Yet that was far from the greatest success of my gentle, loving uncle, who died March 2, after a valiant 20-year battle with Parkinson’s disease. As his son, Jim Seiler, noted in his eulogy, “Well, I can’t vouch for Thomas Edison, but in all that is important, Frank Seiler was a truly great man. He excelled in human relationships. He knew what was most important in life. The words we are hearing to describe Dad are kind, respectful, patient, peaceful, gentle, strong and generous. Dad did not need to tell us how to treat people. He showed us.”
I’ll pause here to acknowledge that these are the kinds of things that are often said at funerals. Yet as I listened to my cousin’s moving eulogy, it struck me that every word was true. I never once heard Uncle Frank speak a mean-spirited word about anybody. He was a man raised in an undemonstrative age who, in later years, rarely said goodbye without adding a heartfelt “I love you.”
As his youngest daughter Mary Malia observed, “I can only remember one time him ever raising his voice to me — and I deserved it! He was so ideal of a father that my college friends referred to him as Ward Cleaver.”
Uncle Frank was that rare person who truly listened to you instead of waiting for his next chance to speak. The family has two working theories for Frank’s habitually quiet nature: He inherited it from his father and namesake; or he simply gave up because he couldn’t get a word in edgewise with his three lively, loquacious sisters — Marita, Julie, and my mother, Vera.
Although he dearly loved his sisters, it is perhaps no coincidence that Frank chose a quiet beauty, a nurse named Janet Scharf, to become his bride in 1958. Frank became one of the first residency-trained anesthesiologists in Dayton. “In the days before Children’s Hospital, pediatric surgeons sought him out for their toughest cases,” Jim recalled. “When Children’s Hospital was established, their surgeons recruited Dad to join their staff.” Instead he chose to practice at St. Elizabeth’s for 31 years with his brother-in-law, John Scharf.
Jan and Frank raised four daughters and one son. Jim and daughter Julie would grow up to become doctors, but they all followed his example in the most important ways. “He and Mom created a warm, loving, fun-filled home for the five of us,” Jim said. “He made each of his children feel special and to this day I bet each of us feels that they were his favorite. He had a constant and deep love for Mom. His daughters learned of the qualities which make a real man, and this served them well when they fell in love and married. As his son, he taught me everything I needed to learn about being a husband and a father.”
Some of the most profound lessons came during the last 10 years of his illness. Frank approached his Parkinson’s diagnosis with the same determination and cheerful resolve with which he pursued his medical career. He continued to pursue his passion for travel and the outdoors, particularly hiking and skiing. Instead of flaunting his success, he shared it generously, turning his rustic farm near Lebanon into an extended family gathering place.
One day, about five years ago, Frank and oldest daughter Jeannie VanCuren went to the farm to meet up with a plumber who ended up running quite late. “My initial thought was, great — I have so much I need to get done at home,” Jeannie recalled. “But sometimes God makes plumbers late for a reason. I got out the lawn chairs and we sat looking at the pond. All of a sudden Dad said to me, ‘I am so lucky.’”
Jeannie initially felt baffled. How could anyone consider himself lucky who was afflicted with Parkinson’s, which so slowly and cruelly robs you of your independence and mobility?
“Of course I wanted to say ‘Huh?’” Jeannie recalled, “but I didn’t say anything.”
Her father explained, “I have a family who loves me so much.”
Jeannie marveled, “Here was a man who needed help with many daily tasks and was no longer able to do those things he enjoyed and he considered himself a lucky man. He talked about meeting Mom and how much he loved her then and now.”
Another daughter, Patty Judge of Bellbrook, recalled her father’s reaction when he was diagnosed at 60: “He told me he wanted 10 good years. When he hit 70, I heard him comment that at least he had seven good years, instead of lamenting over the fact he didn’t get to 10.”
Parkinson’s may be relentless, but it proved no match for Jan and Frank’s mutual devotion. It was ever steady, never showy. Jan’s tireless care enabled Frank to remain at home in Kettering until the last two years of his life. Observed Jim’s wife, Marie Seiler, “Mom fulfilled her vows patiently, quietly, caring for him as his disease progressed until the very end because she truly cherished him, and he cherished her.”
Frank’s 13 beloved grandchildren brought up the offering, each carrying a red carnation, at his funeral Mass at St. Charles Borromeo Church in Kettering. As a man of science, yet also a man of profound faith, Frank no doubt would have approved of this symbol of the strength of family, the continuity of the generations.
No doubt we paint heaven on the canvas of our own emotional needs. So I can’t help picturing Frank at the family dinner table with my grandparents and my mom and my Aunt Marita, no doubt struggling to get a word in edgewise.
And I like to imagine that on the day Frank Seiler died, another great man was born.
Contact this reporter at mmccarty @DaytonDailyNews.com.
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