What else could you name an Irishman born on St. Patty’s Day??!! Why, only “Patrick“, of course! The family gathered on St. Patrick’s Day just like it always has… since long before I joined the family. Corned Beef and Cabbage and Potatoes. But this year, for the first time, it was without the family patriarch, Pat.

It was to be a small, informal family gathering but, well, everyone showed up. We all miss him.

So, allow me to reminisce about my favorite day with Pat. Angus was having some surgery and I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital when Pat showed up. I was surprised and pleased to see him. We began chatting to pass the time and somewhere along the way the conversation turned toward his parents.

I had known that Angus’s grandfather was an immigrant from Ireland who came over during the great famine. I also knew that his mother came to the Midwest on one of the Orphan Trains and was adopted by an Irish family. I hadn’t known she was then raised as a “Domestic”. He said she was Irish, too. I’m not sure if that was just wishful thinking or fact but he believed it. (I do, too)

His Da had come over to America all by himself at the age of 14! A couple of his older sisters had come earlier and he followed them. He made his way to the Kansas City area by himself, too. He worked as a pipe fitter until the age of 86 when he had to give it up because his shoulder went out. (I complain because Angus will have to work ‘til he is 58!).

Pat filled in a lot of missing details of my husband and sons’ family history for me and I was totally intrigued. Perhaps he embellished here and there… or not. I was fascinated and he was in his element with his story telling. The waiting time flew by for both of us.

I miss him.