A Life Such as That : Patrick Thomas Dougherty

 

I began this particular blog on December 20, 2020. I couldn't post it then though. There was just too much inside me, that I personally had to come to terms with. Perhaps it was the thought that I was blessed with some amazing people in my life that I was actually able to call family and that I didn't fully appreciate the fact, or maybe it was me realizing that right before my eyes, the kids of Ray and Grace were almost gone. There was also the very real fact, that for some reason, this loss, absolutely caught me off guard. At any rate, this blog has sat mostly done but unpublished all of this time. Now, on the heels of yet another loss, I feel that today is the day to post this. Today....I remember my Uncle Pat Dougherty. 

As I have stated before, my mom was the youngest of 11 kids. Since their births spanned out over the course of 20 years, they had what was known as "the big kids," "the little girls," and "the little kids." My mom, of course, was the youngest of the three little kids, and sadly, yesterday, my family lost the last of the little kids, my uncle Pat.

Patrick Thomas Dougherty was born June 6, 1933. He was the tenth child and youngest son of Ray and Grace Dougherty and at the time, they firmly believed he would likely be their last child. Aunt Margaret once told me that Uncle Pat was the cutest baby she had ever seen, and as he grew into a tow-headed freckle-faced little boy, his sibling's nicknamed him Cornbread, which followed him through his early childhood years. Together, Pat, his older brother Jim and his baby sister Mary Jane, (yes Pat was not to be the baby after all), made up "the little kids" of the Dougherty family. As I heard it, the three of them kept both Grandma and their older siblings hopping with their mischief and adventures as young kids.

Growing up in my house, Uncle Pat was someone my mother talked about a great deal. There was three years difference in their ages, and because of this, they grew up very close. Mom loved to tell us stories about long summer days and the fun she and her brothers used to have. Sometimes what started out as fun though, ended up with one or all three of them in trouble, like their great cotton-picking adventure.  Pat and Jim had to go to the field to help pick cotton, and Mom was not about to be left out of the fun she just knew they would be having. Because she was the baby and because no one could pout like Mary Jane, they of course had no choice but to take her and her faithful dog and sidekick Shep, to the field with them. They had no more gotten to the field, when Shep surveyed the area and saw that there were strangers (the other field workers), in the vicinity of his Mary Jane. That apparently was not going to happen, so Shep immediately rounded up all the field workers and chased them into the back of the wagon and I guess for good measure, he treed Pat and Jim. Mom tried to call Shep off to no avail, so she then had to go find Grandpa as Shep refused to let anyone out of the tree or the wagon. Needless to say, Mom got in a lot of trouble and was never allowed in the cotton fields again.

As they got older, Mom refused to ever be one-upped by her brothers, especially not Pat, so when Pat and Jim would play "burnout" baseball without using a glove, Mom refused once again to be left out. They would throw the ball as hard as they could and the other would catch it bare-handed. This left them all with bruised, sometimes bloodied, and always swollen hands, but none would back down and Mom swore they threw it harder to her because she was a girl. It was in one of these baseball games that Mom swung the bat, not knowing Pat was behind her and she split his head open. I don't think Pat even got stitches, because country kids just didn't, but according to Mom, he had a scar which she was sure he carried the rest of his life. Even all the years later as she told the story, you could tell she still felt awful, but it likely didn't stop future shenanigans from the three. 

My mom might have been the baby, which garnered her special attention at times, but Pat was the baby boy and according to Mom, Grandma held a special place for him in her heart. Perhaps it was because he was the youngest boy and for at least two years, she thought he would be her last child, or maybe it was the adorable ornery grin that seemed to melt her, whatever the case though, Pat was special to her and Mom said they all knew it and accepted it and that bond held strong until my Grandma's death.

Mom told of one time when Pat was in high school and he had made the football team. They had an away game and Grandma was just beside herself not wanting him to go. She just had a feeling that something bad was going to happen, but Grandpa and Pat talked her into letting him go and she spent the entire evening wringing her hands and pacing. It turns out that Grandma was right. Pat was put into the game and within moments he was tackled and carried off the field with a broken leg. Yes, apparently she was that connected, to her youngest son. 

Mom's stories about Pat were endless and you could tell that her childhood had been one of hero worship with a little sibling rivalry thrown in for good measure. The Dougherty kids might not have had a lot, but growing up, they always had each other.

When Pat graduated, he went into the Marines and three years later, when Mom graduated, she went into nursing school at St. Anthony's in Oklahoma City. It was here that Mom met another soon to be nurse named Rita Wolf. They became close friends and as Mom told it, she introduced her beloved brother to her new friend and as they say, the rest is history. It wasn't long before Pat and Rita walked down the aisle and began a life together. 

After they got married, I am not sure of the logistics of exactly where they went and what they did, because Mom had graduated nursing school, joined the Army, and was stationed at an army hospital in  Colorado. Mom and Pat's lives were now going in different directions and for whatever reason, the once-close siblings began to lose touch. 

I don't know whether it was eventually or immediately, but Pat and Rita ended up in Columbia, MO and Mom ended up in Kansas via a couple of years in Colorado. Pat and Rita ended up having four girls and a boy and Mom had us. It is funny how time and distance can change even the closest of siblings. I think though, it was mostly my mom. She had a way of compartmentalizing her past, as she moved on to each new phase of her life and even siblings weren't exempt from this. She of course, would hear things through the family grapevine here and there about Pat's job or their kids, but with time and distance, Pat and Rita and this Missouri family, were little more than stories with no reality to my life. 

Even with the distance though, my mom remained fiercely proud of her older brother, and in 1972, when Mom learned that Pat was going to be in the movie Tom Sawyer, with Johnny Whitaker and Jodie Foster, she was over the moon for him. The movie was being filmed in Missouri, not too far from where Pat lived and he showed up to see if he would be picked as an extra. According to Mom, he was chosen because he was one of the only ones who showed up that could drive a team and wagon. 

When the movie came out, Mom took us to the theater to see it immediately and she just beamed with excitement every time she caught a glimpse of her big brother. His appearances were sprinkled throughout the movie and I remember that she wouldn't leave the theater until all the credits rolled, just to see if his name appeared. My mom was so proud of him. 

It was rather funny looking back, that Uncle Pat was really quite a legend in our house. He was this perfect big brother, who by this time had been a Marine, a professor, a civil rights activist and now was an activist for the aging in the job market, through his job in the non-profit sector, and yet I had never met him. 

One time, my Aunt Ruth and her family decided to take a trip to Pat and Rita's and I remember my cousin Susie coming back and talking about that trip. Pat and Rita lived in an old house on some land on the outskirts of Columbia. On their property was an old tavern that had been around since the 1700's and was a historical landmark, that family took care of with great love and respect for the history it represented. It was also a great place to be regaled with ghost stories and spooky nights around the campfire. Susie came home with tales of how amazing Uncle Pat and Aunt Rita were and how much fun she had had with their kids and I was truly jealous. I remember thinking that I really needed to know these people. 

It wasn't until I was in high school that I finally got to meet Pat and Rita for the first time. There was a reunion at Red Rock Canyon State Park, and this time, many of Mom's siblings ended up being there together. I knew Pat the minute I saw him. He was tall and lanky and at the time, his hair was beginning to turn a little gray. He had an amazing smile and he hugged me like he had known me all my life. His personality was big and so was his laugh. I knew then that the stories were not just stories. Uncle Pat was someone special. 

In the years after that, there were more reunions and Uncle Pat became the official family photographer, taking pictures of the individual families and then trying to get the whole bunch of us together, all smiling and all facing forward for the big family photo, and that photo always took more than a few takes to get it right. Even today, when I think of Uncle Pat, I think of him with the camera hung around his neck, his straw hat, and his amazing laugh. Trust me, the Dougherty's know how to laugh.

One of the most intriguing things I ever heard about Uncle Pat came from his youngest daughter. She and I were talking one time at a reunion, it was early on and I had just met them all. I can't even tell you for sure what exactly we were talking about, but she was talking about growing up with Uncle Pat as her dad. She said that they would sit around the dinner table and talk about everything from day to day things, to politics, religion, and world affairs (all things many families shied away from). She said periodically in their discussions, he would flip the page on them, and play devil's advocate, changing his stance completely. She said that by doing this, he made them look at both sides of any issue and thus make their own decisions on the issue. He didn't want school, him, or anyone or anything to influence them. He wanted them to research and decide about life and the world for themselves. He actually trusted their judgment. I never forgot this, maybe because this was much different than I had been raised, and all these years later, it still stays with me. What a brilliant way to raise the next generation and he and Rita did raise some pretty great kids. 

As time went on, we had more big family reunions and then they began adding "Brother/Sister" reunions, where it was just the siblings and their spouses. It was a good way to bring the siblings who were spread out all over the country, together for a weekend at least once a year. This brought them all closer and renewed not only sibling relationships but also sibling friendships.

In 1995, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. She was going to have to have surgery and a bit of a recovery. She lived by herself and I was pregnant at the time. Out of nowhere, Aunt Rita called to tell her she was going to come to town after her surgery and stay with her. Mom knew she needed this but she had anxiety beyond belief. She was so used to doing it all by herself that she was afraid she would just get mad and tell Aunt Rita to leave. Uncle Pat brought her here though and Aunt Rita stayed with mom through her recovery. It was a Godsend for Mom and it was a Godsend for their relationship as it brought them all closer together. 

From that point on, Pat and Rita were a part of the landscape of our lives. They helped Mom through two more cancer surgery's and they even loaded Mom and Aunt Ruth, into their van and took Mom to The Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, an adventure they all seemed to enjoy. 

When Tim (my husband) died suddenly, I walked through the days following his death, with little attention to who was around or what was happening. I was shell shocked and completely lost. What I do remember is when I was at his funeral, I looked up and I saw Uncle Pat and Aunt Rita sitting there and I nearly lost it. Their presence gave me so much comfort and in some strange way, held me together for the rest of the day. It was something I will never forget.  

About 18 months later, once again they would be my comfort and hold me together when three days before Christmas, Mom died. They were on their way to town to see Mom, as she was in the hospital, but sadly she died before they got here. I don't think I had ever felt so alone in my life. David was just barely a year old, and even all of these months later, we were still all struggling with the loss of Tim, and now, Mom was gone. I literally wondered if I was going to survive it all, but then they showed up. When I saw them walk in my door, I dissolved into a mushy, emotional mess....and they let me. They then did one of the kindest things they could have done and instead of going back to MO for Christmas, they stayed with us and then went with us to the funeral the day after Christmas. I remember feeling so guilty that they were missing their own family Christmas, but I was more grateful than they can ever know that they were there. 

In 2011, David was accepted to be seen at Shriners Hospital in St. Louis. This meant periodic trips to St. Louis for him to see the doctors and go to the clinic and for them to make a plan on what he needed. It was decided that he needed major hip and leg surgery. When Pat and Rita, heard about Shriners, they insisted that since it was a 7-hour trip one way, that we cut the trip in half and stay with them on our way through. Our first time through was the first time that I had ever been to their house. It was once again so comforting to see their faces after driving for several hours on uncharted roads....for me anyway. I was beyond stressed about what we were in for with David but walking into their home, it always felt inviting and Uncle Pat seemed to have a way of distracting me and reminding me that all would be well. The man knew a lot about a lot and he and I shared a mutual love of genealogy, which always gave us something to talk about and something other than my own situation to think about. 

After a while, I got braver with my trips to St. Louis, and eventually gained the stamina to make those long trips, round trip in one day. I know it worried Aunt Rita, but we still stopped in to say "hi" on the way up and on the way back. After a while though, David no longer needed Shriners and the trips stopped and at some point, I became my mom, caught up in my own world and basically shuttering myself off from everything that didn't have to do with what was going on in my own day to day life. 

A few times I have talked to Aunt Rita by phone over the years, but time, and circumstance have kept a distance there, maybe the same distance Mom created all those years ago, and maybe it was a way for me to not get too close and risk the pain of losing people I truly adored. 

When I started writing this, I didn't know what it would be or how it would go. I didn't know if it would be a memorial or a reminiscence. I think it turned out to be a walk down memory lane, remembering a man who started out in my life as a character in a story but turned out to be the real deal. He was a devoted son, a little sister's hero, a teacher, a civil rights activist, a warrior for the aging in the workforce, a historian, a genealogist, a photographer, a husband, a father, a grandfather and so much more to so many more. He was kindness, compassion, humor, and wisdom with my grandma's eyes, and my grandpa's laugh. He was the best of this world, and don't think I am the only one of his many nieces and nephews that felt this way. He was funny, kind and one of the coolest uncles a kid could ever have. 

Living in a world without Uncle Pat seems unimaginable, but then again, I know how blessed I was to have been able to call him "uncle" and how much he gave us all while he was here. To Aunt Rita, his kids, and grandkids, my heart aches for you, but Patrick Dougherty was one of those rare truly good humans, who left this world a better place because he was here, and in the end, what more could any of us ask, than to have lived a life such as that?

For the Good

 My intentions were to have my semi-traditional end of the year blog post and then my (again) semi-traditional beginning of the New Year, blog post. As you can see though, we are eight days into the new year and so I am combining. I guess this makes sense though in the big scheme of things, since nothing in 2020 was traditional (semi or otherwise), and thus here you have it. 

If I am honest, 2020 was a year that made me feel a whole lot of emotions and actually changed me a great deal. In fact, this past year probably changed me more than any year I have ever lived through. Perhaps it made me realize that we are no longer strong resilient people like I know we once were. Instead, we seem to have become weaker. We are a country of people who would rather talk than act, would rather be safe than free, and who would rather be taken care of than stand on our own two feet and earn what we have by the sweat of our brow. 

No, I am not going to get political per se, but I can't ignore politics completely if, in fact, I want to honestly speak about this past year, as in many ways, politics were behind much of what made 2020 what it was. 

Not to rehash the last couple of decades, I will simply say that who we were as a country in 2001 and who we are now, is a night and day difference in everything from our patriotism to our core beliefs, to our morality. And while many of us who are older and blame it on the youth, we need to keep in mind that these newer generations hardly remember 9/11 and are so far removed from the threat of real war and the truths of communism that they can hardly be blamed for their beliefs and much of this is our faults. 

We rallied with patriotism after 9/11, because our parents and grandparents had fought in wars. They had been bomb-shelter babies, who knew the realities of losing their rights and their freedoms to those with dollar signs in their eyes and complete submissive rule over others in their hearts. Today's younger generations know none of this and because we sheltered them, they see the world much differently. If they really understood the dangers of the world, do you think they would put themselves or their future children in danger? Of course not, but they are young and as my mom always used to say, "youth is wasted on the young." They do not have the foresight to see what age and wisdom tend to bring. 

So 2020. It started with an attempted political coup and low and behold, 2021 started with the same, with sides reversed. Weird right? Last year also gave us a pandemic, a toilet paper and sanitizer shortage (and I still have no understanding of the toilet paper thing). Then we had the "14-day" lockdown, which was designed to help us get through "the worst" of the pandemic, which turned into months. People were out of work, out of money, and quickly growing out of patience. Kids were not allowed to finish the school year at school, so teachers, parents, and kids did their best to finish the year with as little issue as possible, but truthfully there was "a lot" of issue. 

We learned that the CDC could give hope and take hope all in the same newscast. Doctors and medical professionals could not agree on the best course of action to avoid the disease and people were panicking as worst-case scenarios were constantly barraging both social media and mainstream media. People became paranoid, fearful, and angry as we went into late spring and early summer.

Many milestones and events were either postponed or canceled altogether and graduations, funerals, and events both big and small had to either be changed or completely disregarded. People were working from home if they were working at all, and cabin fever was becoming something very real and very debilitating. People were starting to rebel as neighbors began to turn on each other and "tattle" to the police about gatherings or those that refused to wear masks. That's right! Who would have thought that "masks" would be the new accessory of 2020? 

If politics had not divided us enough at the end of 2019 going into 2020, then the maskers vs. non-maskers wedged itself into that divide even further and people were actually getting into fights in public over......you guessed it....masks. 

Then began the summer of BLM. Like many issues that start with good solid reasoning, when you get humans involved, the issue often takes a sharp turn onto a path that neither is positive nor productive. This was the resurgence of the BLM and their summer of destruction and rioting. It started with a need to look into police departments where racial injustice reared its ugly head. We all knew it was there and that in some areas it was a huge issue, but with our new world of CCTV and a cell phone in every hand, as well as a very high strung media, it was a recipe for disaster. 

People who had been trapped inside for months, who were already frustrated and angry, clung on to the movement like it was the air they breathed. Every city was rioting, destroying, and killing over the movement without a thought to the fact that many times they were destroying their own neighborhoods, businesses, and homes, nor that many of the faces on the front lines were white ANTIFA members whose agenda had nothing to do with black lives and everything to do with anarchy and destruction. Many lives were lost before people started to realize that maybe these riots and destruction were not so much about getting rid of bad cops and racial injustice and more about politics and agendas that really didn't even care about black lives. 

As fall rolled in, many schools refused to open back up full time and students were either left with online learning or a hybrid of both in school and online education. Kids that had been apart since spring break and who had been looking forward to returning to something that was normal were highly disappointed. So were parents and grandparents who ended up having to brush off math and science skills long ago forgotten in the cobwebs of their minds. Many a learning situation has been peppered with the tears of both the instructor and the instructed as both students and "their adults" have suffered through the 2020-2021 school year. 

The holidays this year were hardly festive for many. Between being out of work, having many normal festivities canceled and being limited on financial resources, limited on the ability to socialize (even with family), and the constant droning on of the media of worst-case scenarios.......suicides, domestic violence, and mental health issues sky-rocketed. Drug addiction and drug relapses have been at an all-time high and added to that, it was a presidential election year. None of us was in a good place by Thanksgiving. 

This was the worst election year in my memory. People were sure they were right about EVERYTHING and almost all civil conversation on the topic of just about anything became contentious. No one was listening, everyone was talking and very few had enough facts to even back up their opinions. We were a hateful, hate-filled people, who were turning on each other and constantly going out of our way to cause issue with each other because of how miserable we all were about EVERYTHING! Most of us couldn't wait for the date to change and for it to become 2021. Unfortunately, it takes more than a calendar date change, for a real change to happen and when you drag the baggage of 2020 into the New Year, you are likely not going to see a lot of change. We dragged it and we got exactly what anyone with an ounce of common sense would expect.......more of the same. 

So in bursts 2021, and suddenly those that had supported a coup in early 2020, were now condemning the current coup and all those involved and wondering why everyone can't just get behind the president-elect. Regardless of which side you are on, if you have been watching all this time, you have to understand the ridiculousness of the whole situation and the hypocrisy that oozes from every pore of the American people. Personally, I rolled my eyes so long and so hard, I was afraid they might stick that way. 

For me personally, 2020 was a year of great loss and great sadness, and none of it had to do with COVID. We also had COVID go through our house, and yes, we took normal precautions, wore masks, and washed our hands, but common sense told me that catching COVID was a possibility, just like catching the flu, and that nothing was 100%. I blamed no one (mask wearers or non-mask wearers) and was fully aware that if God chose my death to be by COVID, then I had very little say in the matter. Was it fun? No. Did we all survive? Yes. From the beginning though, I never really feared it. I refused to quit living over a possibility. I guess I would rather die while I am living free than die of fear. 

I can't say that 2020 was all bad. I learned a great deal about people and my relationships with them and I learned about what I will accept and won't accept or tolerate in my life. I found that while an amusing distraction while sitting in a doctor's office, Facebook for the most part is about as non-essential in my life as kale. Trust me, kale is very non-essential. I also found that there is no longer anything remotely ethical about the news media and rather than lose my mind listening to biased and altogether unfactual news reports, that if I want to know about something, I will research it myself and get as close to first-hand information as I can. I don't want to be told how to think. I choose to think for myself. 

I was told in 2020 that because I was a white woman, I was automatically racist. I was also told that I was entitled, for the same reason. On further thought, I realized that we are all a bit racist and prejudice regardless of color or ethnicity. Of course, there is a bias depending on where and how we grew up. It is natural and yes, there are people that take it to extremes in every race, but our differences are what makes us beautiful, unique, and interesting, and as a white woman, I have every right to be proud of who I am, without taking a thing away from any other race or culture. As far as entitlement goes, I feel each of us is entitled to get what we want from life, as long as we are willing to work hard, face obstacles head-on, and yes, fight for it. So if that makes me entitled, then so be it. 

I also learned this year, that to start something and set a goal, does not have to coincide with a calendar date. I started some really interesting things, way before the new year, and some even with a mid-week date. I realized that the date didn't matter. What mattered was that I started. No big goals, just small attainable projects, and so far, all are still in play and I am still succeeding. 

Finally, I learned that even though I am a fairly positive person, being inundated with negativity day in and day out is debilitating. I was beginning to be a hateful and hate-filled person and I really didn't like myself much. Once I stepped away from social media, the mainstream media, and quite a few people, I found myself to be happier, more joy-filled, more productive, and a lot less stressed. Sadly, a few people I love and have no issue with have also fallen into the abyss, since I have socially distanced myself from people (not for COVID reasons at all) but slowly, I will add them back in, if and when I feel social. 

I have taken this time to educate myself, learning to do new things and different projects. I have looked inside myself to see who I really am as a person and what I like and don't like about myself and I have learned to enjoy what I have and to realize that what I want and what I need are two completely different things. 

So there you have it. I have said good-bye to 2020 and hello to 2021 with no real expectations and no desire to make any changes that aren't healthy for me both mentally and physically and positive for my own little piece of the world. Maybe this year I will take up a hobby, take a new path, or find something else new and exciting about my own little world. Whatever happens though, I can pretty much say that 2020 changed me for good and quite possibly for the good, and in the end, that is all we can hope for in any year....right?