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Remembering My First Valentine: My Dad

Prevent a broken heart by taking care of yours.

I’d like to dedicate this column to my very first Valentine – my dad. Nearly 11 years ago, my dad passed away from a massive heart attack. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him and wish that he were still here.

Growing up, I was the youngest of six children. My parents always worked very hard to take care of us. My mom was a teacher and my dad worked as a metallurgical engineer for U.S. Steel, traveling quite often. I remember when I was little, I couldn’t wait for my dad to get home from work. He convinced us that he had recess at work and the moment he walked in the door we asked what game he played that day – some days it was hopscotch or dodgeball and others it was kickball or tag.

During my school years, he was always available to help me with my worst subject: math. Whether it was algebra, geometry or trigonometry he was always there to help me. Even if he was out of town, I would call him at night and he would help me over the phone, always very patient, even when I would be crying out of frustration.

When I found out I was pregnant with the triplets and told my parents, they were over the moon. During the course of my pregnancy as I got further along, they came out a few times to help me with my oldest daughter, Mia, who was three at the time.

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I remember a couple weeks before they were born, my dad came out on his own to spend a week with me. At that point I was miserable. I was so huge that sleeping was impossible and eating was difficult because all my organs, including my stomach, felt like they were all squished together. He would take me to my daily doctor's appointments, entertain Mia and put together all the new furniture for Mia's room. Basically he waited on me hand and foot. Worried that I wasn't eating enough food, he'd make my favorite foods for dinner, including polenta and risotta. And every night, he would bring me a big bowl of moose tracks ice cream - my current craving at the time - and sit with me on the couch. We'd either watch TV, play with Mia, or he would simply listen to me cry and complain about how I uncomfortable I was and rub my back. 

A couple months after they were born, he came out for a week while my husband was out-of-town for work.  The babies had to be fed every three hours and my dad didn't miss a feeding with me. He'd make a giant batch of formula at night and get all the bottles ready for the next day. And as soon as a he heard a baby cry, he was up with me. My son Nick was an especially cranky baby, but somehow my dad had the magic touch with him. He could immediately calm him down and calm me down when I was completely frazzled.

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I will never forget all those hours spent with him in the middle of the night, just talking about everything and nothing. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to get them back. 

About a month after that visit, and a week before my entire family was supposed to come to Woodridge for the babies' Christenings,  my dad was spending a summer Saturday morning in his favorite place - in his gardens. He sat down on the porch to take a break and died from heart attack. I was devastated. A year earlier he had a quadruple bypass and did exactly everything he was supposed to do - exercise, eat well and take his medications.

The reason why I am sharing this story now is that February is American Heart Month. Cardiovascular diseases, including stroke, are the number one killer in the nation. Everyone should take a few minutes and educate themselves on this silent killer and what they can do to help prevent it or cut their risks.

Take a moment to see if you are at risk for heart disease and check out the warning signs of hearts attacks, strokes and cardiac arrest. Finally, take a few moments to see how heart-healthy savvy you are.  

Happy Valentine's Day, dad! You will always be in my heart.

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