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A place where friends and family can celebrate the life of Dr. Paul Fernhoff. Please email admin@rememberpaulfernhoff.com with stories, pictures, or comments and they will be posted below.

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Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Eulogy for Dr. Paul Fernhoff

Eulogy for Dr. Paul Fernhoff

Given by Karen Grinzaid


Debbie asked me to talk about Paul on behalf of Emory Genetics.  Thank you, Debbie, for this great honor.  Paul was not only my colleague and mentor, but also a special friend for past 25 years.     
Many of us are aware of Paul’s great accomplishments.  After graduating from Jefferson Medical College, he did his residency at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, spent 2 years at the CDC in Public Health, and then did his post doc fellowship in Medical Genetics at Emory.  He joined the Emory faculty in 1978 and worked tirelessly over the next 32 years providing care for children, adults and families with genetic diseases.  He was an excellent diagnostician but never lost sight of the need for effective treatments and disease prevention programs.  He was intimately involved with Georgia’s Newborn Screening Program.  He was medical director of our Lysosomal Storage Disease Center and was principal investigator for over 20 clinical trials to advance therapies for these conditions.  He also served as Medical Director of the Atlanta Jewish Gene Screen, a program aimed at carrier screening and prevention of genetic diseases in the Ashkenazi Jewish community. In his spare time, he served as Medical Director of the Pediatric Program of Hospice Atlanta and worked closely with the March of Dimes.  
I started working at Emory as a genetic counselor in 1986, before some of our newer counselors were even born!  I think the first words Paul ever said to me were, “Wait, just a second, I have to get coffee and then we can talk.”
It was right after he had his coffee that I knew that he was the go-to geneticist for practical answers and that, no matter how busy he was, he would be patient and thoughtful with his answers.  His patients loved him for his expertise and knowledge, but most importantly for his compassion and understanding of their situations.  He knew how to bring complicated information to the family’s level and, at the same time, help them cope with what was often painful news.  
Paul was our biggest advocate and our wisest teacher.  He lead us full steam ahead, but then helped us to slow down and ask the important questions.
Paul was also a great friend to me and many others in the Division.  With his warm nature and a laugh like no other, he made work feel like home and our group feel like family.   He was the one to sit next to at LONG genetics meetings.   If I had to pick one word to describe Paul, it would have to be a mensch.  For those of you who are not familiar with this Yiddish word, a mensch is a person of great integrity and honor.  Paul was a mensch in every sense of the word and that is how we will always remember him.
I believe that as geneticists, we are all fairly good at math.  If we add up the 80+ hours a week that Paul was at work or on call, his time traveling to research and other meetings, his time volunteering at various  events, and his time with family, our calculations show that he had very little time to sleep.  While losing him is painful for all of us, we know that he is now in good hands and that he will surely rest in peace.  
To Debbie, Shana, David, Nathaniel and the rest of the family, we know how much Paul loved you.  He bragged about all of you at work.  Over the years, we watched the transition of family photos in his office go from Nathaniel in his baseball uniform, to Shana at graduation, to what is now the Talia shrine!  Thank you for sharing your husband and dad with us.  He helped and inspired us in so many ways.  May you be comforted among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.
Paul, we will always feel your presence, your tireless spirit and your boundless energy.  You are not with us physically any more but your legacy will live on with us forever.  As Shel Silverstein says in his poem Years From Now, “I cannot see your face but in some far-off place, I hear you laughing — and I smile”.

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