He suffered a heart attack and stroke last summer. Following rehab he returned home in September and appeared to be thriving. He was walking every day when weather permitted and was doing very well. Shortly before Christmas he apparently suffered another stroke, followed by a number of mini strokes. The MRI in January showed a great deal of damage to his brain. I noticed when I phoned home his speech was often slurred.
My sister called me Feb. 24 to say the family had called the hospice in and his time was limited. Over the weekend I changed my April travel plans and flew down to PA Feb. 28.
I was able to spend several days with him, reminiscing and catching up. He told me "I've been waiting for you," when I arrived and asked me about the Iditarod. My mother, sister and I were with him at the end, which was quiet. The last several days he was obviously in pain, often grasping his head, sometimes with both hands. Even the morphine didn't seem to help it.
Paul Hoffman was born Jan. 25, 1926. He lived his whole life - except for a stint in the Navy - in Liverpool, PA.
My dad was a simple, unpretentious man. He wanted nothing more than what he needed to survive and raise his family. He loved his wife and six children and his friends. His dogs - fox and coon hounds - were his companions on his frequent trips to the woods.
He was a vibrant, active man until a bout of encephalitis in 1968. After that, he could no longer work at his bricklaying job and was medically retired. The disease also left him with headaches that would remain with him the rest of his life. He rarely complained about pain, but it was occasionally obvious.
Dad had a very dry wit and a homespun sense of humor. He was blessed with an extraordinary amount of common sense.
Dad believed if you started a project, you saw it through to the end, and you didn't take shortcuts. You did it the right way and ended up with a quality product. He was very patient and always took the time to explain how things worked when we had questions. He taught us how to work out our problems.
He loved the woods. We took many walks with Dad in those woods just outside our yard. He taught us to identify animal droppings and footprints. We learned to identify trees by their bark and leaves. He showed us what plants are edible (though not always very tasty). He once got us all out of bed and into coats to go out and see the northern lights - my very first sighting of them, as they are uncommon in PA.
Although I remember him fishing when I was younger, his real love was hunting. No matter what he shot, we ate. I remember lots of venison (love it), rattlesnake (good), bear and groundhog (both greasy and not very good). We had bear and groundhog just once that I recall. But if he said we should try it, I did, because he was my hero.
In his later years, Dad's hearing and eyesight weakened, and he walked in the woods just to enjoy the wilderness. He loved watching wild turkeys and had a special spot where he would sit on a stone bench he made by stacking flat rocks.
He was very interested in the Iditarod and would ask me about it on my weekly Saturday morning phone calls. It took several years, but I finally convinced him there is another long-distance sled dog race in Alaska. After that he would ask about the Yukon Quest progress while it was running. He was intrigued by Lance Mackey and asked me about him often. I think he was disappointed Mackey came in third in this year's Quest.
I loved that he was incredibly politically incorrect. He said exactly what was on his mind and used words and phrases that are no longer acceptable in today's world. But he was not a bigot, nor was he intolerant of others.
He didn't like stupidity and he often lambasted politicians on tv. He once told me there are too many laws now, and we all made it to adulthood without seat belts and helmets.
Dad was a scoutmaster for many years. Many of the young men in our hometown learned from his Boy Scout lessons.
He liked crosswords and cryptograms and worked the puzzles daily because he said it kept his mind sharp. He loved sitting on his front porch, watching who drove by and enjoying the flowers in his planters. He fed the hummingbirds every summer and ensured they had plenty of nectar to drink.
There is so much I could say about my dad. He taught us to honor our country and our elders. He taught us to take care of ourselves and each other. He taught us that nothing is more important than family.
What he left was strong memories and a lot of love. I know he will always be with me, but I will miss our Saturday conversations and hearing his voice.
I picture his heaven as a huge wooded area full of friends and family who preceded him, where he can spend eternity watching nature.
I love you and miss you Dad. Rest in peace.
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| handsome sailor |
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| 50th anniversary |
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| working crosswords on the porch |
