Stanley Bombardier
12/30/34 — 9/27/07
Thursday, September 27th, 2007, 11:55pm
Dear Friends,
My dad took his life tonight. He was found hanging in his room. He left life as he lived life—on his own terms.
I will miss him terribly.
I am not surprised, as I had collected hints he might do this someday. My dad was 12 years into Parkinson’s, which had become increasingly debilitating, especially after his aortic dissection and emergency open-heart surgery 1 year and 8 months ago.
Until that day, he led a very active retirement of 13 years. He was out and about every day, tinkering with his inventions and contraptions (he had been a technologist at 3M), taking responsibility for a lot of the maintenance at my parents’ townhome association, and, believe it or not, weightlifting twice a week at the gym. He rarely watched TV before 10pm. Until Parkinson’s made it impossible a few years ago, he flew small airplanes—and even did aerobatics for a time.
A year ago, after an imperfect recovery from his surgery, which left him with a mild degree of brain damage from insufficient oxygen, he moved into an assisted living facility. Ultimately, he would have had to go to a full nursing facility. He never wanted to live that way.
At this time, no note has been found. I find myself not needing one, because his reason is clear to me. He was ambivalent about having survived his aortic dissection. He believed in the right to die, and our laws forced him to take matters into his own hands. I’m sure he planned it carefully and tested his contraption. Ever the technologist, he would be pleased it functioned properly the first time.
I respect his final act. It took more courage than his aerobatic flying ever did.
In recent months, my dad was too distracted by his troubles to focus on reading. Until a friend gave him a book, “Zero 3 Bravo: Solo Across America in a Small Plane,” by Mariana Gosnell. It is the story of a woman pilot on a cross-country adventure flying a small plane, similar to the one my dad used to fly, experiencing America through small town airport life. He read the entire book over recent weeks. My mom said he finished it yesterday.
She and I plan to spread his ashes from a plane, over his favorite airport at Lake Elmo and the St. Croix River Valley. I’m quite sure the pilot will not fly under any of the river bridges, as my dad was known to do.
David
Dear Friends,
My dad took his life tonight. He was found hanging in his room. He left life as he lived life—on his own terms.
I will miss him terribly.
I am not surprised, as I had collected hints he might do this someday. My dad was 12 years into Parkinson’s, which had become increasingly debilitating, especially after his aortic dissection and emergency open-heart surgery 1 year and 8 months ago.
Until that day, he led a very active retirement of 13 years. He was out and about every day, tinkering with his inventions and contraptions (he had been a technologist at 3M), taking responsibility for a lot of the maintenance at my parents’ townhome association, and, believe it or not, weightlifting twice a week at the gym. He rarely watched TV before 10pm. Until Parkinson’s made it impossible a few years ago, he flew small airplanes—and even did aerobatics for a time.
A year ago, after an imperfect recovery from his surgery, which left him with a mild degree of brain damage from insufficient oxygen, he moved into an assisted living facility. Ultimately, he would have had to go to a full nursing facility. He never wanted to live that way.
At this time, no note has been found. I find myself not needing one, because his reason is clear to me. He was ambivalent about having survived his aortic dissection. He believed in the right to die, and our laws forced him to take matters into his own hands. I’m sure he planned it carefully and tested his contraption. Ever the technologist, he would be pleased it functioned properly the first time.
I respect his final act. It took more courage than his aerobatic flying ever did.
In recent months, my dad was too distracted by his troubles to focus on reading. Until a friend gave him a book, “Zero 3 Bravo: Solo Across America in a Small Plane,” by Mariana Gosnell. It is the story of a woman pilot on a cross-country adventure flying a small plane, similar to the one my dad used to fly, experiencing America through small town airport life. He read the entire book over recent weeks. My mom said he finished it yesterday.
She and I plan to spread his ashes from a plane, over his favorite airport at Lake Elmo and the St. Croix River Valley. I’m quite sure the pilot will not fly under any of the river bridges, as my dad was known to do.
David
Stan’s Memorial Service is Tuesday, October 2, 3:00pm, at White Bear Lake United Methodist Church, 1851 Birch Street, White Bear Lake MN 55110. We would love to see you there. —Trudy and David
Please enjoy Stan’s favorite tune (he always wanted it played at his memorial service) and sign his Guestbook.
Please enjoy Stan’s favorite tune (he always wanted it played at his memorial service) and sign his Guestbook.
