Tribute Dad

Tribute to Dad
Col. Francis Carter Cobb, 1933 - 2003

Obituary

Colonel Francis Carter Cobb, 69, of Satellite Beach, died Tuesday concluding a 23-year battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, Lou Gehrig's disease. Following his graduation from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, Col. Cobb served 26 years with the U.S. Air Force as a pilot, nuclear physicist and researcher. During his service, he earned his masters degree from N.C. State. He was awarded the Bronze Star, Air Force Commendation Medal, and the Legion of Merit. Medically retired in 1980, Col. Cobb continued his service and research for the Air Force, testing early computerized and infra-red communication devices. He is survived by his wife, Barbara Gray Cobb; his children, Anne Etoile Cobb, Lawrence Gregory Cobb, Andrew Carter Cobb, and Kirsten Gray Bojanowski; 4 grandchildren, Courtney Gaither, Carter Cobb, Travis Cobb, and Texas Cobb; his brother, Col. James Cobb; and his nieces and nephews. Visitation hours will be held at Beach Funeral Home in Satellite Beach

Sunday, February 23 from 2:00 . 4:00 p.m. Services will be held Monday, February 24 at the P.A.F.B. south chapel at 10:00 a.m. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the A.L.S. Assn., 27001 Agoura Road, Suite 150, Calabasas Hills, CA 91301, Tel: (818) 880-9007, www.ALSA.org. He has donated his body to ALSA for on-going research. Despite death, his quest for answers continues.

Imet Greg.s Dad, and most of his family, for the first time in 1989 when I visited, and later that year, moved, to Florida. By the time I met him, he was unable to speak or move most of his body due to amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), a fatal neuromuscular disease characterized by progressive degeneration of motor neurons in the brain and spinal cord ultimately causing the paralysis of the motor muscles. He was still able to communicate (albeit laboriously) through movement of his eyebrow and a system that broke down the alphabet in sections. I was awestruck at how well the family coped and had adapted to these circumstances beyond their control. Today is a different day, though. Today is the day after his funeral and I am sitting at Mama Cobb.s computer knowing I will be getting on a plane shortly to go home but also compelled to write about one of the most moving experiences I.ve ever had over this short . but long, exhausting and emotional . four days.

Greg.s father died on Tuesday night, February 18th. His mother called just before 10:00 pm that evening to tell us he was gone. On our end, after the initial shock, we sprang into action. Greg and Travis dug the car out of the 2-1/2 feet of snow we had gotten pummeled with and I helped Greg pack and make him snacks for the long ride ahead. His sister Anne was stuck in South Carolina and unable to get a flight home so Greg was picking her up on the way. He left around midnight, crossing the icy mountain and enduring thick fog for much of his journey.

I sprang into action over the next few days also, finishing up critical work assignments, organizing care for Texas and getting groceries in the house. I also had to book my flight, which was difficult at first because flights were a mess due to the snow that fell and cancelled flights people were still trying to make up. Some reported a 3-hour wait on the phone just to talk to an airline. I am eternally grateful to my cousin Carmela, who was able to book my flight for me as a long-time employee of Delta Airlines. Although I wasn.t too pleasant to be around those few frantic days, I did manage to get everything necessary done before Todd took me to the airport on Friday afternoon.

When I arrived at Moms, everyone was there. I was greeted with a strong and pronounced hug and a very heartfelt and urgent .We are so glad you are here. from every single Cobb. My husband was visibly relieved as I

think my presence soothes him, and his mother and siblings were just as relieved as I think they know my presence

soothes the savage in him. Greg is often the .troublemaker. and the passionate, outspoken, rub-everyone-the-wrong-way son. Why should this occasion be any different?

Before I arrived, they pulled together as a family to work out the many details of sending Col. Cobb off. It was a daunting task, for sure. But they did it, despite some conflicts and disagreements. I, as always, was just impressed at how they always manage to shine as a family even despite their conflicting personalities and personal grief.

Food and cards poured in from well-wishers and many visitors stopped by. The first night I was there, I arrived at 11:00 pm and everyone (plus some good friends of the family) was out on the porch until at least 12:30 am talking about memories they had with the Cobbs. It was almost just like normal. Except all of us were very aware Dad was gone. It is the first of many moments that I noticed they were laughing. The Cobbs are good at laughing, and here they were, laughing. That may strike some as odd, but in fact, it is a glimpse into how together and special this family really is. They are a force to behold.

I went to call home to tell them I had arrived safely and was told to use the phone in Dad's room. I walked in and

saw his empty bed, the medical equipment lying uselessly nearby. A light was burning brightly and the door was wide open. No one was trying to pretend it wasn't there or it hadn't happened. I hesitated for a moment, just taking the eptiness of his spot in, then walked to the couch and called home.

There wasn't much for me .to do. when I arrived, but I knew I could cook, clean and try and make people more

comfortable. That was my mission and I saw it did some good. Mom was not eating a whole lot prior to my arrival

(and who can blame her? It's hard to eat when there's a knot in your stomach the size of a basketball) but it is an Italian principle that if you cook it, they will come. And she did, and so did the others. It is a second Italian principle that through the good times and the bad, eating will somehow make everything all right. Meals are a simple and ritualistic way of bringing people together even when the world around them might not be so grand.

Saturday was spent getting ready for Sunday, when the .visitation. or viewing, would occur at the funeral home and Monday, the day of the funeral. Everyone was on their best behavior, in their best form, doing what was necessary, appeasing Mom to some extent when necessary and just trying to be available.

Sunday came and I made a big breakfast. The visitation was in the afternoon and we were leaving about 1:00 p.m. to allow Mom enough time to decide if she would leave Dad.s casket open or closed. You see, Dad was in fairly bad shape when he arrived at the funeral home for a variety of reasons. One really neat fact I will share is the ALS Association was able to harvest some important parts of Dad in an effort to aid ALS research, including his brain. This is what Dad wanted. His entire family, as well as those who knew him, was pleased it worked out. Many people came to the visitation to say farewell to Dad (the casket remained open and I thought he looked very dignified in his uniform) and give their support and love to the family. We had brought old photos, his medals from years of military service, a picture my son Carter drew when he was younger and a very funny caricature of the family and laid them around for people to see. Three of the kids brought their .Dad books,. a very special compilation of information and photos about Dad that Mom had assembled and added to over several Christmases. People rifled through these with amazement and gratitude. I met many, many people I'd heard so much about before that day and the next. I saw nurses I hadn't seen in years, who.worked with Dad in the early years when I was just coming around (you can imagine how many nurses Dad must have had over all of those years of care). One of those long-time nurses, Marge, was present and over visiting the night of the funeral and one of the kids asked, .Hey Marge, did Dad ever fire you?. as Dad was known to get frustrated at times and fire a nurse or two. .Oh yeah,. she said. .Three times.. We laughed. .He just told me .GO!..

Although a tough day, the Cobbs were still able to blow off steam by laughing and cracking jokes. For instance, Anne and Kirsten found their shoes squeaked and squished in a weird way on the carpet, and practiced walking together to create a mutual weird sound while their father lay in his casket just ahead, probably watching from somewhere with a smile. Greg and Jaime practiced their .stiff arm, quick handshake. techniques to ward off the hugs people feel so compelled to give. If you know them, this is funny, even though they know people mean no harm by hugging. And we all compared notes when it was over. Who was there, who wasn't, who said what. Drew had asked several of Dad's colleagues to give him three adjectives to describe Dad at work, since he had little insight into Dad's professional life. I thought this was an excellent question. Caring, professional, interested in people, family-oriented and intelligent were all said. Kirsten also found out from one of his secretarys that Dad was quite the prankster, doing things like lowering her chair if she stepped out for a moment.

When everyone was finally gone, the family said their final goodbyes to Dad and we went home. Some relatives joined us shortly thereafter and stayed a good while. More food was delivered. We finally went to bed, exhausted, knowing tomorrow would be the hardest of all.

It was. For me anyhow. And I can't imagine it wasn't that way for everyone. But it was also one of the Cobb's finest hours and a day I will never forget. It was another beautiful day, cool and sunny with a refreshing breeze. I left with Greg a little early for the church, which was located on Patrick Air Force Base, so he could be sure the sound system worked. I also was doing a reading and wanted to know where I needed to go. We got squared away and watched while people began to fill up the church. We greeted many.

The service was Catholic, as Greg's Dad had been a faithful and practicing Catholic until his death. It began with the family (except for me) .carrying. (his coffin was technically on a rolling cart) Col. Cobb into the church and down the aisle to the priests.

As we all sat down, Greg surprised each of the women in our immediate group by handing us a yellow rose he.d had delivered to the church that morning. The first priest said wonderful things about Dad, having come to the house many Christmas Eves to have mass for him after Dad was unable to attend in person. He spoke of his faith, his family and his acceptance of the disease. He clearly was in awe of him and said he had rarely seen a man with that kind of faith. He spoke of coming to the Cobb home and expecting to find a glum lot, what with their father and husband so incapacitated. To this, our entire row (Mom, Drew, Anne, Courtney, Kirsten, Jaime, Victor, me and Greg) guffawed or smiled or thought, HA! There is no such thing as a glum lot at the Cobbs. And the priest reported as such. Far from being glum, they were downright friendly, fun and enthusiastic.

After some readings, singing and a Catholic Mass, there was time set aside for family to speak. Mom went first, thanking everyone for their love and support, talking about the only man in her life she has ever loved and reading a sonnet Shakespeare wrote describing their love.

I went next, reading a passage from the book, The Yearling, that had sprung to mind shortly after Dad's death. It is a prayer being said by the main character about a young crippled boy who had died. In the latter part of the prayer, he says it pleases them to think that now that the boy was in heaven, that God had seen fit to straighten out his crooked legs and mind and allowed the boy to walk straight and tall and free as anything. This is how I feel about Dad. It pleases me to think of him walking, moving, talking and being without any trouble at all.

Jaime, Kirsten's husband, spoke next, reading text family friend Tom Clancy had prepared in Carter's honor . He followed it with his own message about knowing Dad even though for people like Jaime and me, who came on the scene long after Dad could talk, it has been a little more challenging to do.

The kids spoke next, youngest to oldest. Kirsten made all of us laugh by telling us about her foiled adventures sailing with her father and touched us by telling us what her father had given her and how much she loved him.

Drew told us about the amazing lessons his father had taught him before, during and even in his death. He also shared the intimate details of what occurred as his father died, as he and his mother were present for that moment, as well as what he heard his father say to him inside. Drew said his father asked him to communicate four things and we all laughed at the final thing, which was, .You never have to lift a finger to clean house at your Mother's again..

Greg spoke (he doesn't share damn it) next and was admittedly the wildcard of the bunch. He said things that made people laugh and cry, like everyone. He talked of the good natured competition he had shared with his father, who .schooled. him at cribbage, ping pong and you name it and blamed the dog biting him on the leg on the rare occasions he lost. He also named his father as one of three heroes he had, the other two being Larry, his grandfather and Augustus McRae, but then said he'd added a hero to his list, his mother, for her sheer amazingness. He also spoke of what his father taught him and what he remembered about him. He ended by playing a song that has always reminded him of his relationship with his father and one he admittedly has trouble playing even though he has the album. It was a touching song by Chet Atkins, and I can.t imagine there being a dry eye in the house during that song as it was very moving.

Anne, the eldest, shared last. She exuberantly told us facts about her father that we might not know, including raising some eyebrows of the priests sitting behind her when she told us her father had moved a paperclip with his mind only and believed in life .out there..

All of us, including the priests, reveled in what everyone had said. Mom and her children all wavered during their time at the podium, but they moved forward with grace, honor and openness. They let all of us into their lives, their most personal lives, and we were all the better for it. Someone later told Anne, .I thought I knew your family. After today, NOW I know your family.. Because they were all amazing. They are all amazing. And it is what I said at the end of my time at the podium that is probably true for others, .Dad's greatest gift to me may very well be his family, one of the most loving families I've ever had the pleasure of being a part of.. They are a rare gift indeed.

The service ended with the family members carrying him out, all the way to the hearse that was waiting. Someone later said he.d never seen a prouder look on their faces than that moment. I thought about that statement and understood it completely. They were all proud of that man, every last one of them. How many people can honestly say that about their husband or father? Yeah, I know you're supposed to be able to say that, but how many really do? I can say with conviction that I know they all do.

The internment was special as well. The honor guard took over as pallbearers for Col. Cobb, the American flag draped across his casket to signify the honor he showed to his country and the honor his country shows to him. They expertly and precisely moved him to the area where a short service was performed. The priest said a few final words, the honor guard folded the flag and gave it to a Colonel to present to Mom, but not until the rifle team had given the 21-gun salute. It was loud (several of us jumped), final...and awesome. Taps played, another very moving song. The Colonel spoke quietly and personally to Mom as he handed her the flag on behalf of the President of the United States. This was another major tearjerker. And then the . young man with the voice of God sang for the second time (the first was at the church when he sang .Ave Maria.), a beautiful rendition of .Amazing Grace..

Family, nurses and Steve Bunker, Dad's respiratory therapist and great friend of many years, laid roses on the coffin and several stayed to watch the entombment. And the kids, true to form, whistled a tune Dad would know and like as his body was laid to rest (Dad was quite a whistler, you know, another one of the facts Anne told us).

We went back to Moms house where a reception was held. Her local birthday club had organized the food and taken care of so many details. It was wonderful. Many people joined us for the reception and it was literally hours before we reclaimed the house and got to talk to one another. But when we did, it was to talk about how special the entire send-off had been. I know I was in awe and still am, even now, long after the event (it.s now March).

What struck me was how cohesive the Cobbs are when they really need to be (and by the way, this is not my first experience with this phenomena). They pulled together and each one shone like a diamond in the sun. It's not often that you get to see their light like that, most especially Greg. Greg is extremely selective with who he allows in past a certain level and even he stepped into the light and showed us his radiant brilliance (I, of course, get to see this part a lot but alas, I am an island!). The other thing was this entire family really loved and admired their husband/father and it showed. It admittedly made me a little sad for my own natal family state, which is not cohesive at all, and very sad for my own relationship with my . father, which is nonexistent. This disharmony within my family leaves a huge void within me as well as leaves me baffled. Thankfully, I have the Cobb's, who more than fill that gaping hole to belong to a large family who cares for one another, communicates with one another and loves one another despite clashing personalities and great obstacles. I am proud to know them and be a part of their contagious energy. Let me just say publicly to the Cobb family: Thank you and I love you. .

.Yeah, I Knew the Colonel.... What son-in-law Jaime Bojanowski read at the funeral .

I wish you could have met Carter before he was ill.. .I wish you could have met my Dad before he got sick..

In the seven or eight years that I.ve been involved with the Cobb family, I've heard this statement many times.

Unfortunately, though I never met the Colonel before he got sick, I'll tell you this, I did meet him; I even know the man. I know him through all of you.

A man whose qualities are so magnificently reflected in the eyes, the lips, and the hearts of each and every one of his children and his wife is hard to miss. His strength of character, his courage to fight a superhuman battle of the body long beyond where many of us would have quit, his compassion to stay here as long as he did to care and watch over his family. All these qualities are present in each of you, and I see them everyday in the way you all deal with your father, each other, and the world around you.

If the measure of a man could be taken by the amount of love and respect his people have for him, then the Colonel was a great man indeed.

Yeah, I knew the Colonel all right. .

One, Taken to Heart...for Daddy By daughter Anne Cobb

Adapted from the poem by Sara Holbrook .

"A book,

So much a part of our lives, seems lost.

Fallen, somewhere, out of place.

We drag about the house in heavy shoes,

Examining the empty room. We open the blinds, wash our eyes, and search the shelf for answers.

Thinking:

What could I have done with that book?

Where did I see it last?

Could a book just wander off like that?

Questions to throw at the moon,

While standing rooted in the shadows,

Remembering the story.

The story.

Remember the time?

The page?

The chapter?

Remember?

Remember the smiles?

A book can get lost, disappear, or simply fall to pieces,

But a story plays forever once we.ve taken it to heart.

And for the rest of what each of us will know of eternity,

Whenever we drag about the house in heavy shoes,

Wash our eyes, and search the shelf for answers,

That story will survive to coax us from the empty room

And back into the moonlight:

A father,

Teaching us to fly..

While Daddy no longer graces this realm in his .book. form, his stories remain in the hearts of those whose lives he touched. I am immensely thankful for the lessons he shared through his stories, his acts, and most of all, his love.

Helen Keller once wrote, .Death...is no more than passing from one room into another. But there.s a difference for me, you know. Because in that other room I shall be able to see.. Helen and Dad share something in that move from one room into another. In that other room, Dad will be flying, singing and waiting for Mom for some serious dancing! .

Written by Tom Clancy Read in his absence by Jaime Bojanowski

It.s not easy to talk about a man whom one has hardly met. Carter and I spoke only once, on the occasion of the eath of a fine gentleman, Oliver Frank Bowen in September 1974. We were discussing some aspects of warfare, and Carter said something I never forgot. Discussing tactical vs. strategic arms, he observed that even a small bomb dropped on one particular house would be strategic to that particular family. It is an aphorism I've never forgotten.

That he was a very bright man cannot be disputed. Among his many jobs on behalf of our country, designing strategic weapons was one of them, and whether good or bad, it.s not a job for a truck driver.

But a man isn't what he does. A man is the guy who lives inside, who does things for his family. I never really met that Carter, but as with many men, by his works we can know him.

No man in my knowledge ever inspired such loyalty as Carter did in those closest to him. When he first had to take a hard and close look at Death Himself, his family rallied around him like Marines on a beachhead. His wife, Bobbie, and their courageous children kept Carter alive by a sheer act of will and love. Certainly Carter didn't know the meaning of .quit,. but what greater honor can a man earn than to inspire such astounding loyalty and bravery within his own family? If anyone wonders what sort of man Carter was, here is your answer.

I was just a distant spectator. I did what little I could, trying to get some of my computer friends to make Carter's communications abilities a little broader. In that I ultimately failed, but my respect for him and his family never slackened. I did what little I could, dedicating a book in recognition of the love he inspired in his noble and devoted wife.

I have said before that the root of courage is always love. And love must go in more than one direction. In his distinguished career, Carter worked for all Americans, but most of all, I think, he worked for those closest to him, and they worked for him in return. The quality of that bilateral devotion is expressed in how long love kept this man alive in the face of the cruelest disease known to man. If Mr. Death finally has finally his way, it was only after a lengthy battle that must have left him exhausted.

Long ago a poet wrote, .Death, be not proud.. But I can be proud for having known this man, and his family.

Shakespeare wrote, .Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no! It is the ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken. Bobbie Cobb. No surer proof of the words of the bard can be found than in Colonel F. Carter Cobb and his family.

Someday this disease will be defeated, but love such as that which sustained this brave man will never be. In knowing his wife and children we can know him and what he was. On that basis alone, he must have been quite a man. .

.Reflections of Two Lives. By Kirsten Bojanowski

I was eleven years old when my parents sat my brother and I down at the kitchen table to tell us that Dad was sick. What I remember of that conversation was at the end, ask- ing if I could go outside to play before it got dark. At eleven, sick meant you got to stay home from school, watch TV and eat ice cream. I thought, .good for Dad..

Then, my parents took my brother and I camping to Lake Okeechobee. It was then that I realized how upset my Mom was and it was then that I knew we were camping for the .last. time. From that trip, I carry one of my most vivid memories of Dad. He put my brother up on his shoulders and my brother took Dad's hat and placed it on his own head as we walked toward our campsite. Following that trip, I watched my Dad deteriorate in his speech, his mobility and his ability to hold back his frustration. At eleven, I remember helping my Dad get up from chairs, holding him as he walked across a room, watching him choke on his dinner, and deciphering his slurred speech as he tried to help me with my schoolwork. While my Dad was making adjustments in his life, I was waiting for our life to get back to normal.

At eleven, I remember being asked if I thought Dad should go on life support. My parents did their best to explain what this meant, but to me it was a simple choice that needed no debate. .Of course,. was my answer, Dad would die otherwise. .Why were they even bothering to ask?.

Many people wonder why Dad decided to extend his .suffering. by going on life support. I was his youngest child and I as only eleven. Because of his selfless decision, he was able to witness my marriage. Wonder no more.

My Dad was forty-seven when he faced his mortality. He was forty-seven looking into the eyes of his eleven year old daughter. He knew he would never be able to swing me around in the front yard, kiss me on the forehead or offer me a hug on a bad day, but he also knew that he still had a life- one of wisdom, experience and love to offer me.

From the time that I was eleven to this very moment, my Dad's life influences my life. The way I speak, my sense of humor, my work ethic, my compassion are all glimpses of him, his life and the way he taught me to live mine.

I've said I would never go sailing with my Dad, but he is still here, every minute, blowing gently into my sails. Thanks Dad. .

Reading from The Yearling read at the funeral by Katherine Cobb .

Oh Lord. Almighty God. Hit ain't for us ignorant mortals to say what's right and what's wrong. Was ary one of us to be a-doin. of it, we'd not of brung this pore boy into the world a cripple, and his mind teched. We'd of brung him in straight and tall like his brothers, fitten to live and work and do. But in a way o. speakin., Lord, you done made it up to him. You give him a way with the wild creeturs. You give him a sort o. wisdom, made him knowin. and gentle. The birds come to him, and the varmints moved free about him, and like as not he could o. takened a she wild-cat in his pore twisted hands.. .

Now you've done seed fit to take him where bein. crookedy in mind and limb don't matter. But Lord, hit pleasures us to think now you.ve done straightened out them legs and that pore bent back and them hands. Hit pleasures us to think on him, movin. around as easy as ary one. And Lord, give him a few red- irds and mebbe a squirrel and a .coon and a .possum to keep him comp.ny, like he had here. All of us is somehow onesome, and we know he'll not be lonesome, do he have them leetle wild things around him, if it ain't asking too much to put a few varmints in Heaven. Thy will be done. Amen.. .

This tribute was written by Katherine Cobb, except where noted.