Tragedy That Can’t Be Real

On Wednesday, April 17, 2024, I felt my world collapse. I was in Chicago on a work trip when I started receiving phone calls from unfamiliar numbers. Eventually, I answered one—it was my dad’s home health nurse. She said she hadn’t seen him during her last few visits that week and wanted to check in. I told her it was completely normal for Dad to sleep during the day and asked if both of his vehicles were there. She said they were, so I reassured her that he was probably asleep—he often didn’t want to be bothered during the day anyway.

About 30 minutes later, I got a call from my sister. She said the neighbor had contacted her and asked her to come by the house. Something didn’t sit right with me, so I asked what the neighbor needed. She said she didn’t know but was headed over there. I decided to call the neighbor myself—I needed to know what was going on.

Here’s some backstory: In January 2024, Dad had been hospitalized and placed in a 21-day rehab program at a local nursing home but this was the last part of a road that lasted a few months, and for a while, we didn’t know if he’d ever be able to live on his own again. Thankfully, he eventually returned home—and he only lived a few minutes from me.

When I spoke with the neighbor, I asked if Dad was okay. Without saying much, he handed the phone to a police officer. The officer told me he had been dispatched for a wellness check and asked how I was related to the resident. I told him that was my dad and gave him his name. Then he said words I’ll never forget: “Sir, there’s no easy way to tell you this—your dad has passed away.”

That moment is still vivid. I remember the numbness and the wave of panic that hit me. My first thought was, “I can’t let Mandy find out when she gets there—I need to be the one to tell her.” I called her and said, “Mandy, it’s Dad.” When she asked what was wrong, all I could say was, “He’s gone.”

Next, I called my friend, the county coroner, and asked him to please take the call when it came through—it was my dad. I told him I was in Chicago and trying to get home as fast as I could.

I walked back into the office and told my peer I needed to talk. He asked if everything was okay. I put my hands over my head and said, “No—I’ve got to go home. My dad passed away.” My manager called right away and asked how he could help. I told him I needed to get home but didn’t know how to book a flight that quickly. He found the first available flight, and by 10:00 PM that night, I was back home.

On the way to the airport, I had received phone calls and text messages and it was so overwhelming that I didn’t know where I was going and i didn’t know what to say. I was numb and cried. I just wanted to get home and see my dad. I spoke with another friend who had gone to pick up Dad and take him to the funeral home. I begged him to let me see Dad when I got home, no matter how late it was. But he gently told me that under no circumstance should I see him, and that I needed to remember him the way he was. That conversation is what first got me asking questions and trying to piece together a timeline.

The last time I spoke to Dad was Thursday, April 11th, and my sister had spoken with him the next day, on Friday the 12th. She told me she tried calling him on Saturday, but there was no answer—the phone went straight to voicemail. The coroner believes he passed away from a heart attack on Saturday, and said it was “textbook.”

The hardest part—the part that still haunts me—is knowing that my dad lay there for days before anyone found him. I think back to those days, remembering what I was doing—living life as normal, not knowing he was already gone. The guilt of that is hard to put into words.

For a few weeks, I wrestled with uncertainty about where Dad was spending eternity. Then, a few weeks after his passing, I had the most vivid dream. I was sitting in his apartment, and we were laughing and joking like always. Then he leaned in and said, “Son, I know you need to know this—so I want you to know I’m okay.” Since that night, I’ve had peace.

And when I look back, more pieces fall into place. Just a few weeks before all of this, I was visiting him. We were sitting on the couch watching TV when he turned to me and said, “I want you to know how proud I am of you and Mandy. You both make me so happy to be your dad.”

This was a tragedy, and even now—it still doesn’t feel real.