Dennis C. McIntosh, M.D.

By Faith Morrell McIntosh

“None of us are getting out of here alive, so please stop treating yourself like an afterthought. Eat the delicious food. Walk in the sunshine. Jump in the ocean. Say the truth that you’re carrying in your heart like hidden treasure. Be silly. Be kind. Be weird. There’s no time for anything else.” That’s a quote by a poet named Nanea Hoffman and Dennis used to recite the first ironic words. When I asked why he did certain things that made no sense, his reply was “Faith, I’m a flawed human being.” Aren’t we all?

Dennis Christopher McIntosh was born in Jamaica, from where he emigrated to the US at 12 years old. At 19, he volunteered for Vietnam, where he tested too intelligent for the front line, was given the job of weather observer, and enrolled in the elite Special Forces Unit to parachute into jungles beforehand to prepare incoming US troops. As a result, he endured extensive survivalist training for which he paid in later years in forms of unbearable back pain, hearing damage, possible exposure to Agent Orange, and what I was to later discover, PTSD.

After serving in Vietnam, Dennis returned to the US and held a variety of jobs, including bank teller and New York taxi driver, (which made sense to anyone who got in a car with him at the wheel). He was accepted by at least 5 medical schools, put himself through school, and after receiving board certification status in Anesthesiology, rose to Chief of Anesthesiology status after relocating to California. Even with those achievements, he remained humble, was a member of Jamaica Project Health, a program that donated goods and services to needy children, and volunteered his services in Haiti after their destructive 2010 earthquake.

I won’t bore you with anymore of his resume as in typical obituaries; instead I’d like to share a bit about the character of the man I was married to for just shy of 30 years.

I laughed a lot with Dennis McIntosh. He was a unique individual. I used to tell him he was lewd, crude and socially unacceptable, and we’d laugh our heads off. He was a witty, brilliant man. He self-educated in world history, politics, wars and religion. He was a powerful, outspoken voice for civil rights. He was a voracious reader and questioned everything. He was also a mystery of contradictory behaviors. He parachuted out of planes and bungee-jumped, but was afraid of heights; he penny-pinched trivial purchases, but easily gave away or threw away thousands of dollars; he presented as loud and obnoxious, but was in fact pretty shy and insecure. He seemed like a brute at times, but was really quite kind and extraordinarily emotional. He came across as an atheist, but was simply a questioner of traditional religious beliefs; he actually did believe in a higher power - he just didn’t know what it was, and was impatient with those who swore they did.

He was the bravest, most adventurous man I’ve ever known. Our many trips involved white water rafting in Costa Rica, driving through crime-ridden ghettoes in Brazil and descending under King Tut’s pyramid in Egypt. He worshipped the ocean – sailing on it, swimming in it or scuba-diving under it. On any beach vacation, he ‘d head straight out with only a snorkel, fins, a little knife, and disappear for hours while I combed the beach waiting to glimpse his little yellow tube returning to shore whereupon I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Dennis would’ve wanted me to tell it straight. He was troubled and tormented by his journey through this thing we call life (aren’t we all?), but ultimately, he had a good heart and a good soul. He was nurturing and friendly. He joked with patients to make them relax before surgery. He loved entertaining friends, family and random strangers. He was also very tactile, needing to be constantly touched, hugged, kissed. He needed our fingers or toes to intertwine before going to sleep. He needed my head on his chest. After responding to hospital emergency cases for days without sleep, I would kiss him three times on his neck or his head and tell him to rest.

He sent me a picture of himself 2 days before he died which I thought odd at the time. I realize now that it was his goodbye. Over the years, he made me promise to spread his ashes in the Caribbean Sea off the coast of his beloved Port Antonio, Jamaica, and I intend to keep that promise.

Dennis - you finally have the answers to all your life questions. Rest now.

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Dennis Christopher McIntosh, MD

Born November 21st, 1945 Kingston, Jamaica

Died Nov 1st, 2025, Punta Cana, Dominican Republic

Dennis married Saundra Adams Dawson in 1981 and helped raise her two sons, Ronald and Brandon Dawson, known affectionately as Ronnie and Brandy. His marriage to Saundra produced a son, Maquon McIntosh, and lasted until 1995. Later that same year, he married me - Faith Morrell.

He is survived by his son Maquon, his sister Ann, former stepsons Ronnie and Brandy and multiple nieces and nephews, grand and great-grand.

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Many thanks to all who helped make this day possible. Please join me for a Repast at 16267 NW 14th Court, Pembroke Pines, 33028 immediately after service.

For those unable to attend in person, a live stream will be available via the following link: [Memorial of Dennis C. McIntosh - Live stream link] (https://www.youtube.com/live/Xk4GaShShNM).