Longtime Texan and loving father Curt Thure Pearson died Saturday, Jan. 13, following complications after surgery. He was 87.
He died peacefully in a Hospice bed in Houston, just hours after family members got to see him one more time.
A memorial service will be held Thursday, Jan. 18, at 11 A.M. in the sanctuary of Second Baptist Church, 6400 Woodway, Houston, Texas, with a reception to follow. Interment will be Friday, Jan. 19, at 10:30 A.M. at Houston National Cemetery with military honors.
Curt was a great, colorful man, the kind they just don't make anymore, the very definition of the Greatest Generation. Born Dec. 27, 1919, in Sweden, he came to the United States in 1925 and grew up on Long Island, New York, where his dad built many houses. He got a mechanical engineering degree from Lafayette College, flew B-29s during World War II, fell in love with Texas and then moved here after the war. He was part of numerous industrial projects in Southeat Texas and beyond. He married my mother in June 1962. They never moved from the Houston home they moved into on their wedding night. He leaves behind his wife, Marion, three children, me, Kristen and Caren, and six grandchildren, Caleb, Alexa, Curt, Luke, Michael and Courtney.
Despite being a full-blooded Swede, he was more a Texan than John Wayne on his best John Wayne day.
One of 13 founding members of the Texas Army, he built muzzleloaders, was a silversmither and enjoyed competing in pistol competitions. He was also an avid golfer and hunter and loved the outdoors.
He was a father. He was a dad. He was a loving husband. He was a friend.
We will miss him dearly.
We feel so blessed to have had him in my life as long as we did. He dodged myriad medical bullets over the years, including bladder cancer, prostrate cancer, heart surgery, left carotid artery surgery in 1995 and three hip surgeries.
The odds were against him just before Thanksgiving as he had surgery to remove plaque from his right carotid artery. Typically, surgeons for carotid artery procedures deal with blockage between 80 percent and 90 percent, with the plaque typically 1 inch long. In dad's case, he had 98 percent blockage, and the plaque was 4 inches long and ran into the brain, where surgeons could not go.
The surgeon thought he'd gotten it all, but apparently a small, raised-up piece - called a flap - snapped off up in his brain and remained stuck to the artery wall. Here, a clot formed, cutting off blood supply to the brain's right side. Due to a hematoma at the incision sight, it was necessary for a breathing tube to be inserted. Subsequently, a compromised brain in addition to a tube-related respiratory infection as well as infections throughout the body, partially caused by his immobility, caused his organs to just shut down.
The past month and a half were hard on our family, because even up until the end, there was hope that this tough, brave man would somehow pull through, but when his kidneys started failing early last week, we knew we were going to lose him. During this time, fond memories of my father have been flooding our minds. We're remembering little things that we haven't thought of in years.
As a family, it's our duty to keep his memory alive, live up to his example and ensure that our children his story along to the next generation.

- Brian Pearson