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ST. PETERSBURG - It became their routine. Alison Ligon and her father, Dr. Julius Ligon Jr., would hop in his brown Mercedes and head for the Hurricane Seafood Restaurant on St. Pete Beach.
They would order fried grouper sandwiches and watch the sunset as sea gulls searched for their own fish dinner. He would drive when she was little, but soon she had to slide behind the wheel instead because of the disease that would later lead to his death.
"It was our getaway," said 31-year-old Ligon about one of her fondest memories with her dad. "As I grew up, we watched it change from a sand trap to a full-fledged restaurant."
Ever since she was 3, her father, the dentist, struggled with multiple sclerosis. First, he could no longer use his hands and had to give up his practice. Slowly over the years, his body withered on the inside.
He died June 6. He was buried Thursday after a ceremony at the First Baptist Institutional Church, where family, friends and church members reflected not on Dr. Ligon's death but his inspiration. During one musical prayer, a young man sang so loudly the speakers crackled.
For 28 years, Dr. Ligon had lived in a body that was slowly dying even as he and his family kept leading a strong life.
Once an All-American football and basketball player in high school and college, Dr. Ligon still retained a strong build after he was diagnosed in 1976, even after his body started to fail him internally.
When 59-year-old Dr. Ligon died after respiratory complications and infections during a hospital visit, his family accepted his death through their faith.
"I'm blessed that I had a big brother that became my friend," said Michelle Ligon, Julius' younger sister and a lawyer in St. Petersburg.
Through the years, Dr. Ligon first relied on a cane, then crutches, a wheelchair and a motorized chair, which he could easily maneuver.
According to the Multiple Sclerosis Association of America, the disease attacks the central nervous system, where it damages the protective covering around the nerves. It then leads to a lack of communication between the nerves and brain, causing limbs to become numb. Although 75 percent of people who have the disorder don't need wheelchairs, MS affects everyone differently.
"Usually people who lead more active and stressful lives experience a faster progression of the disorder," Michelle Ligon said. "So while it was a curse that Julius' hands went first since he was a dentist, it was a blessing that he stopped practicing."
In 1972, Dr. Julius Ligon moved to St. Petersburg, his ex-wife's hometown, after completing dental school in Nashville. He fell in love with the beach and sea gulls over Tampa Bay. He fell in love with the pelicans, the pink sunsets and the gulf view. He also fell in love with the community.
"He was warm, genuine and captivating, and you didn't have to be around him long to realize that," said Alison Ligon, who is now a college professor in Atlanta.
When Dr. Ligon opened his dental practice on historic 22nd Street S, people visited the dentist even when there was nothing wrong with their teeth.
Five years after starting his practice, he had to retire after MS left his hands numb.
"(His brother) Reggie became his hands and I became his legs," said Michelle, referring to how they would place Dr. Ligon's motorized wheelchair in the back of the specially equipped van.
Reggie Ligon, five years younger than Julius, was never too far behind in anything. While growing up in Terre Haute, Ind., he wanted to pick up his brother's sweaty football helmet in high school and wear it. He followed him to Indiana State University and to dental school, and also settled in St. Petersburg.
"Anything he did, I wanted to do," said Reggie Ligon, a dentist in St. Petersburg. "He was my mentor and guiding light, so I always looked up to him. "When he became debilitated and couldn't do things for himself, there was mental anguish," he said, his smile fading. "But we wanted to do anything to make him comfortable."
Even with MS, Dr. Ligon never missed exciting milestones. When his nephew Brian Ligon played on a championship Lakewood High School basketball team, his family drove him to some of the games.
MS has no cure, but scientists and doctors have recently developed medications that can disrupt the disorder's path by altering the immune system. Dr. Ligon received treatments as technology and medications advanced, but since treatment can't reverse the disease, it focused on alleviating symptoms.
With unpredictable symptoms came continuous prayers. "A day didn't pass without my dad and our family giving thanks for life," said Alison Ligon. "His positivity is something I'll always learn from."
When Dr. Ligon was unable to play basketball or grill his favorite meal - pineapple steak - his sister remembers how he found joy in other things.
He adored jazz and the comedian Richard Pryor, who also has MS. "He was able to explore other aspects of life like his spirituality and communicating who he was to people without saying a word. That was the greatest gift," Michelle Ligon said. "We all have trials in our life, whether it's illness, work or relationships. You can either live in the challenge or you can find your way beyond it, and Julius found his way beyond it."