Co-operate with the Inevitable, the Doug Hedemark Way

 “It is astonishing how quickly we can accept almost any situation, if we have to,” Dale Carnegie wrote in Stop Worrying , “and adjust ourselves to it, and forget about it…co-operate with the inevitable.” Surely, this is one of the most effective prescriptions for stress reduction available.

Recently, I was delighted to see an inimitable  – and hilarious – example of “Co-operating with the Inevitable.” I still laugh every time I think about it.

My dad Doug Hedemark is 85 years old. He fathered 10 children and has 50 grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and a giant clan of in-laws.  As a blacksmith, a carpenter, and a stone mason, he is the last of a dying breed of craftsmen.

He is an avid reader and writer, an amateur historian, and a music lover. He has travelled North America and Europe. He served in the US Army and had careers as a teacher, a construction worker, and a blacksmith.  He retired from this field at the age of 75, when the enormous draft horse he was shoeing fell asleep leaning against him as he pounded nails into the giant shoe. “I started thinking that maybe I was getting too old for this work, and that I should retire before I get hurt,” he pointed out, logically.

One year, as a tribute to his life-long heroine Saint Joan of Arc, he meticulously designed and created a broadsword based upon every historical detail he could locate on what Joan of Arc’s sword might have looked like. Then he got on a plane, flew to France, and left the broadsword with a note on the altar of the church in St. Joan’s hometown. Our whole family was frantically worried that he would get arrested walking around with a giant, sharp, 3.5 -foot long sword (even if it was secured in a hand-crafted wooden carrying case) or while trespassing in a sacred house of worship.

 Instead, he got a “thank you” letter from the parish priest, who wrote to tell him they had built a special display for the sword and it is now hanging in a place of honour in St. Joan’s church.

He has lived a rich life, full of both joy and sorrow. He has been privileged to watch all 10 of his children grow up to become accomplished builders, teachers, nurses, writers, and artists.

Although he has managed to avoid doctors most of his life, in the last few years he has dealt with some minor health issues. He lost one of his front teeth, meaning he has to wear an insert if he wants to look his best at family functions. The insert makes his mouth sore, though, so he often takes it out and leaves it next to his plate after dinner. You have to be careful when clearing the table not to accidentally scoop Grampa’s tooth up with the crumpled napkins.

His hearing is almost gone – he wears hearing aids in both ears, and the constant fuss over volume control and dead batteries is one of his major sources of stress. One winter he lost an expensive hearing aid while snow-blowing the driveway. This caused a great deal of consternation, especially for my sister Cathie, who pays for them. When the snow thawed in spring, he was ecstatic to find the hearing aid on the pavement. It was flattened and useless, having been run over by my brother’s truck, but at least he knew where it was. “I thought maybe I left it somewhere. Turns out I’m not forgetful, just clumsy.”

His vision is excellent, though: he reads voluminously, and drives his own pick-up truck. His heart health and blood pressure are that of a much younger person. He is trim and muscular, and has a grip that can make you wince when he shakes hands. He drives into town for “a quick steak dinner” every few weeks; no cholesterol-fearing  doctor is ever going to deprive him of that ritual.

Still, he is 85, and as he points out, “My body is just giving out on me.”

Faced with the undeniable realities of physical limitations and the relentless march of time, he decided to do the kind of pre-planning that ONLY he could do.

“When I see how much money funeral homes charge for a plain pine box, it makes me sick,” he explained to me. “I couldn’t stand the idea that after I die, my kids are going to spend $10,000 or $20,000 on a box to bury me. So, I made my own.”

Dad being dad, he wouldn’t just bang together some cheap pine and leave it at that. He built and finished a gleaming, polished coffin with hand-hammered hinges and customized brass handles.

“I put nine handles on it,” he told me proudly, “one for each of my sons. I want them all to carry me out of the church together.” Actually he has only six sons, but he is adamant that his three sons-in-law “are some of the finest men on Earth, and I consider them my sons as much as the ones born in our family.”

This is where the story takes a difficult turn. My brother Jim (with whom he lived at the time) and other siblings were aghast at the sight and sound of our dad building his own coffin in Jim’s garage. I gather he received some blunt and negative feedback about the fact that family had to walk past his coffin on a daily basis.

My dad was surprised and dismayed by this unexpected controversy: “I was just trying to save everybody time, and especially money when I die. I’m not planning to die anytime soon. But eventually, I will – and no one will have to spend $10,000 on a cheap pine box.”

Celebrating Thanksgiving at Jim’s house last fall, I went looking for an empty bathroom. I decided to go upstairs to dad’s little “apartment” and use his bathroom, because he always has by far the best reading material – history, or philosophy, or maybe a wood-working journal.

Before I had time to scan the newest books he had stacked next to the toilet, I sat down. Much to my absolute shock and amusement, I found myself staring straight into…dad’s coffin. It was propped up against the wall directly in front of the toilet, open. Inside, he had situated a little shelving unit upon which was neatly placed his razor, shaving cream, comb, and some Q-tips.

I laughed until I cried. My incorrigible father! Evidently he was philosophical about the idea that our family did not want to look at his coffin in the garage, so he found another place – and an interim use – for his beautiful piece of work.

“As you and I march across the decades of time, we are going to meet a lot of unpleasant situations that are so. They cannot be otherwise. We have our choice. We can either accept them as inevitable and adjust ourselves to them, or we can ruin our lives with rebellion and maybe end up with a nervous breakdown,” Carnegie wrote.

My dad is the first to admit that he still has lots to learn.

“I’m 85 years old, and I’m still arguing with God,” he told me recently.

“God is going to win, you know,” I pointed out, logically.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed.

Even at age 85, when it comes to “co-operating with the inevitable,” I think he should be giving lessons.

–Rita Smith

Here is the link to the photo album of Gramps’ trip to Ottawa to see the stone, wood and iron structures: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150188606852963.310431.682402962&type=3