I wrote an obituary for the papers, checking the boxes that the genre requires. But first I wrote a more true version.
It is with a heavy heart that we must share with the world the passing of Charles Joseph Mihelic, MD. On the second of this month, Chuck suddenly and unexpectedly, slipped the confines of this mortal coil to challenge the deities of all canons to fistfights and matches of wits. We wish him well on his quest, but there are many here who mourn him. We have called him by many names: Joey, Chuck, Babe, CJ, Dad, ToeToe - maybe even Chas at a point in the 70s but a lot of things happened during the seventies that not everyone remembers.
But we do know that in the seventies he met the love of his life on an April Day in a small town in Alaska. With her, Mary Douglass Bowman, he lived a life that would be hard to contain between the covers of a book, let alone be done justice within the limitations of this mournful missive. Any roll call of the lives he touched would be incomplete as he lived a life of service to the communities he lived in, seeing people sometimes in the worst day of their lives and using his training and native intelligence to save lives and try to mend what was broken.
We can note those with holes in their hearts never again to be filled. Mary, with her constant companion gone. John Patrick Mihelic, a little brother now without his boyhood protector. Children Amanda Marie, Catherine Ann & husband Scott Schlobohm, John Edgar & wife Anita, and Norman Joseph left with only their memories. Grandchildren Bonnie, Joe, and Lilly for whom he will live through our stories. Let us not forget Pat Neptune, who was a valued aid in the later years.
We mourn Doctor Mihelic because of these stories. We mourn a man who saw the world as it was and tried to create a new reality around him. He did things his way. He did this in part because he had to. Born in the South End of Saint Joseph, Missouri, options were limited. You could work at the slaughterhouses, or you can seek your story in the wider world. His ticket was the military, signing up to serve his country in 1969. Then there is the biography. He trained as a Special Forces Medic, went to school and trained as a doctor at UMKC. He worked as a doctor. And then rejoined the military and helped keep Kuwait free in Desert Storm. He then moved to West Virginia and made a home here as he worked in various medical facilities in the north central part of the state.
But - this life that we live is not wholly defined by what you did at work. It is only a part of who we are. The life we live is not just filled with the activities we do, Every time we start listing the worry is that we will forget something. By these measures he lived a full life, from cliff diving and swimming with the sharks to mountain and rock climbing and martial arts and .. it goes on. The body betrays you and you slow down and try to keep active, turning to things like woodworking and cooking. Always learning, reading about history and staying abreast of political developments.
For us, this is not the defining measure of a man. These are the stories that matter. It is the people we touch in our lives that is the most defining legacy we leave. This has been illustrated all this week, as the immediate family has been overwhelmed with the outpouring of love and affection from all the lives he has touched. That these relationships are now but memories, this is why we mourn.
So, I want to talk about my dad. I want to remember. I want to remember the smell of Old Spice and Captain Black. I want to remember the rough skin on his cheek as I kissed him. I want to remember family pile-ons . I want to remember camping and building models and soccer on the flat and wanting to work out with him just to be near him as we listened to staticy talk radio. I want to remember looking for him in the crowd at all my football games and wanting to impress him in all that I do.
I still want to impress him in all that I do. I want to live a life that he would be proud of, because he was my model of masculinity. It was not the sporty things he did though. It was not academic or professional success. What I want to model, what I really learned from him is how to love. Watching him love Mom over the decades was the best example I could have had about how to be the best man you could be.
Dad was multifaceted, and we all have our own stories, but what breaks my heart the most is seeing that story come to an end. If I can make Anita feel half as loved as Dad made Mom feel, I will have lived a successful life.
In this time, and as long as you live, please share your stories. It is how we keep him alive.
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