On the morning of Friday June 26th, 2026, I had just woken up and was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. My phone was sitting outside of the room, on the banister by our stairs. When I walked into the hallway and checked it, I saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from my sister, Stacey. It was 5:46 AM. My heart sank. Everyone knows that unexpected phone calls from family members in the wee hours of the morning are never good news. It's something we never want to experience. I pushed the play button on the minute-long voice message and listened, dreading what I was about to hear. Stacey informed me that my dad was hospitalized after suffering from breathing issues throughout the night. Long story short, he spent the next few days in the hospital while they ran some tests. He was then sent back to his assisted living facility to be put on hospice, and he died on the morning of July 1st, 2026, the day after he was released from the hospital. I was at work when I got the call and spent my lunch hour in my car crying while on the phone with Stacey.
The day my dad passed away was, to say the least, a difficult one. Despite the blow to my family, I felt a strange combination of emotions: sadness, but also relief. I was deeply saddened that I would never get to see him again. I would miss spending time with him whenever I visited my hometown. But I also felt relieved because he was in a better place and no longer suffering. Prior to his death he struggled with Alzheimer's disease and dementia for several years. We first started noticing the signs in the winter of 2021 when my dad began exhibiting short term memory issues. From there, the memory issues soon evolved into dementia, which progressed quickly. The last time I saw him was in late May. At that point, he was essentially non-verbal, he didn't recognize me, and he didn't know who Samantha and Aidan were. All he could really do was smile at us and wave. Truthfully, I couldn't have asked for anything more, given the circumstances. Unlike my mom's death, which was completely out of nowhere, my dad's death was a long time coming. That didn't necessarily make it any easier, but this time around, I had a chance to brace for impact, so to speak. It took some time for me to wrap my head around it, but as my dad's Alzheimer's disease progressed, I realized that unfortunately, he was never going to be the same again. I essentially spent several weeks mourning my dad after our visit in May because I knew what was eventually coming. It was hard to see my dad like that. During those last couple of years, he definitely wasn't the guy I knew as "Dad". It must have been so hard for him to not be able to speak, walk, or take care of himself on his own during those final days. I was also relieved that he was reunited with my mom. After she passed away in 2005, my dad carried on, but he was never quite the same.
After the initial shock wore off, Stacey and I talked about what we should do in my dad's memory. We agreed that he wouldn't want us to have a traditional funeral with everyone wearing suits in church and standing around being sad. He wasn't that kind of guy. I sure as hell don't want that when I die either. We decided that it would be best to have a celebration of his life. We would plan a gathering for family and friends where we would all get together in memory of my dad by socializing and sharing cool memories, stories, and pictures. My dad had four siblings, and on the day he passed, I called each of my three aunts and my uncle, one by one, and broke the news to them. Of course the were devastated, but each of the phone calls finished up with them sharing funny memories they had of my dad with me, which spawned a lot of laughter. Making those phone calls was surprisingly satisfying. It helped me process all the psychological pain I was feeling. I think sharing good memories of my dad is the best way to cope with his passing. I had a fun time hearing some of them from my aunts and uncle, and here's a few that I have myself.
There's too many to list here from my childhood, but I'll say this: my dad was very involved. The magic of my dad was he was always there. He cared about me and Stacey a lot and he always came through when we needed him. However, an unfortunate trait my dad had was he had a bit of a short fuse, and he had a tendency to let his emotions get the better of him when he was angry. When he was mad at me, he would say hurtful things that cut pretty deep, and still stick with me to this day. During my late teens and early twenties, especially when I was in college, I felt like I was constantly disappointing him. I'm sure he was going through his own issues with grieving with my mom's death, but sometimes I felt like there was nothing I could do to please him. When I graduated from Western, I moved back in with my dad for a little while. On the day that I was to move my stuff out of my college house back to his house, he was planning to drive out and help me pack up. The night before he drove out, I decided I didn't want to disappoint him yet again. I felt I had done enough of that lately. So, I moved all of my stuff all by myself. I put everything in my car that I could, and when my dad arrived, the rest of my stuff was already outside, and all we had to do was get it into his car. He was expecting to spend the whole day moving all my shit out of the house and into our cars, but I had already done the hard part so he didn't have to. When he realized this, for the first time in a while, he actually seemed proud of me. He appreciated all my hard work, which was super validating. A few days later, we drove back to my college town so I could walk across the stage and get my diploma. He was there for that, and I knew he was finally proud of me in that moment as well.
After college, I lived with my dad for about ten months before moving out two days before my twenty-third birthday. He was my biggest supporter during my moves to Chicago and Los Angeles. He knew it was my dream to live in California and he loved that I was chasing that dream. Stacey was living with him at the time that I moved from Chicago to Los Angeles. My dad never discussed this with me directly, but according to Stacey, on the night that he found out I was moving to California, he was awake at 2:00 AM, crying. Stacey said that he told her he was going to miss me and he didn't know if I would ever come back to visit. I didn't want him to feel sad, but the fact that he cried over me moving across the country was proof that he was proud of me and enjoyed having me around. That meant a lot to me. My dad was a tough guy and he had been through a lot over the years. Even though he often exhibited a tough guy persona, he always had a soft sensitive spot underneath that shell. I guess you could say he was like a toasted marshmallow.
Of course, I did come home to visit after I moved to California, and even though we saw each other less often, our time spent together became more meaningful. In fact, some of the best memories I have of my dad were during those times. He was always supportive of my running, and that support truly blossomed when I began running ultramarathons. I recall one particularly funny instance when my dad had to come rescue me after a running adventure mishap in a town on Michigan's west coast. I was in town visiting in March of 2018 and I decided to attempt a 34-mile point to point training run for an upcoming ultramarathon. I borrowed my dad's car and drove to the trailhead just outside of my college town early in the morning. The training run was a success, but when I reached the terminus of the trail in South Haven, I was unable to find an Uber, a taxi, or any other method of transportation back to my dad's car at the other end of the trail. I blame my mishap on myself, for being overly optimistic that South Haven had plenty of Uber drivers and taxis that could take me back to the trailhead in Kalamazoo. Long story short, I sat inside a Dairy Queen in dirty running clothes for three hours while I waited for my dad to drive across the state to rescue me. When he arrived in the parking lot, he rolled down his window. I hugged him through the driver's side window and told him he was the best dad of all time. He gave me that look that dads give their kids as if they're saying "I love you, and I'm glad you're okay, but I kind of want to smack you right now". We all know that look because we've all gotten it from our parents at some point. "Get in the car, you knucklehead" he said with a laugh.
A couple of months after my dad rescued me from South Haven, I called him and told him I was going to travel to Duluth, Minnesota to run a 50-mile race in July. He thought that was awesome and wished me good luck, and then called me back about a week later. "Hey, guess what?" he said. "Stacey and I want to come meet up with you in Duluth when you run your race". I told him that sounded like a cool idea and asked him if they were planning to fly into Minneapolis and drive up to Duluth. "Nah, we'll drive" he said. "From Beverly Hills to Duluth? How long of a drive is that?" I asked. "About eleven hours" my dad replied casually. I was loving this. The fact that my dad and sister were going to drive eleven hours to spend the weekend with me in Minnesota while I hauled my ass along the trail from Carlton to Duluth sent my excitement level through the roof. When that weekend in late July came, Dad and Stacey met up with me at our hotel in Duluth. It seemed surreal to see them there and I was super excited that they were going to get a glimpse into my life as an ultrarunner. We had a nice dinner together, and the next morning, I sat in the passenger's seat of my dad's car with a hot cup of coffee as my dad drove me to the start line in Carlton. After he dropped me off, Dad and Stacey spent the rest of the day exploring the area, and came back to Carlton that evening to see me cross the finish line. The excitement of finishing such a grueling race combined with seeing my family and thinking about how far they came was a powerful emotional high, and I cried as I hugged them. As I hobbled back to my dad's car all battered, sweaty, and dirty, I couldn't help but notice the proud look on Dad's face. It was deeply satisfying.
When I finished the Tahoe Rim Trail 100-miler in July of 2019, I was awarded a custom finisher's belt buckle, a common finisher's award for 100-milers. I gave it to my dad to keep. I wanted him to have it because he deserved it. He was the guy who got me started. He got me outside as a kid, taught me how to ride a bike, played catch with me, shot hoops with me and played tennis with me. He took me on sailing trips, camping trips, and snow trips. When I was a lost kid and discovered skiing and snowboarding, he fully supported my new endeavor. He supported my running and my moves to Kalamazoo, Chicago, and California. He was always there where I needed him. For all this, I love and respect him deeply. The day my dad left us truly marked the end of an era. He paved the way for my whole life to happen, and I will miss him for the rest of my life. I hope he's up in heaven having a great time with everyone else up there and watching over all of us. Rest easy, Dad. Thank you for everything!
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