positive outcome by writing Eulogy of Luther Naaman Dowty.
A week later I knew that our 2007 new year’s trip to Wichita was going to be more than ordinary when Erika Bentson, 24-year-old niece of our friend, Bob Hollowell, reminded us as we were departing for Wichita that we should all remember to just keep our clothes on. After dinner that same night Bob announced that if someone had a snare drum he could play “Abide with Me.”
The next day Linda and I spent the afternoon with my parents. Mom, Dad, and I played music together like we have done so many times in our past, Mom playing the piano, Dad the saxophone, and myself on violin. After our music time together I asked Dad if he would be interested knowing how I might eulogize him. He seemed amenable to the idea so I read to dad, mom, and Linda the eulogy that I wrote on Christmas day of 2006. Thus the reading:
Eulogy of Luther Naaman Dowty
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.” That light for me was Naaman, my father. I bid your forbearance to hear the parable of Luther Naaman as witnessed by his son Marcus before abjuring me as impertinent. As a begotten child of a wordsmith, my reference to the gospel of St. John comes naturally.
My Dad had a love for words. How lucky for him---and for you and me that he became a minister. Dad’s love of words is a gift he imparted to me for which I am eternally grateful. It is however unfortunate for my students that I share his love of words. I learned from him that word usage carefully crafted could be a powerful force. Respective individuals can be inspired to excel beyond their limited expectations and a well timed, softly spoken word can be a great comfort to those hurting and in need.
Growing up in my father’s house taught me that God’s chosen were always on the move. I have fond memories as a youngster traveling throughout the mid-west together with my older brother and parents in their ministry of song and praise for God. As the days ebbed away and yet another revival was concluded, the car would be repacked and surrounded by well-wishing adults and their giggling children all extending reluctant good-byes. Once the farewell prayer was invoked, Milt and I would snuggle under the blankets in the backseat of the family sedan where we would fall asleep listening to Mom and Dad talk of their recent events accompanied by the incessant hum of spinning tires on pavement. To this very day, my spouse Linda and I enjoy traveling under cover of darkness. Thanks Dad.
The Psalmist wrote, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and sing praise. Sing unto the Lord with the harp; with the harp, and the voice of a psalm. With trumpets and sound of cornet make a joyful noise before the Lord, the King.” Although I neither play the trumpet nor often sing, Luther Naaman inscribed on the walls of my soul this scripture. As a child I quickly learned that song gave voice to the Divine. At camp meetings, revivals, and church inspirational sings, Dad would repeatedly awaken the audiences with joyful song. I am sure there are many who could give witness that Brother Dowty has through song led them to the blessings of God’s eternal love.
“His lord said unto him, ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things; enter thou into the joy of thy lord.’” Dad understood this parable of the talents. As a father he encouraged each of his four sons to develop their talents. For me he sacrificed time, money and personal comfort to assist me in my music education. When it comes to personal comfort, has anyone lately listened to a beginning violinist? With an eye for deliberation, Luther Naaman listened to the council of others gifted in the musical arts. He entrusted my musical training to three fine instructors, Elizabeth Thompson now known as Liz Carroll, and the greatly missed Catherine Lombar, and Jackie Boswell. In so doing, Dad sealed my fate that T. S. Eliot writes, “In my beginning is my end.”
“Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.” Dad lived by this code for many years unerringly. During my youth Luther had this propensity to give unto Caesar during the Christmas season with great regularly. This self-imposed taxation was always vexing to our holiday stressed finances. Usually it was the act of driving too fast; or “what do you mean there’s a no left-turn sign at that intersection?” Regarding this particular codification for living, I’ve managed to be less my Dad’s equal by routinely cheating Caesar during Christmastide.
“And he went a little farther, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, ‘O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.’” My father and my father’s father shared with me the one possession that Mark Twain claims out values all others—ones last breath. This singularly profound act of intimacy at my grandfather’s death was a blessed event. I witnessed Dad give unto the Lord God his beloved father, my granddad. Granddad Enos Dowty gave to his grandson Marcus the knowledge that one last breath can go easy. It is the living that is the hardest.
“He went away again the second time, and prayed, saying, ‘O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.’” Luther Naaman in recent years has had to struggle with the hardest part, living. Through the dismembering affects of dementia he has endured the loss of personification of self. In spite of dad’s personal loss there were moments when the light for me was Naaman and in him was life.
Luther Naaman Dowty has drunk completely from his cup and “Thy will” has been done. Now that he has joined his father in heaven, I beseech you to pray, My “Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.”
Marcus D. Dowty
Christmas 2006
Epilogue
As I read to Dad, Mom and Linda sat nearby and wept silently as they listened. Dad would occasionally nod in agreement and at the conclusion of my reading he wiped a single tear from his cheek. Afterwards Linda asked Dad what needed to be edited. “Nothing” was his steady reply.
Later that same day we went to the Village Inn for supper. As was often customary in Luther Naaman’s house, religion once again became a topic of conversation. While waiting for our meals to be served, I asked Mom, “Given that although God spoke to man about 2000 years ago giving us the holy scriptures and then again spoke to Mohammed around 680 AD giving us the Koran, don’t you find it strange that God has not been heard from for approximately the last 1300 years? What do you think God has been doing during the subsequent years?” Before Mom could answer Dad grinned and replied, “He’s been writing his memoirs.”
Shalom
