Howard Frank Prochaska

By Austin McCormick

The Powerful P’s

Peace, prayer, patience, perseverance, pursuit.

These are the virtues that grandpa Howard carries through his life journey.

Whenever we went to visit grandpa I knew it would be a positive experience where I could feel safe and carefree.

I looked up to him and whatever he did I thought was cool and interesting.

He encouraged my creativity, and cultivated a curiosity to learn, discover, imagine and create.

He taught me about gardening, cooking, and finding objects in nature, making connections and seeing beauty.

He was a great listener, always present and in the moment and gave his full attention.

He was a reliable and consistent influence in my life.

When I think about my Grandpa I think about how he was kind, generous, positive, inquisitive, passionate, imaginative, fun, and courageous.

I also think about how he was so much to so many; a son, brother, husband, father, grandfather, great grandfather, student, teacher, soldier, friend, lover, collector, musician, engineer, inventor, storyteller, and most recently a poet.

The Well

By Howard Prochaska

Life is a deep well.

How deep?

No one can tell.

Go forward and be prepared to encounter some strife on the road of life.

The road of life is long.

Is it marked?

Yes, with a lot of different stops.

But look for the good ones, not the bad, keep on going, and don't stop.

The road may be bumpy; some are big, and some are small.

Sometimes, the bumps are too big, and the road is too rough;

It can get uncomfortable when there's a lot of strife and pain in your life.

But drive on, turn around, go to the next turn to see what's there.

Oh, look over there!

What do you see?

It could be anything that you want it to be. Go after it and see what you come up with.

It could be something; it could be nothing.

Keep on going until you run out of gas; find the next station.

There's more fuel out there that you don't even know about.

Keep going, and you will find it because that's where life is;

Never-ending, immeasurable, not definable, but it's there, so go…

What My 97-Year-Old Dad Taught Me About Death, Love and Legacy

A journey that wasn’t quite ‘Tuesdays with Morrie,’ but it was ours

I think I’m holding it together until someone asks me how I’m doing. Then I cry.

My father died 14 days ago, late in the evening, the day after Christmas. He lay in his hospital bed at home, stretched out in a supine position, quietly in pain, yet at peace. This was where he wanted to take his final breath. Thanks to my selfless sister, his wish to pass away at home became a reality at 97 years of age.

During his final days, my father stayed in the TV room — the room that had become his sanctuary over the last year of his life. It was filled with photos of days gone by, capturing cherished moments of him and my mom.

Often, he would sit quietly, gazing at a big pillow adorned with her photo from when she was just 25 years old. This room held decades of memories — it was where they once enjoyed meals together, shared wine and martinis with friends, and watched Big Band music performances.

Now, it served as both a place of reflection and the backdrop for his final chapter.

My weak and weary father experienced a steady decline, ultimately leading to his passing. The process unfolded over two depressing weeks, starting when he could no longer lift himself from his well-worn black leather chair, its wooden arms once a source of support.

I stood by him, wanting to assist as I witnessed his frustration and his unstoppable determination, but nonetheless, he couldn’t do it.

After we got him into his brown recliner chair, he never got up again on his own. That’s when we knew it was time for hospice and a hospital bed. This marked the heartbreaking beginning of the end, the moment he stopped eating and drinking.

It was as if his will to engage with life quietly faded away in those moments.

Every Christmas since my mom’s passing, he faced the holidays like a ship without a sail, often saying, “It’s not the same without her.” Mom made Christmas, and without her, it’s just not Christmas.’

Hearing this always broke our hearts — it was a stark reminder of the depth of his grief and the void her absence left in his life.

As a family we listened to his sadness and grief with heavy hearts.

We had all thought that Dad would follow her soon after her death, but instead, he lingered on, often telling us ‘There’s still more for me to do.’

Those words carried both a sense of purpose and a quiet defiance against the pull of his grief, even as his heart remained tethered to her memory.

My parents had been married for almost 70 years when my mom passed away from her strokes, and it seemed my dad had lost his will to live. Yet something deep within him told him to keep going.

This paradox was confusing for me and some of my siblings — we often wondered why he would want to continue living when he so openly said he longed to die. His body was fragile, his grief for my mom was overwhelming, yet his mind remained sharp.

They had been together since my mom was 17 and my dad was 19, inseparable for a lifetime.

How does one ever survive the loss of a love like that?

My dad was incredibly strong and stubborn, qualities that seemed to fuel his will to keep going and continue doing good for the family.

He carried a deep concern for all of us — his children, 17 grandchildren, and 19 great grandchildren. The world he saw around him felt increasingly negative, unfamiliar, and deeply saddening to him.

Yet, his love for his family and his desire to protect and guide us kept him anchored, even as his body grew frail.

Mom and dad raised all eight of us during the 1950s through the 1970’s, building a successful and happy life together after the war era.

Dad worked multiple jobs to make ends meet, while pursuing his education at Purdue University and later UCLA. Meanwhile mom stayed home during the day to care for the ever growing brood and sold silverware in the evenings.

The children — well, they just kept coming, thanks to Catholic religious law and their unwavering faith.

In his later years, Dad was deeply troubled by the changes he saw unfolding in the world. He felt that our peace, environment, safety, privacy, economy, and even the family unit were being systematically destroyed.

He often asked, ‘Why isn’t anyone getting married anymore? Why are so many people getting divorced?’

He couldn't comprehend how we were meant to live in a world that, to him, had gone completely mad.

It broke his heart — and, in truth, he hated it.

It was as if he were watching his own life shatter into pieces after decades of living the good life. He longed for the blessings he had experienced to be passed down to his children, as all parents do.

Living nearly 97 years, he had witnessed dramatic growth and change in every aspect of life. Yet, he never could have imagined that the American Dream — something he had worked so hard to achieve — would collapse and become so elusive for future generations.

As I take a deep breath, I sigh, feeling the weight of the deep sadness he carried. It lingers with me, a reminder of how deeply he loved and how profoundly he grieved for what was lost.

Even through these feelings of loss and disillusionment, he continued to inspire his family, grandchildren and great grandchildren. His influence extended far beyond our family, touching the lives of countless people he encountered over the years.

In many ways, he was a man who truly believed that anything was possible — and that belief became a cornerstone of his legacy.

As Dad was laid to rest, family and friends shared heart warming stories of the positive impact he had on their lives. Hearing their stories reminded me of the complexity of our relationship. Even through the dark, and difficult feelings, the challenging emotions and the moments of friction I experienced with him — alongside the good ones, of course — I was struck by the truth of who he was.

He was a kind, moral man of integrity, wanting the best for everyone, while doing the best he could with what he knew and where he was in life.

Dad is a beautiful, pure soul of love, just like the rest of us. When we can see beyond our human parts and frailties, our innocence rises along with our love for one another. Sometimes, we simply forget that we are all just walking each other home with love.

In the last two years of my fathers life he became quietly introspective, softer and more loving. He even began writing funny poems, a hobby that seemed to reflect his evolving outlook.

Over time, those poems deepened, blossoming into reflections that were more serious, contemplative, and profoundly philosophical. Each one was a reflection of his thoughts and emotions.

He loved to share them with us, reciting them aloud, often tweaking the words slightly with each retelling, as if searching for just the right expression of what was in his heart in the moment.

One of the last pieces Dad wrote about was what he called the

Powerful P’s With Prochaska as our Czech last name, it was the foundation for a list of virtues to embody our family’s legacy.

These Powerful P’s were also Dads final wishes for us.

He wanted his family to embrace

Peace

Prayer

Patience

Perseverance

Purpose

all anchored by persistence and boundless love for one another.

It’s a simple request from a profoundly powerful and loving father, yet living these virtues can feel like an uphill climb in the fast-paced, emotionally charged, chaotic world we navigate today.

But these guiding principles, gifted to us by his wisdom, will become my own North Star. As I gaze at the night sky he so deeply cherished, I’ll see each sparkling star as a shining reminder of him — of his love, his strength, and the enduring importance of this way of being.

His light will guide me, just as it always has, even now.