Flemming passed away on Thanksgiving Sunday. He had a remarkable day to that point, lucid, appreciative, occasionally in pain and sleepy, but knowing that it would soon be over.

At one point during the morning, he asked if we shouldn’t call the funeral home and give them a heads up. He was serious. I looked at the clock and said, “If they’re in church they’ll be hearing about it,” as I had been talking with the minister.

He had a few special visitors on his last day, and I am grateful for those visits, for his sake and for theirs. The day before, he’d asked for his cane, as he’d left home without it, on a stretcher. Today his grandson delivered it; to some of us a cane might be a sign of weakness, but to Flemming it was a symbol of mobility, I think.

He was eager to go. And he did, quickly, as he wished. My brother was with him when he died.

Last Sunday was the first time he’d gone to church and regretted it, because he was too tired. He could barely make his way up the stairs in our house – and his legs were the strongest part of him. Other ailments were causing him increasing amounts of misery. He’d sorted through his belongings, anticipating a move to a nursing home. (That he didn’t was their loss, I’m sure.)

They say that to some it is given the ability to choose the time of their death. I think he was one of those.

I will continue to post relevant material to this website as I go through his writings, and will leave the website up as a memorial to a man of exceptional goodness, sincerity and unselfishness who I am proud to call my father.

Please feel free to leave comments.

Blessings and peace. Amen.

Heather and family