A Father’s Day Tribute — A Year Without My Dad
It’s been about a year since my dad passed away. He died peacefully in the same hospital where I was born — in Atlantic City, NJ.
As this Father’s Day came and went, I knew I had to write something. A tribute. A thank-you. A glimpse of what it means to be a “diabetes dad” — long before the term ever caught on.
My dad was, and always will be, one of my greatest supporters and most powerful sources of inspiration. My younger brother would echo the same, but this isn’t about him (hey, it’s my blog — he can write his own someday). This is about my dad — a man who showed up for me in every possible way, including learning how to be a diabetes dad back when there was no community, no Instagram, and definitely no CGMs.
To borrow a modern slang term, he was the OG of diabetes dads.
Stoic, Stubborn, and Strong as Hell
When you’re a kid, your father is everything — he was for me. Ask a six-year-old what they want to be when they grow up, and chances are they’ll say, “like my dad.”
So when I was diagnosed, I looked to him. Some would say he was stoic — which is precisely how I’d describe him. Not panicked. Not overprotective. Just steady. Steady enough to keep the train on the tracks when our world was derailed.
After my diagnosis, I spent two weeks at Atlantic City Hospital — learning the wrong kind of diabetes education, of course (Type 2… I had Type 1. They’d never had a kid with Type 1 diabetes). My parents brought me home for a week, then transferred me to a children’s hospital for another two weeks. Even with another child at home, my dad (and my mom) made the 90-minute trip up to see me. After I came home, we made that trip often. He never complained.
Advocate Like a Father
When the children’s hospital offered to enroll me in a pivotal clinical trial comparing multiple daily injections (MDI) to standard therapy — a trivia question for you diabetes nerds: What was the landmark diabetes trial in the 1980s that proved intensive management was better than conventional treatment? — My parents were thrilled.
That is, until they learned we wouldn’t get to choose which group I’d be in. We could be stuck on outdated therapy for years.
I still remember sitting in the office at CHOP. The doctors leaned in and said, “Don’t you want what’s best for your child?”
“I sure do,” my dad replied. “We’re out of here.” (This was in fact my first experience with ‘colorful’ language, but I’ll skip that part because I like to keep the blog posts PG).
And just like that, we left. My parents found a new endocrinologist — an adult one, closer to home — who agreed to take me on. That was the day I learned what real advocacy looks like.
Running, Riding, and Rock Star Blood Sugar Checks
He taught me the importance of being active. My running came directly from my father’s influence. As a kid, he played in a squash league, and to stay in shape, he’d run on the boardwalk (rain or shine) while I rode my bike alongside him. As I got older, we eventually traded places — he rode while I ran.
His bike bag always had testing strips, a lancing device, sugar packets (yep, no fancy glucose tabs back then), and graham crackers.
In high school, I started running with a local running group. I didn’t learn until years later that one of the runners — a medical doctor — was a close friend of my dad’s, who kept a watchful eye on me during our runs.
My dad believed in sticking to a plan, no matter what the circumstances. Like the time we mapped out fingerstick checkpoints for my first marathon — my first distance over 10 miles. We planned to test my glucose at several points during the race.
I was on pace to qualify for Boston. When I hit a checkpoint, I didn’t want to slow down. My dad ran alongside me, handed me the lancing device, I slowed just enough to get a drop of blood on the strip, and kept going. He got the reading, ran to the car, drove ahead, sprinted back onto the boardwalk, shouted my number, and tossed me something to eat like a pit crew boss.
Rock star. I qualified for Boston on my first try — and I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for him.
Frugal? Absolutely. Smart? Even More.
In high school and college, I tested a lot before, during, and after races. Diabetes was (and still is) expensive — especially with private insurance. My dad, who ran his own business and paid out of pocket, got creative.
He cut my test strips in half. Literally. With EMT shears.
Yes, oxygen could alter the reading. But we were using color charts to match glucose ranges that spanned 50 mg/dL anyway. (Keep that in mind the next time you complain your sensor’s off by 20.)
The cost savings? Priceless. His DIY solution let me test more often, especially while competing. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. That was Dad.
Make It Work (Even If You Have to Invent It)
My dad was a DIY genius before DIY was cool. He poked holes in garden hoses to irrigate the plants, built squirrel-proof bird feeders, and rigged a shelf system in the garage that would make a contractor jealous.
So when I told him I wanted to test my blood sugar mid-race during a long-distance triathlon — without stopping — he didn’t say, “Why?” He said, “How?”
Together, we rigged a blood glucose meter between my aerobars so I could test while riding. He loved that stuff.
Perseverance Through Adversity
My dad owned a small gift and card shop in Atlantic City. As the casinos rolled in and crushed local businesses, he hung on. He ran it for decades through some rough years.
Eventually, he had to close the shop — at just 52.
But he didn’t sit still. He took a job with the TSA at the local airport. We thought he was nuts. But he said it was a break from the stress of business ownership — and a way to finish what he started.
He’d served 18 years in the reserves before I was born. Two years as a TSA agent brought him to 20 years of federal service — and a pension. Talk about playing the long game.
And Most of All…
He taught me that showing up for your kids matters more than anything.
He once considered expanding the business into malls — back when malls were booming — but ultimately decided against it.
“Some things just aren’t worth it,” he said. I didn’t understand that until I had kids of my own.
My dad always put his kids, and his grandkids, first.
He got sick at the end of June, just before the Children with Diabetes Friends for Life conference in Orlando — our second year attending. I told him I was thinking of skipping it to stay with him in the hospital.
He wouldn’t have it.
“Owen needs this,” he said. “And so do you.”
We got back on a Sunday night. I wasn’t planning to visit the hospital until Tuesday. But Monday morning, my mom called: “You need to come now.”
He passed within minutes of my arrival.
He waited.
Final Thoughts
He taught me to be grateful. He taught me to find faith — in whatever form it takes. And more than anything, he taught me that no matter how often I fumble, he’d always have my back.
I miss him every day.
But he’s still with me — in the choices I make, in how I parent, in how I run, and in every single moment I open a glucose tab mid-race and whisper, “Thanks, Dad.”