Charles Patterson

I was born in Santa Monica, California, earned a BS degree in biochemistry at California State Polytechnic University in San Luis Obispo in 1962, and an MD at the University of Louisville School of Medicine in 1966. I completed a psychiatry residency at Rollman Psychiatric Institute in Cincinnati in 1970. My working career consisted of private practice in five locations, six fulltime employed positions, and included eighteen hospital staff memberships, sixteen professional titles, and membership in twelve professional organizations; and unintentionally grew into a nomadic life style. My career goal was to learn as much as possible about normal human nature, in addition to make a living. Now my goal has extended to understanding as much as possible, especially life and death. I wrote a newsletter about psychiatry for the general reader to support my practice in Arizona, and consolidated it into my first book in 1984. From that my interest in writing grew along with interest in horse care that was stimulated by my wife’s interest in endurance riding. We enjoyed the sport together during our thirty years of marriage, until we retired in 2008 to an equestrian community near Tehachapi, California, with three horses, two dogs and four cats, and a plan to rejoin the sport, but without realizing they all had become too old. The subsequent loss of my wife to ovarian cancer in 2010, and much of the animal herd, reawakened my interest in the process of death and the potential for “life after death,” that continues to motivate my writing and study.

Articles:

The Alzheimer’s Experience, Part I: ‘Which Island is This?’

Henry Van Winkle came out of the men’s room and sat down in front of his-half empty glass of beer at the small table nearest the promenade. The distinguished look of his full head of gray hair and neatly trimmed gray beard was not diminished by his wildly-colored floral shirt. “Boy, that was a big place,” he thought as he took another sip, “. . . but come to think of it, this is an airport . . . restrooms are usually big in airports. I wonder which one?” He noticed his loose flowered shirt and the floral lei […]

The Alzheimer’s Experience, Part II: ‘He Was Such a Strong, Proud Man’

“Henry hasn’t been that bad,” Mrs Van Winkle reported to Dr Miller. “The only big problem is he wakes up at night and thinks it’s morning. Then he wakes me up to fix breakfast, and I can’t get back to sleep. I can’t understand why he thinks it’s morning when it’s still dark.” “I’ll prescribe a sleeping pill for him and see you both in a week to see how it works.” Next visit she came in alone, in tears. “The sleeping pill worked fine,” she sobbed, “but now he wets the bed.” “That only means the pill’s too strong. […]

Shades of Grief: How Personal Traits Influence Our Grief

The popular press is full of articles about how your personality type affects your happiness and success. Please ignore them–also the official diagnostic manual of the American Psychiatric Association. A technical diagnosis may help a professional help you, but to look it up may be confusing and do more harm than good. Everyone is different. Your personality is the sum total of all the habits of behavior that you’ve learned during your lifetime. Some are just little mannerisms and others are complex, aesthetically and morally chosen responses to major life events. The number of possible habits, or traits, you […]

Shades of Grief: Culture Shapes Our Mourning

Apple recently developed a screen with a billion different colors and advertised it as an improvement. It may be on iPad, or iMac, or both. But who cares? We already own screens with plenty of colors. We didn’t buy them for the colors. We bought them for data processing, mainly words, and news. News often comes in pictures, but we want the information, not the colors. A little color adds information, and interest, but a little is enough. You think Apple will sell many new screens? In grief, we want to work through the process and come out the […]

Shades of Grief: How Do We Know What’s Normal?

Everyone grieves differently. We’re all individuals. No two people are exactly the same biologically or psychologically. Even your “identical” twin is different–if you have one. You both came from the same set of genes, but when that set divided into the two of you, accidents may have happen: little accidents that don’t prevent a good life, or big ones that end life. You may have had a twin that you never met. And, everyone’s course of growth and development follows a different path from conception to death. The fall of every raindrop follows a different route from cloud to […]

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