Dad Stories - Read at funeral, May 25, 2019

The Accident
Very shortly after I turned 16, I took and passed my driver’s license test. The next morning, I excitedly drove my brother Ed and I to school for the first time. I remember stopping at the three-way intersection (no light), and as I turned left up the hill, I could see the school bus coming down toward us. I tried to speed up to get to my lane… and awoke a few minutes later to people talking to me through where the windshield used to be, which I found very confusing and hearing Tom yell, “That’s my sister!.” I remember being worried about Ed, who lay unconscious next to me, and hearing a roaring sound that I later realized was my feet on the accelerator and the clutch. Diagnosed with a broken collar bone, and a body in shock from head to toe, I lay in bed for several days vowing never to drive again.
When I could walk, I remember daddy rented a mustang, at the time my favorite kind of car, and we went out with him driving. I don’t remember the pretext. He stopped at the intersection where I had had my accident, and he told me that the only way I was going to get over my fear was to face it. He traded places with me in the car, and I faced the intersection, choosing to turn right instead of left, but feeling a mixture of fear, relief, and excitement at being able to successfully navigate the corner and drive us home in the mustang.
I also remember going to court with daddy, who had spent time measuring the tire treads left at the scene and studying the wreckage of our car, and who showed the court that not only was the bus driver speeding, but that she had moved over to my lane in her effort to try to pass by me. I had also speeded up, and had made it to my lane, so was T-boned. I was so grateful to have his support, and to see him fighting for me. I don’t remember whether the bus driver was charged with reckless driving, but I know I wasn’t.
Daddy was my teacher, my supporter, my advocate. I slowly needed less as I aged, but I always knew I could count on him to help if I needed him.
Stories
I have early memories of daddy reading me (and us) stories, complete with voices. Br’er Rabbit, Winnie the Pooh, Alice in Wonderland. Mostly at bedtime, I think. I remember trying to do the same thing reading stories to Pam and Leigh Ann, but failing because I couldn’t stop laughing.
Adventures
Mom and dad liked taking us on adventures. Trips to the mountains and to the beach, trips to visit relatives, Civil War sites, and our one big trip across country that I got to plan when I was about 12 and Leigh Ann was a toddler. But the kinds of adventures that dad took us on by himself were the very exciting, trembling in your shoes, illicit kind. Jumping out of the car to pick peas from a plant on a farm. Running into a casino in Las Vegas to play the one-armed bandit before the security guard chased you out. Dad was strong on morals and values, but big on small indiscretions. And it made it more exciting and dangerous when mom disapproved.
I was delighted that I got a chance to travel as an adult with mom, dad, and Aunt Ruthie to Portugal. The whole trip, dad blazed the trail – way ahead of the rest of us, looking all around, seeking out what was around each corner. And to get there first, and then introduce us to whatever it was.
Music
I expect my love of classical music came from my father. Not only did he encourage me to play the piano, but he bought me the sheet music to Moonlight Sonata, his favorite Beethoven piece, and he seemed to never tire hearing it when I played it over and over again during my teenage years. This last year, my favorite part of the day was the hour before he went to bed, when he played music for me – almost always classical, and most often Beethoven. It was a nice, quiet way to be together, both relaxing at the end of the day, listening to beautiful music.
Conclusion
Daddy, you were my mentor and my hero. I adored you as a kid, and am so glad that I had this last year to get to know you more as a person than just as my daddy. I experienced some of your flaws, and you sometimes opened up to me – about your dreams, and about some of your beliefs that you knew I wouldn’t agree with. I yelled at you in frustration several times, which I am very sorry for. More than anything else, I knew you loved me always, and I’m sure you know how much I loved you. I’m so glad that we held hands so much in those last days, comforting each other about what I think we both knew. I miss you so much, and I truly hope that there is a life after death, and that you and mom, and John and Ruthie are all together again.

Poem I wrote

Passing

The pretty lady lake
of shapeless sounds
and subtle smells,

White flower trees
that glisten in the cold
and golden air.

We walk along
a battered path
of scattered stones and moss,

And rest beside the lilies
by the river
after dawn.

You know what they say...

This is my version of a saying I got from Grandpa:

Silver is for Gentlemen
Barter is for Peasants
Debt is for Slaves
and Gold is an En-igma

On the day we say goodbye

On the day we say goodby - May 25, 2019 The Funeral

I don’t want to say goodbye

A common thing to say is - “he will live on in our hearts”

We each find out for ourselves how that really works. Do you feel dad in your hearts as you go about your day to day lives? What is it if him that we take with us?

Was dad really just made up of a series of repeating patterns? Trump-politics-coins-genealogy-math-science-repeat?

I don’t want to say goodbye-

so, to live on in my heart, I suppose I could remember the patterns- and look at some coins, watch Rachael Madow, celebrate pi day, make a pot of second run-thru coffee poured into a dirty used cup. I’d feel in sync with him, running thru his patterns.

It would be a comfort when I’m lonely.

However, I feel there is a much bigger pattern though. More than a pattern actually. There is the “essence” of his personality. The very lovely obituary of James Edward Opfell with two, not one, Ls, written by his children (mostly Connie) lays out much of this “essence”-

The essence of daddy was:
Intelligent
Kind
Accepting
Generous

His Intelligence was the kind that saw numbers dance in intricate defined patterns. The kind that could recall the entire life story of Paul revere 19 years after reading it, and connect all the people in Paul’s life to their own stream of family members and stories. The kind that could understand the complex patterns of political negotiations that result in social policies with widespread effects, and how tweaking interest rates or investment vehicles could drastically change the long term funding for social security. The kind of intelligence that when tested by a standard IQ test, poured over into the genius range. The kind of intelligence that made him socially awkward and often mistaken by passers by, even in his prime, for someone with dementia.

His intelligence was equally matched by his kindness. If he had just been given a slice of chocolate cake and was ogling it with wide excited eyes and making lip smacking noises like a hungry salivating puppy he would happily give it up if he saw there were not enough slices to go around. He seemed to be a master of doing without and ignoring physical symptoms to the point of not feeling physical discomfort or pain. This made him the daddy who could carry you in his arms all day, never be too hot to stay longer on the beach, and not need to stop fixing your bike even after cutting open a finger with an aggressive turn of the screwdriver . Did he ignore his own needs? Or did he rejoice in satisfying the needs of others. It seems as though his reward was the feeling of having given assistance to someone else. He, in-fact, felt very much to me like the giving tree in the children’s book of the same title. Willing to take of himself at any request to help others.

Now I’ll talk about something similar but deeper than kindness, and that is acceptance. With daddy, you were accepted for what you were , whatever that was. Accepted into his home, and into his heart. Perhaps years of struggling with Ed, left him with the need to feel that every human life, no matter how different from your own, has to have some meaning and worth. Perhaps walking through the adult working world with the knowledge and intelligence he had and never really being seen for his true potential made him desire to see everyone he came across as equals. Whatever it was, the result was unconditional acceptance of every person he interacted with, and as for me, I could not necessarily tell that he preferred any one person over another, he seemed delighted with all.

And finally, daddy was so generous. He loved giving, and was never a taker. He was most generous with his love. No matter what awful teenager comments his 5 normal teenagers made to him, he never flinched, and always returned their comments with kindness and forgiveness.

I don’t want to say goodby.

But the truth for me of keeping daddy alive in my heart is to try to live each of these four personality traits every day. Intelligence kind accepting generous.

And although this whole speech has been focused on what daddy did for others, ultimately, he was 100% of all those things for himself too.

Which for most of us is the hardest thing to achieve- Feeding your own desire to learn, being kind to your own physical and mental limitations, being accepting of your own faults and failures, and being generous with your love for yourself.

I hope each of us can keep daddy in our hearts every day.

A gift to our congregation

Jim and Celeste were great gifts to East Shore Unitarian Universalist Church. I came to serve as minister only after they had stopped coming, but I did have the chance to meet Jim once a couple years ago. He was a kind and generous man, and the legacy of his service to the community lives on in the lives of many. He really was an inspiration and a great friend.

Rev Denis Letourneau Paul

Linda Bernstein, Caring Committee, Unitarian Society of Germantown

I am happy to learn about Mr. Apfell through this obituary. He certainly had an interesting and creative life. We enjoyed seeing him in the pews at the Unitarian Society of Germantown these last few months when he was able to attend. I am sorry we did not have the opportunity to become acquainted and sorry to learn of his passing. We send sincere condolences to his family.

Everyday Treasures

I spent many summers visiting my grandfather Jim in Ohio.
Summertime in Ohio was always hot, the air was heavy and humid which made my curls electric. I was used to hot summers in New Jersey, but somehow it was hotter there, and everything moved that much slower. Most of my memories there are in snippets, tied together by that sultry air, as if it was all one long summer. On one particularly hot day when I was ten me and grandpa Jim went to the graveyard across the street from his apartment. We walked along wide gravel paths, dipping in and out of cool shade from the trees. The walk was nice, but it’s not why we came. He had a pair of divining rods in each hand and would wander from the path, following their invisible pull, trying to see if they’d cross over the graves. I don’t recall if it ever worked, but I do remember grandpa Jim’s almost magical belief that this time, it would.
When I was about 14, I sat with grandpa Jim in the lower half of the farm house in Thompson. The heat was making my hands stick to the plastic mats on the round kitchen table, which sat by the sliding door. Grandpa Jim sat opposite me, pouring over stacks of coins, picking up prize ones to show to me. He talked about the silvery colored 1943 pennies, the actually silver quarters lined up in a row, proudly stating how he came by these treasures.
But these are little things. What I really take away from those visits with my grandpa Jim during the endless, hot summers in Ohio, was his ability to find everyday treasures and everyday magic. Each trip to the bank for a roll of quarters was a treasure hunt, each walk in the park could be diverted by magic diving rods.

Grandpa Jim’s treasures we’re pretty common place, and the summer’s I spend were really just a few days every other year. But grandpa Jim had a way of making everything go a little bit slower, helping the everyday things become special and making one summer last 20 years.

Passion for Coffee

Yesterday, I was with Kaity in town and we bought a pound of ground coffee from a coffee bean specialty store in Westfield. The clerk asked me if I knew about their "free cup of coffee with a one pound bean purchase". I did not! My heart leapt with joy! I quickly set about pouring and preparing my free cup and savoring the feel of the free paper cup, the rich smell of the free coffee, and I even asked for the free soy milk! And then the best part, the first sip. Ahhhhhh! Delicious. This exciting joyful experience I can attribute directly to Daddy. Years of tagging along with him as a child on all his errands to the tire shop, auto repair shop, grocery store, hardware store, library,produce stands, etc and the look of joy on his face when we found free coffee and powdered creamer! It never mattered if he had already had his morning coffee, he never missed an opportunity for a free cup. And of course he always saved the empty cups. Yes that stack of paper cups in his car's cup holder was a constant reminder of all the exciting times he had happened onto free coffee. As I got older and acquired a taste for dunkin donuts lattes I would sometimes ask Daddy in the drive thru if I could order him something. He would give me that "are you crazy" face for an answer, meaning "pay for coffee! never!". So as he got older and older, I would make efforts to collect coupons for a free dunkin donuts coffee, and always take such joy in seeing his happy face as he reached out for the free cup.

Coffee is one of life's simple pleasures. And thanks to Daddy, in addition to finding "heads up" pennies on the ground, I have the lifelong opportunity for joy each time I run into a jiffy lube, or doctors office where there is a coffee station and I'm told to "help myself".