To My Father

To My Father

Melissa J. Dallago

“My father was patient and kind.  He did not envy, nor boast.  He was proud of his wife and daughter.  He was never self-seeking, was never rude and never easily angered.  He kept no record of wrongs.  My father's love never failed!”

I modified 1 Corinthians 13:4 as a tribute to my father.  I read these words at the luncheon we had after his funeral, which was the second hardest day of my life; the first being the day my father died.

My father's name is Justin.  He came into my life when I was sixteen as my step-father and exited it as my father.  My dad did all of the things that a father does for a daughter.  He taught me how to take care of my car, gave me advice on life and was extremely protective of me when the boys I dated misbehaved.  My fondest memory is from my senior prom when my dad was my chauffer for the evening.  He had his car detailed and even rented a chauffer's cap to complete the part.  I remember my prom with such pride in how handsome he looked.

My dad's health issues began in 1995 when he underwent a quadruple heart bypass.  After the surgery, he was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease that led to kidney failure.   My dad began hemodialysis in 1997 which became the mainstay of his life for the next 17 years.

My dad was lively, energetic, and loving.  He always helped friends and family and was compassionate to everyone.  He had a quiet dignity and was extremely well respected.  My dad had volunteered to serve in the army as an engineer during the Vietnam War and that military bearing carried forward throughout the rest of his life.  He was precise and organized.  His favorite motto was "measure twice, cut once," when it came to doing any projects around the house.

To show how precise he was, I can remember when I came home from work one day to find that my dad had hung shelves in my bedroom.  As I began to put my knick knacks on the shelves they slid off the shelf and onto the floor.  I took a closer look and saw that the shelves weren’t level.  I told my dad that my shelves were crooked, and he said with such vehemence that there was no way they were crooked because he had precisely measured before he had hung them.  To demonstrate the crookedness, I placed a small item on the lower shelf and watched as it promptly slid to the floor.  He gave me a nasty look as I giggled.  He got his tools to re-measure and re-hang the shelves, this time perfectly parallel to the floor, straight as an arrow.  For Christmas that year I found him a Gary Larson "Far Side" comic that pictured an art gallery in which all of the paintings were hung crooked.  The reason for them being hung that way was because the curator had a kinked neck and to him they looked straight, but to the non-kinked neck people they clearly leaned to the right. I wrote in the corner "Justin's Gallery."  We laughed and that cartoon hung on the refrigerator for years.

I applaud my dad for his strength, bravery and never say die attitude when it came to dealing with his health.  He never gave up.  Every time we went to the hospital or faced a critical diagnosis, and there were many, he would do whatever was needed to survive, come hell or high water.  For 17 years he fought.  For 17 years we weathered the storms and still pulled enjoyment from life and our family.  For 17 years we were a safe harbor from the tumultuous storms of disease and the nastiness of life.

My father was diagnosed with peripheral artery disease in 2008.  Over time the circulation in his legs was worsening and the situation turned dire when it was discovered that my dad had a complete blockage in his left leg and his leg was dying from a lack of blood and oxygen.  My dad was admitted to the hospital in July, 2010, and never came home again.

My dad was in the hospital for three months and underwent two surgeries to amputate his left leg to try to save his life.  He underwent months of physical therapy and rehabilitation.  Yet after 17 years of dialysis and a chronic heart condition, his body was tired, and the situation did not look good.

With our support, he decided that he had been fighting for so long and was tired.  His medical conditions were terminal and he felt like he was ready to let go.  He made the courageous decision to stop his medical treatment because his quality of life was only going to worsen.  After he made the decision there was an honor about him.  There was no fear in him and no fear in us.

We were gifted with having one last day with my dad.  He had a boundless supply of energy.  We talked about his last wishes and he spoke with friends and family members to say his goodbyes.  We laughed, we loved and said the things that needed to be said; and just listened to the rain.  That day was wonderful and has become a happy memory during a very sad time.  Those were my dad's last pleasures on this earth.

My dad slipped away from us on September 18, 2010.  My mom and I were honored that we were with my dad when he died.  We had been through so much together, fought so many battles, and faced so many challenges that it was only fitting that we were with him at the end, a family for one final moment.

My father was a brave, loving, and wonderful man and he is still missed.