(Editor’s note: This comment below is so touching and heart-felt, that we thought you would enjoy learning more about a member of the Gwinnett community. The obituary can be found here.—eeb)
By Kate Pittman
SUWANEE, Ga. | My father, Jack Pittman, age 87, passed away on Sunday morning, Sept. 4, 2022.
Jack Pittman was a resident of Suwanee. When he was 19, he married my mom, who had me when he was 20, and had six children by age 28. He was born in Memphis, lived in the projects, and was a “feral” (or free-range) kid. His daddy skipped town and his mother worked at Woolworth’s lunch counter in Memphis. He didn’t finish the eighth grade. But he was smart, curious, and observant… and amazingly our family didn’t starve.
Jack Pittman
I took my father for an elective out-patient surgery four weeks ago. As I was signing his release and post-operative forms, I watched him go into cardiac arrest. After 45 minutes of CPR, he had a stroke. He hung on for over two weeks in the hospital before he was transferred to hospice. My family and I were at his side throughout the ordeal.
Through this experience, I learned that my father led an amazing social life in retirement. Not only did he continue to keep in touch with friends and business associates across the country he’s known for decades, but he also made friends with people of all ages and backgrounds within the tight knit community of Suwanee Town Center. This included his neighbors, as well as a diverse assortment of people (age, gender, ethnicity, race and socio-economic background) who owned, worked at, and frequented the gym, businesses, restaurants and bars within Suwanee Town Center.
When the hospital loosened restrictions limiting visitors, Jack had a steady stream of friends who, to my astonishment, “loved” my father and cried openly. Once the word got out, at least six people showed up every day at the hospital and then at all hours at hospice. When daddy saw each enter his room, he lit up and was obviously happy to see them.
Friends brought other friends, and they told stories and laughed even if it wasn’t clear dad could hear them.
Maria has cut my father’s hair every month for the past 30 years. She came to hospice and lovingly gave him a beard trim as she told him, with tears in her eyes, how much she’d enjoyed knowing him. When I went to pick up the eyeglasses he ordered, the shopkeeper refused payment because he “loved” my father. When I went to his local bank to set up an Estate Account, the young man helping me lost all color in his face when he saw the photo of my father.
What was the ‘special sauce” my dad instinctively had? I don’t know, but I sure hope I inherited some of it. I had no idea this was my father’s life! When I grow up, I want to be like my father.
- Have a comment? Send to: elliott@brack.net
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