My father, Marvin Berry Pittman, died overnight at age 71. Most of you dont know this, but in February he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma -- cancer of the plasma in bone marrow. It was believed to have been caught in an early stage, and he responded very well to his array of treatments and weekly checkups. He refused pity, from others as well as himself. He was sick and didnt shy away from it. He wasnt afraid. He also never told us how much he hurt, but I was used to that. He lived a rough-and-tumble life filled with chronic injuries and pain such that doctors marveled at how he could appear so normal. You name it, it hurt. He was unbreakable, my father. Didnt matter if he was laid up in the bed. Hed be up and at em before we saw him that way more than once. My father retired from the Philadelphia Police Department a few years before I was born, after an on-duty auto accident that tore apart his knee, and fractured his back -- the latter injury went undetected until he had back surgery last year to stop his ill-healed disks in his back from paralyzing him. He was doing well after surgery, until he wasnt. Thats when they found the cancer. The prognosis was very good, and we expected him to beat this within a year. A fractured clavicle here, a few broken ribs there, a damaged eye, frequent leg pains, but he was hanging in there, staying on a steady course to building strength. The other day, his doctors even said they were having trouble even detecting the cancer in him. Believe me, this death was sudden. And shocking in its suddenness. It doesnt feel real, my mother told me from the hospital, his body still in the room. The breathing tube still down his throat. He looks like hes sleeping, she said. Since his diagnosis, my father and I talked on the phone a lot, and he shared even more of his life story with me. He always thought I was going to write a book of his tales. There are millions of them, many of them sad, many of them ridiculous, and all true. Like when he was in the Air Force and, because of a night of heavy drinking, overslept on his assignment to set radio communications for a checkpoint. Turned out he only delayed John Glenns spaceflight that made him the first American to orbit the Earth. After a time of uncontrollable sadness and weeping, I put on some John Coltrane, my fathers favorite musician, and let his saxophone carry me out to the cosmos. Out to where my father is now, hie energy returned to the universe. My father was my hero. I am his namesake. He was a lot to live up to, as he was the toughest man I ever knew. Those few of you who ever met him, you know how true that is. Its like something has been ripped out of me. Im going to Philadelphia now to be with my family and get things squared away. Ill need to raise a glass or two, for myself and for him. Come find me if you wish. I wont be hiding. He taught me two things in life: Do for yourself as much as you can, and dont be an asshole. I miss him already. I really do.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 12:17:39 +0000
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