On Sunday, my father, Michael Borruso, was removed from life support. It was, without question, the most terrible thing we have ever experienced as a family. We didn't make a decision about the life support; it was made for us as he was declared brain dead. Early Saturday morning, he had a traumatic episode of flash congestive heart failure. He went for a long period without oxygen before being revived, and his brain was permanently damaged with no signs of function. After an inconclusive EEG, we received conclusive answers from a brain-flow scan, and that was the end, he was gone. He had been gone since Saturday morning. He was 55.
It was hard to say goodbye to him on Sunday knowing that I will never see him again. Writing this late Sunday night/early Monday morning, it is hard to think about waking up in the morning and him not being here anymore. It is hard to think about the fact that I won't get to speak to him again or tell him I love him just one more time. We are all saddened and frustrated in part because mere months ago he miraculously survived a bout of V-tach in which he coded a dozen times but was brought back to life by defibrillator every single time. He was in a coma for nearly a week, and somehow he made it through that and recovered. Even hospital staff from the ER came up to his room in the ICU to see him. They simply could not believe he held on through it all. For other reasons I won't elaborate on here, we almost lost him during that week, but again, somehow, some way-and thanks in no small part to some incredible doctors, nurses, and staff-he made it, and woke up, and recovered, and lived. He lived a great life in the weeks between that episode and this one, finally getting to enjoy life and finally getting his body to start healing. He had already had an instance of congestive heart failure earlier this year though, and this time it took him fast and without mercy.
My dad was the best son, husband, father, brother, uncle, cousin, nephew, and friend that anyone could ask for. He cared deeply for his family, and once he met you, you were his friend. He made friends with anyone and everyone no matter how vastly different their backgrounds and beliefs were from his, and that always surprised me given his political beliefs. He had the gift of gab and could talk to anyone anywhere, and by the time he finished speaking with someone, often for the very first time, they shared a hug and a kiss, and he would keep them in his mind forever. Once he got to know you, he loved you and never quit on you. He was generous and trustworthy to a fault, and very often, too often if I'm honest, put others before himself. He put others before himself to his own detriment, be it his health or his finances.
He taught us how to treat one's family and those whom you love. He always came home at night after work to play with Tony and I when we were young, which I grew to realize was no small feat in the culture of the Wall Street world of the 80s and 90s. He loved his wife of 33 years more than anything or anyone on God's green earth, and he did his best to show her that every day of his life. He loved his parents and siblings, and he loved all of his family and friends. He taught us all to be open with our feelings. We always knew how much he loved us because he always told us, and in turn we told him the same.
I feel very lucky to have had my father around for as long as he was, but this wasn't enough time, and I know that there never would have been enough time. It just isn't fair, but life isn't always fair. I wish we had more time, Pop, I always will. I wish you were still here and I wish I could tell you I love you even though I know that you knew because we always told each other. I just wish you were still here. I wish there was more time.
We all miss my dad. We are absolutely devastated here, but we will all try to cope and walk through this together. My mother lost her best friend. My grandparents lost their first-born son. My aunt and uncle have lost their brother. Tony and I have lost our father. The list goes on and on. At this point we're all just beginning to walk down this road. Its not that I can't say goodbye, it is just really, really hard to do so, and we will never fully say goodbye. Sunday was the worst day of my life.
Pop, I hope that there is a heaven somewhere and that I will see you again. More than that, I hope that you are there and finally at peace after going through all of this suffering; no more stress, no more politics, no more pain, just peace. I am so happy to know that your last weeks on earth were spent with your family doing things you loved. I love you. We love you. We all miss you and always will. We will never forget you. We will all keep your memory alive in so many ways. God I love you so much Pop. Thank you for everything. I will keep those promises I made. Every single one.
It is never a bad time to call up or go visit a loved one and tell them you love them. Our time here is so fleeting. My dad and I hadn't spoken in about two weeks and that does hurt, but I'm very lucky to be able to say for sure that neither he nor I had any doubts as to how we felt about each other.

-Michael, his son.