To the world, Patricia’s father was a sailor – a brave man who crossed oceans and weathered storms for his country. To her, he was Dodger baseball games, fishing trips, father-daughter dances, and steady hands on uncertain days. She never imagined that something he couldn’t see – something buried deep within the very ships he served on – would be what took him from her.
From Kentucky Roots to Naval Ranks
Sherman Frost was born in the small town of Scottsville, Kentucky—a quiet place where the values of hard work, family, and resilience ran deep. His early years were marked by profound loss; both of his parents passed away before he turned nine, leaving him in the care of his grandparents. As the country reeled from the devastating attack on Pearl Harbor, a young
Sherman, still just a boy, felt a fire ignite within him. He, like so many others of his generation, saw military service not just as a duty, but as a calling. The moment he was old enough, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy. His decision wasn’t born of glory or recognition—it came from a deep sense of patriotism and a desire to protect the country that had already taken so much from him, but still gave him something to fight for.
Once enlisted, Sherman was stationed in Long Beach, California, a world away from the rolling hills of his Kentucky childhood. It was while there, amidst the bustle of military life, that he met the love of his life—Maria. Together, they would go on to raise five daughters – Patricia, Marie, Debra, Pearl, and Donna – each of whom would come to know their father not just as a Navy serviceman, but as a steady, loving presence who anchored their world.
“My earliest memory with my father is sitting with him in his reclining chair when I was 3-years-old. I did this with him until I was too old to fit anymore,” Patricia said. “I remember following him everywhere he went. I was definitely a daddy’s girl.”
A Father to Many
Sherman’s unwavering dedication to the Navy came with great personal sacrifice—most deeply felt at home. The long deployments, often lasting six to nine months at a time, gradually took a toll on his marriage. When he and Maria ultimately separated, Sherman made a life-altering decision: he left the Navy so he could be fully present for his daughters. He knew there was time to make up for, and he embraced that second chance with open arms and a full heart. Fatherhood became his mission. Fridays turned into cherished adventures—drives to admire the grand houses in town, lazy afternoons by the water, impromptu picnics, and fishing trips that were more about laughter than the catch.
After leaving military life behind, Sherman took a job as a maintenance mechanic for the city’s sewer department, and even then, he found ways to weave his family into his days. Patricia often rode along with him on his routes, turning workdays into treasured moments of bonding.
Sherman’s devotion to family didn’t end with his daughters—it grew deeper and wider as his family tree expanded. He cherished his grandchildren and great-grandchildren with the same fierce love and gentle spirit that had always defined him. To them, he wasn’t just a grandfather—he was a constant, a storyteller, a protector, and a source of unwavering support. But Sherman’s love wasn’t confined to bloodlines. To friends, neighbors, and even acquaintances, he became affectionately known as “everyone’s grandpa.” His home was a safe haven for those in need—a place where anyone down on their luck could find a warm meal, a soft bed, or simply a listening ear. Whether he was paying a phone bill so someone could stay connected, giving a neighbor’s child a ride to school, or stepping in with quiet acts of kindness, Sherman gave of himself without hesitation or expectation.
“He was the center of everyone’s world,” Patricia said. “He took care of everyone, family or not.”
A Little Shortness of Breath
In 2014, Sherman began experiencing shortness of breath—a quiet, creeping symptom he brushed off with a sense of humor. “I probably need one of those oxygen tanks,” he’d joke, never one to let worry take root. But as the months passed, the symptoms grew harder to ignore. By May of 2015, the breathlessness worsened and a sharp pain settled in his chest. Concerned, his daughters took him to urgent care, where doctors discovered his lungs were filled with fluid. They urged him to follow up immediately with his physician. By June, the breathing trouble became too much to bear. He was taken to the hospital and admitted, his strong, enduring body now showing signs of something far more serious. After a series of diagnostic tests, Sherman and his family received the devastating news: he had mesothelioma. The diagnosis was as heartbreaking as it was shocking—an unforgiving illness silently caused by asbestos exposure decades earlier during his time in the Navy. It was a cruel turn for a man who had spent his life serving others, only to learn that his service had come at an unthinkable cost.
From Sea to Silence
During his time in the Navy, Sherman served as a machinist’s mate—a role that took him deep into the heart of the ships he called home. In the engine rooms and mechanical spaces, he worked tirelessly to keep the vessels running, often in tight, poorly ventilated quarters surrounded by pipes, valves, and insulation laden with asbestos. Day in and day out, he performed his
duties with pride, unaware that the very materials he worked around would one day betray him. Like so many of his fellow servicemen, Sherman had no reason to question the safety of his environment; he believed in the mission, in the camaraderie, and in the honor of serving his country. And he was proud—deeply proud—of every moment he spent in uniform. It never crossed his mind that decades later, those same ships, that same unwavering commitment, would lead to such a devastating diagnosis.
Saying Goodbye
Before her father’s diagnosis, Patricia had only heard the word mesothelioma in passing—usually during commercials on television that seemed distant and impersonal. Nothing could have prepared her for what it would truly mean for her family, or for the way it would ravage the strong, steady man she had always known as invincible. Watching her father—a man who had survived hardship, war, and years of physically demanding work—begin to weaken before her eyes was a heartbreak she couldn’t have imagined. Each labored breath, each moment of discomfort, reminded her that this wasn’t just a diagnosis. It was a cruel and aggressive disease that stripped him of the vitality he had so selflessly poured into others his entire life. What Patricia once thought of as a far-off illness became all too real, all too fast—and it changed everything.
“The disease progressed so quickly,” she said. “Seeing him in the state he was in was shocking. The person we saw in that hospital bed was not my dad. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. He was a shadow of who he once was.”
Sherman’s mesothelioma progressed with devastating speed. By the time doctors fully understood the extent of the disease, there were no curative options left—they told his family it was time to bring him home on hospice. Just three months after his diagnosis, Sherman passed away, leaving behind a legacy of love, resilience, and sacrifice—and a family forever changed by the injustice of losing him too soon.
“I didn’t just lose my dad, I lost my best friend,” Patricia said. “He was my whole life.”
Justice for Sherman
Before his passing, Sherman’s thoughts were with his family—and with the injustice that had stolen his health. He urged his daughters to take action, to hold someone accountable for the suffering he had endured. Honoring his wishes, they reached out to SWMW Law, a firm known for fighting on behalf of asbestos victims. From the very beginning, the team treated Sherman’s story with the urgency and respect it deserved. They dug deep into his Navy service, his work history, and the exposures that led to his diagnosis. With tireless dedication and unwavering compassion, SWMW Law built a powerful case—and succeeded in securing justice for Sherman and his family. The damages awarded could never bring him back, but they stood as a symbol of accountability, and a small measure of peace for a man who gave so much, only to have so much taken from him.
“What happened to my father was wrong,” Patricia said. “He was healthier than most people and I know we could have had him for several more years if he wasn’t exposed to asbestos so many years ago. It’s wrong that he wasn’t told how dangerous it was, how they were more concerned with the mighty dollar and cutting corners instead of doing what was right and safe.
“We didn’t need the money, we needed our dad. And we would gladly give it all back to have him here with us.”
Remembering Her Father
Sherman’s fate was tragically familiar—one shared by far too many Navy veterans unknowingly exposed to asbestos during their service. Mesothelioma took more than just his health; it stripped away his strength, his voice, and eventually his physical presence, leaving behind a man almost unrecognizable from the father he once was. But that’s not how Patricia remembers him.
In her heart, Sherman will always be the father who held her close in his big reclining chair, the proud sailor who found peace and purpose on the open sea, and the man who twirled her around the dance floor at father-daughter dances with a smile that could light up a room. Her memories aren’t of illness—they’re of love, laughter, and the quiet, steady comfort of knowing she was always cherished. Even in his final moments, Sherman’s legacy was never about what he lost—it was about everything he gave.
