3-9-2023 Hawthorne, NV

This story may be worth telling.  In 2021, I went to a shoulder surgeon.  “Advanced, end-stage, bone-on-bone osteoarthritis,” he said.  My family is the poster group for osteoarthritis.  You are only allowed so many steroid shots and so over time, it became obvious that, if I wanted to continue living a fairly active life, I would need a shoulder replacement.  That surgery happened on January 31, 2023.  All went well until I got home from the hospital.  Still affected by anesthesia and now on a pain killer that made me loopy, I fainted, landed on my new prosthetic shoulder and broke my arm bone (“hairline fracture”) and the implant shifted.  The surgeon, concerned, put me back in my sling (“the beast”) and doomed me to 3 more weeks of home care and physical therapy with follow-up x-rays scheduled for March 17^th and possibly more time in the beast.  If the fracture creeps and the implant continues to shift, another surgery will be required.  If not and I am satisfied with my (now altered) range of motion, I’m off to the races and my only assignment will be to learn how to use the new equipment, which can take a few months.  So I live in Limbo for the moment, sitting around waiting to heal, bored, trying not to be depressed facing a possible second surgery, counting the minutes and days that pass by.  It’s like watching paint dry.  I hate to admit it but I spent a few tears over this debacle, wishing, as I have several times in my life, that I could turn the clock back for the chance to do it right.  Time wasted brooding and feeling sorry for myself.  I had to change my focus from my right arm to something else.

 

Enter Dad DeLaMare.  Dad was career military.  Like many youngsters, he quit college and enlisted in the Army after Pearl Harbor.  He served in WWII, then the Korean War and finally, Vietnam as a member of the 4^th armored and 24^th infantry divisions.  He was a hero and in my eyes, he stood much taller than his 6’4” frame.  Since his death 27 years ago, we have struggled with finding a proper place and way to display Dad’s uniforms and memorabilia.  We’ve been to a dozen different museums across the country but nothing struck us.  This dove-tailed right into my current need for a change of focus and to get out of Dodge.  Rob began digging through boxes of papers and files to assemble a chronology of Dad’s service records, dates, promotions and location of the many posts where the DeLaMare family was stationed.   He also got busy contacting the Hawthorne Military Museum 270 miles north of our home to see if they would be interested in our display donation.  They were enthusiastically positive and grateful.

 

Meanwhile, I tackled my portion of the project:  creating a collage of pictures of Dad in his various uniforms, from his enlistment as Private in 1943 to his retirement as Lt. Colonel in 1968.  With Rob’s list, I made up a Service Record.  Next, we headed to the dry cleaners with Dad’s military duds, then shopped for frames and easels.

 

And here we are in the present, packed and loaded with all our treasures.  Dad’s uniforms are hanging across the back area of the BFT.  We’re on our way to a long weekend in Hawthorne, NV to complete a job that was delayed for far too long.  A final tribute and salute.  Thanks for a life of selfless service, Dad.  We love you.