33 years later, it still remains the very worst day of my life.
On April 21, 1986, you died—suddenly of cardiac arrest. You had retired just six months before—since that was the policy in place at Lockheed. Retire at 65, ready or not. (I think you were not.)
So much has happened in the ensuing years.
Your eldest son, Thomas Patrick O’Hara, is now 65—the oldest age you would ever be.
Tom’s youngest child, Brett—just turned 33, born on April 12, 1986. He was your third grandchild and recently become a father himself to an exquisite daughter named Charlotte Eve (“Charlie”). I have yet to meet her, but Regan and I are treated to weekly “slices of her life” thanks to Tom.
Tom’s two other kids and their spouses have also become parents over the past five years. Tom and Mindi have Thomas and Heidi and Kate has Aedan.
So, Dad, you and Mom now have four “great-grandchirren”—along with twins set to debut in a few months to John and Cathy’s eldest son, Brendan and his wife Sterling. Soon to be six—and the grandchildren are just getting started.
I know we will collectively keep you and Mom alive in our memories and stories.
Grocery shopping (+coupons and candy bar enticements for shopping assistants) will always be intertwined in our memories.
You would have absolutely loved Costco, which is headquartered in my hometown near Seattle, Washington.
You would have enjoyed wheeling around the supersized grocery carts in the enormous warehouse stores filled with supersized deals on everything any family could possibly need.
You’d also be amazed at the advances in technology. You always loved embracing new innovations.
I remember when you proudly arrived home one Saturday afternoon with a microwave oven. I’ll have to find that picture of you beaming next to your new purchase.
And how about the time you brought home a new intriguing video game called “Pong.” It must have been 19XX. We O’Hara kids were enthralled, watching that single white ball bouncing back and forth across the screen.
My daughter, Gabriella (#15 grandchild) is now 26. She is a “Lefty” like me. We like to think that you would given her the nickname “Little Lefty.” I have just one, Dad, but she is an absolute gem.
From the very start, I’d share stories and memories about you.
I remember when she was about three. It was sometime in 1995. In between VHS-taped recordings of “Rugrats,” her favorite mid-90s show, I slipped in another VHS tape.
It was a recording of the Lockheed “roast” that occurred shortly before your retirement in October of 1985. (I need to find that tape as well!).
I pressed “play” and there you were in all your glory, sitting back, smiling and enjoying the stories and memories your colleagues shared. Then Roy Anderson made an appearance. He was your boss—chairman and CEO of Lockheed.
After a several minutes. I stopped the tape, cognizant of my own “rugrat’s” short attention span.
Her soulful brown eyes were opened wide in amazement and astonishment. She had paid attention and appeared to have enjoyed seeing “Grand-O” on TV. After a few moments, she had just one question. It involved the white-haired, well-coiffed Roy Anderson.
She turned her head away from the tube, gazed intently into my eyes and asked: “Mama, was that God”!
In her 3-year-old brain, Grand-O was in heaven yet somehow still alive on TV. And the silver-haired fellow must have been God.
Dad, she knows of you only through the countless stories and photos I’ve shared from the time the very start. I know that all of your kids—and the kids of your seven siblings (our cousins on the East Coast)—have also continued to keep the memories of “Uncle Tom” alive over the years.
You rose from such humble beginnings to such impressive heights—and yet stayed true to your roots until the end.
“I’m a simple man,” you say often.
Here’s my simple truth: I think of you most every day, still—and always will.
I’ll continue to keep your memory alive with stories, reminiscences and photos.
Here’s to you, “Big O”!
xo,
Lefty