COL Jagdog
Member
Friends,
Went through an experience last week that many of you have probably experienced -- the death of a parent -- my father died last Monday -- he was 85. Thought that putting my thoughts in words would help in sorting through the grief process.
He was a remarkable man -- one of 6 boys (the youngest) in an Irish-Catholic family growing up in Harrisburg, PA during the depression --they all served during WW II -- one died flying a C-47 over "The Hump" into China, one was in multiple Pacific campaigns, including Saipan, two including my Dad were paratroopers with the 82nd Airborne.
The war over, my Dad put himself thru college at Franklin and Marshall, then medical school at Temple Medical School, then internship and residencies at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. I was starting 4th grade when we moved to Cocoa Beach Fl, where he opened his practice - the first general surgeon in the area (this was in 1960 when the US space/missile program was in it's infancy) -- he became Chief of Staff at Cape Canaveral Hospital and was a treating physician for many of the astronauts.
He and my Mom spent a lot of time hauling us to swim meets (all of us 6 kids were swimmers) on weekends -- or spending weekend days on the beach with us (we were fortunate to live right on the beach, just north of Cape Canaveral Pier) -- just a big family growing up in the late 60's and 70's on the "Beach".
My brother went to medical school and then joined my Dad's practice -- kind of neat that they practiced together for a number of years before my Dad retired. My brother gave the eulogy at the funeral Mass -- my Dad, who was an excellent surgeon, wasn't very good at repairing anything mechanical or electric -- we used to joke about this -- he could do a masterful job repairing the tear in your colon -- but forget trying to repair the leaking toilet. He also was constantly losing his household tools -- he would always ask my Mom "Honey, where is the _______?" -- we would find it months later when we ran over it with the lawn mower.
One funny story: one day when my Dad was on call, a very well known local doctor called our house to tell my Dad he was needed on a case -- my sister Cathy answered the phone and a voice said; "Is Bernie there?" (my Dad and I have the same name) -- my sister (thinking the caller was asking for me because he had not asked for "Dr McLaughlin"), answered: "No, he's not here, he's out delivering papers"
(I always had a paper route growing up). The doctor said:
"Well, when he finishes his route, please have him call me"
Within 24 hours, the word had spread thru Cocoa Beach (the Space Center and surrounding communities were pretty small in those days) that some sort of financial crisis had fallen on our family, and that my Dad, the doctor to the astronauts, was moonlighting delivering papers in the afternoon. It was quite funny.
The toughest part was seeing my Mom at the funeral and at the memorial site afterwards -- I have faced a lot of things in my life -- helping console my Mom was one of the toughest things I have ever had to do.
I know it gets better with time. He was quite a man.
Went through an experience last week that many of you have probably experienced -- the death of a parent -- my father died last Monday -- he was 85. Thought that putting my thoughts in words would help in sorting through the grief process.
He was a remarkable man -- one of 6 boys (the youngest) in an Irish-Catholic family growing up in Harrisburg, PA during the depression --they all served during WW II -- one died flying a C-47 over "The Hump" into China, one was in multiple Pacific campaigns, including Saipan, two including my Dad were paratroopers with the 82nd Airborne.
The war over, my Dad put himself thru college at Franklin and Marshall, then medical school at Temple Medical School, then internship and residencies at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. I was starting 4th grade when we moved to Cocoa Beach Fl, where he opened his practice - the first general surgeon in the area (this was in 1960 when the US space/missile program was in it's infancy) -- he became Chief of Staff at Cape Canaveral Hospital and was a treating physician for many of the astronauts.
He and my Mom spent a lot of time hauling us to swim meets (all of us 6 kids were swimmers) on weekends -- or spending weekend days on the beach with us (we were fortunate to live right on the beach, just north of Cape Canaveral Pier) -- just a big family growing up in the late 60's and 70's on the "Beach".
My brother went to medical school and then joined my Dad's practice -- kind of neat that they practiced together for a number of years before my Dad retired. My brother gave the eulogy at the funeral Mass -- my Dad, who was an excellent surgeon, wasn't very good at repairing anything mechanical or electric -- we used to joke about this -- he could do a masterful job repairing the tear in your colon -- but forget trying to repair the leaking toilet. He also was constantly losing his household tools -- he would always ask my Mom "Honey, where is the _______?" -- we would find it months later when we ran over it with the lawn mower.
One funny story: one day when my Dad was on call, a very well known local doctor called our house to tell my Dad he was needed on a case -- my sister Cathy answered the phone and a voice said; "Is Bernie there?" (my Dad and I have the same name) -- my sister (thinking the caller was asking for me because he had not asked for "Dr McLaughlin"), answered: "No, he's not here, he's out delivering papers"
(I always had a paper route growing up). The doctor said:
"Well, when he finishes his route, please have him call me"
Within 24 hours, the word had spread thru Cocoa Beach (the Space Center and surrounding communities were pretty small in those days) that some sort of financial crisis had fallen on our family, and that my Dad, the doctor to the astronauts, was moonlighting delivering papers in the afternoon. It was quite funny.
The toughest part was seeing my Mom at the funeral and at the memorial site afterwards -- I have faced a lot of things in my life -- helping console my Mom was one of the toughest things I have ever had to do.
I know it gets better with time. He was quite a man.
