Peace be with you dad

Like my mom, I think my dad stayed around to give us a chance to hug him and kiss him goodbye.

He was 71 years old (10/25/1945) and he died peacefully, in his sleep, surrounded by his children on Wednesday, April 12th at 2:35pm, at the Denver Hospice Center at Lowry.

Dad celebrating his 70th Birthday!

Although he never was a drinker, my dad was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver about three years ago. Towards the end of last year, he started to feel some of the symptoms associated with the late stage of the disease. On January 5th, we took him to the ER with low blood pressure, sugar counts, and dehydration - finding that his kidney function was about 20%. After a five day hospital stay, including treatment with lots of fluids, removing him from diabetic and high blood pressure medication, and a blood transfusion, my dad was released from the hospital and sent to a rehabilitation center to work on regaining his physical strength. When he came home, he was able to care for himself and walked well with the assistance of a cane, but he never was the same after that hospital visit. His energy level, and often, his balance, had noticeably decreased.

In the past couple weeks, dad had mentioned to us that he was "tired" and that he thought mom needed him. I find some solace in knowing that he felt her presence and she came back to be with him on this journey. Dad stayed with us for six years after mom died, and he gave it his all. He spent as much time as he could with his kids and grandchildren, and would go to any event he was invited to. He did a little bit of traveling, and loved every minute of it. And - he learned to enjoy food other than meat and potatoes or beans and rice! It's funny, because I think dad almost prided himself on being a "grumpy" old man, often referencing that he was compared to me as a "social butterfly" when we both worked at RTD and saying that people would look confused and ask him skeptically, "she's your daughter?". But as it turns out, dad loved not just his family, but his friends and our (his kids) friends. He was affectionately called "Papa Joe" and "dad" by many of them. Recollections of stays at the "Rivera Hotel", trips with friends to places as close as Blackhawk, Las Vegas, and Puerto Vallarta, to as far as New Zealand, dinner parties, and how "cool Senior Rivera" was for taking a bunch of my co-workers home after a company party have been a blessing to hear. And of course, how everyone felt welcome and like family at my mom and dad's home. One person told me - "I never liked someone so much who gave me such a hard time." And wasn't that the truth. If my dad liked you, I'm sure you were a victim of his sarcasm at some point. This particular person, he liked quite a lot.